Fandoms: Supernatural, Hannibal, Harry Potter (obligatory “JKR is a TERF/This series is now millennial folklore” disclaimer), The Prodigal Son, The Hunger Games
from: Supernatural: Bobby Singer’s Guide to Hunting
[ID: Section from Supernatural: Bobby Singer’s Guide to Hunting which reads:
“ - which in a town the size of Ashland or bigger is nearly impossible. A much better situation is when you can isolate what the monster is looking for in a victim, and make yourself the best possible example of that. Monster wants tall guys, you call Sam Winchester. Monster wants pretty girls, you… well, I don’t know any of those. Guess I’d call Dean.”
one of my favorite supernaturalisms is that dean is inconsistently written across all 15 season but very consistently well acted, sam is consistently written across all 15 seasons but very poorly acted post s4, and cas is inconsistently written and inconsistently acted and all of this is to say that i completely understand why each of their fanbases go crazy in different stupid directions
Cas being lobotomized so much he married an evangelical woman with the same eye color as Dean during his amnesia episode and Dean being so fuckstruck by Cas he rewrote his own memories of escaping purgatory to keep the guilt on him. Of course he’d choose to blame himself over the angel he spent a year looking for. Messy, messy boys 💞
it’s such a vulnerable thing, for dean winchester to admit he’s in love. dean comes from a family of men and women who were destroyed, corrupted, by their own love.
his mother, who made a deal with a demon to save her lover, and who later died for it.
his father, driven obsessed and off the rails by grief and love for his wife after she was killed.
his brother, who left his life of normalcy behind in search of revenge over fifteen years ago, and who never made it back out of the hunter’s life after he got it.
it is a dangerous, terrifying, thing to be a winchester and to be in love. the way that dean loves cas has nearly destroyed him, repeatedly. But the way dean loves cas has also saved him, repeatedly. He knows that it will continue to do both, because he is too far past the point of pretending he doesn’t love cas.
Castiel decided, briefly and fondly, that humans should not be allowed this much enthusiasm.
Dean was laughing. Actually laughing, bright and unrestrained, as the sledge tore down the snowy hill far faster than Castiel considered reasonable. Wind snapped at Dean’s jacket, snow sprayed up around them, and the world felt dangerously unanchored.
“This is unsafe,” Castiel called, wings itching invisibly as instinct urged him to intervene. He tightened his grip on Dean’s hand anyway, boots skidding as he half ran, half hovered behind the sledge. “You could collide with a tree. Or a rock. Or—”
Dean twisted just enough to grin back at him, eyes sparkling with cold and joy. “Cas, relax!”
“I am relaxed,” Castiel lied. He was absolutely not relaxed. Dean Winchester should not be allowed to hurl himself downhill on a wooden contraption powered by gravity and poor decisions.
The sledge hit a bump. Dean whooped. Castiel’s heart lurched.
“Dean!” Castiel protested. “You are behaving recklessly.”
Dean laughed even harder. “What? That’s what you’re for!”
Castiel blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You know,” Dean said, squeezing his hand, voice warm despite the rush of air. “Saving me. Watching my back. Being my safety net.”
The words settled into Castiel’s chest like fresh snow, soft, quiet, impossibly tender. He looked at their joined hands. Dean was not pulling away. He was trusting Castiel to keep up.
“…Very well,” Castiel said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. He adjusted his grip, steadied them both, and let just a hint of grace slip into the moment. Nothing obvious. Nothing Dean would notice. Just enough.
The sledge flew true.
Dean whooped again. “See? Told ya!”
Castiel watched him, windburned cheeks, reckless joy, utterly alive, and felt something gentle and bright unfold inside him.
Perhaps, Castiel thought, this was what he was for.
When the sledge finally slowed at the bottom of the hill, Dean leaned back, breathless and grinning. “Again?”
Castiel did not let go of his hand. “Yes,” he said softly. “Again.”
astermacguffin
