captainshakespear

9

get to know me meme

     ➥ [10] favourite movies: The Avengers (2012)

“It’s what we call ourselves. We’re sort of like a team. ‘Earth’s Mightest Heroes’ type thing.”

(for captainshakespear, who is having a long day)

Let’s talk about Dean calling Cas while he’s on the road. He doesn’t know why he does it; Cas is busy doing angel things, and god knows he booked out of the bunker as fast as he could the night they patched up Dean’s soul, but Dean is stuck in a shitty motel outside Springfield, trapped indoors because of the rain, and Sam off somewhere hustling pool, and Dean can’t make himself settle, even after two beers.

Cas answers on the third ring, his voice slow and quiet and gruff, and for a split-second Dean worries that Cas had been sleeping, then remembers that Cas is all juiced up again. That doesn’t stop him from imagining it: Cas rubbing at his eyes, and at the pillow creases on his cheek, his hair disheveled, curling wildly behind his ears.

“Where are you?” Dean asks.

“Logan, Utah,” Cas replies, and that’s over a thousand miles from Missouri, too far drive to out there on the pretense of a hunt, but he wants to – Jesus Christ, he wants to. He and Sam came to Springfield for a job that turned out to be bogus, and Sam figured they’d might as well stay the night and make a few dollars since they already charged the room, but Dean would hit the road in an instant if he thought Cas wanted him around.

He sighs instead, and mumbles, “Sorry,” into the phone, because Utah is the worst, easily his least favorite state. “Are you having any luck, at least?”

“No,” Cas admits irritably. “Locating these angels is proving difficult, likely because they do not want to be found, and – I’m not sure forcing them to return to heaven is still the best course.”

“Then stop,” Dean blurts, and heat flushes across his face, but now that the words have started he can’t make himself stop. “Come back h – come back to the bunker. Sammy and I are heading there in the morning.”

“Dean, I – ”

“I miss you.”

Cas is silent for a long time, long enouh that Dean almost hangs up, embarrassment a living thing in his gut. They’ve been friends all these years, but Cas has his mojo back, and is making plans to go back to heaven and maybe stay there, and Dean is just a dipshit human who keeps getting himself marked for hell. Then:

“I miss you, too.” Cas sighs into the phone, the sound rattling in Dean’s ear like the wind. “Of all the things I have done on earth, I much prefer hunting with you to anything else.”

It takes a second for that to sink in – to really sink in – but when it does, the cold weight that has been in Dean’s gut for weeks starts to warm and ease away. “Then do it. Come back.”

“Yes, all right. I – I will.”

“Okay,” Dean says, smiling. “I’ll see you at home.”

healthy bromances, ft. gay sex

short drabble based on that hilariously atrocious article on nerd reactor. dean/cas, ~800 words, slightly nsfw

“Dean, I found something on the internet,” Cas calls from the dining room.

Dean sets down the butter knife he’s holding, mayonnaise clinging to the blade from where he’s lathered it into their BLT’s.

“You what?” he asks, wiping his hands on his jeans and making his way from the kitchen to where Cas is seated around the corner. There’s a laptop on the table in front of him and Cas’s eyes are fixed squarely on whatever’s on the screen. From the pinched, frustrated look on his face, it can’t be something good. “What did you find, babe?”

Cas’s eyes only flutter momentarily at the pet name before replying. “It’s an article someone has written about the Supernatural book series.”

“Oh no,” Dean groans. “Cas, don’t look at shit like that, man. It’ll just make your head hurt.”

“Charlie sent me the link. Dean,” Cas pins him with a serious glare, “this man is very wrong.”

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sam sneaking up behind jess to snake his cold hands up her sweater and she shrieks and tells him to oh don’t you dare, go aWAY SAM HOW DARE YOU STOP IT and he just laughs and presses his palms against her belly while she squirms and says but you’re warm before she grumbles and ducks away from him

later than night jess rolls over in bed and gets her revenge when she sees that sam’s shirt has ridden up in his sleep and so she grins and presses her cold feet against the small of his back and sam yelps and rolls out of bed fully prepared to defend himself, only to spin around to find her cackling

jess is still laughing when sam flops back down on the bed and bundles them both up in the blankets and calls a truce

10.15 coda where after the police station Dean texts Cas all like, “Sam wouldn’t let me have the free cake at the police station. I know it’s not pie, but still.”

So when they get back home to Lebanon, Cas is in the bunker waiting for him, a fresh baked cake ready on the kitchen counter, just for Dean.

at first, of course, Dean is speechless, just blinks in shock between Cas and the delicious looking chocolate cake. Finally, when he does find his voice, he tries to joke, “Where’s the pie?” but it just comes out sounding ridiculous and hoarse, ‘cause who the hell cares at this point. Cas made him food. He baked him a cake. Dean can’t remember the last time someone baked him anything. He must have been four years old.

“I figured your craving for cake should probably be satisfied first,” Cas says, a small smile on his lips. They’re very nice lips, Dean thinks (very often, obviously).

As if on cue, Dean’s stomach grumbles loudly. “Ha, well, guess the old gut agrees,” Dean pats his stomach, and walks over to the counter. “Thanks, Cas, for um–for doing this.” Dean doesn’t really know how to express his gratitude without accidentally spluttering how in love with Cas he is, so he just stops himself there.

Beside him, Cas stretches over to reach for the bowl of left over icing next to the finished cake. He scoops a dollop onto his forefinger. “I’m afraid I’m not very capable of knowing if this was a good recipe or not,” he says, before sucking the icing off his finger in a way so offensive to Dean’s sense of propriety Dean nearly gasps in horror at the sight. “It’s still mostly molecules to me,” he frowns at himself.

“I’m sure you–uh, it tastes delicious,” Dean stammers, still transfixed by Cas’ frankly offensively perfect mouth. He blushes immediately as his misstep, hoping to every dick ass god in the universe that Cas didn’t catch it. But when he looks up to Cas’ eyes, he finds them locked on his own, wide and burning. 

So yeah, suffice to say it’s a little while before Dean gets to eat the cake. But he’s so fucking okay with that.

don’t be afraid; i’m yours for goodness sake (deancas fluff | ao3 | title

Dean has to admit, there’s something to be said for waking up next to the same person every day. Even if that person is grumpy as fuck in the mornings, there’s something endearing about it. Something about opening his eyes to dust motes floating through the weak light from the motel window, knowing that Cas is still sprawled across him like some affectionate octopus.

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youtube

for my video production class we had to make short documentaries, so i did mine on spn fandom! thanks to everyone who helped me out–hopefully i will get to make a longer version over the holidays! <3

the archangel, seraph, the righteous warrior, 
hailbringer and soldier of the lord almighty
cast from the heavens and unto the earth, we angels 
are going home for are we not our father's children?
listen

i. we move lightly // dustin o’hallaran ii. lúppulagið // sigur rós iii. fok // ólafur arnalds iv. dream of flying // brain crain v. redeemer // paul cardall vi. river flows in you // yiruma vii. arrival of the birds // the city of prague cinematic orchestra viii. clair de lune // claude debussey ix. your hand in mine // explosions in the sky x. adagio for strings // samuel barber xi. the call within // dario marianelli xii. naval // yann tiersen xiii. the swan // camillle saint-saëns xiv. daydreams // abel korzeniowski xv. divenire // ludovico einaudi xvi. hope // paul cardall xvii. ekki múkk // sigur rós xviii. nothing it can // helios xix broken // ólafur arnalds xx. palladio // karl jenkins xxi. time // hans zimmer xxii november // max richter xxiii. london calling // michael giacchino xiv. dance of the knights // sergei prokofiev xv. mhysa // ramin djawadi xxvi. what do the skies see? // dario marianelli xxvii the double // clint mansell xxviii. come my son // x-ray dog xxix. turbine womb // soap&skin xxx. “this is my choice” // alan silvestri

sometimes i wonder what the moores would think of sam now, or what they even thought of him when he disappeared, of this kid, this young man who was force fed so much turkey by jess’s grandmother that he looked about ready to pass out, who accepted ugly sweater contest jabs (“what ugly sweater?”) in stride, who did not speak openly about his family but was welcomed into theirs nonetheless, who let a three year-old stick rainbow barrettes in his hair for the sake of amusing her, who loved their daughter and wasn’t overly subte about it

but then there was the sam after the fire, stoic and quiet at the funeral with a man they didn’t recognize, who offered them his condolences with watery eyes but declined any offers to stay with them, said he needed time, said they all did, said he and his brother (that’s who he was, the quiet man with the hard eyes and half-nods scanning the room) needed to find their father, said he loved her, said he missed her, hugged her mother and let her cry into his shoulder, said he’d never forgive himself

the fire’s ruled suspicious, the circumstances are unsettling, there are no concrete answers, and there is never any word back from sam aside from the week he and his brother stayed for the service, and after a few months there is some resentment, some bitterness bubbling up, brief moments of you left and my daughter died that they instantly regret, and sometimes they just wonder, wonder about sam, wonder about their daughter

the winchester show up on the news, show up wanted by the fbi, show up in prison, show up dead, show up as a pair of serial killers

the mugshot of the boy who was once sat at their kitchen table over a weekend, spent the new years with them, wished them all merry christmas stares back out at them, murders a man in cold blood, is a wanted killer and they think oh god, think no think you left and my daughter died

captainshakespear asked:

hi yes as the creator of that silly post about Dean's jacket I'm going to need to know more about this headcanon that Dean put it in his backpack please.

Yes hi your post is flawless. Okay so my head canon is as follows:

When Dean got out of Purgatory and stole the backpack from those poor campers he obvs got clean clothes out of there (that just so happened to fit perfectly because reasons), but that jacket was still in really great shape and they had been through a lot together and like a jacket that pretty that fits that well is really hard to come by so he wasn’t just about to throw is away. So he shoved it in his stolen backpack and when he got a spare afternoon he took it to the dry cleaners and then carried it around in the Impala until they found the bunker and now it hangs in his closet next to his favorite suit jackets and he doesn’t really wear it out anymore but every now and again he puts it on and runs his hands over the leather and remembers all those months of fighting for his life and looking for his angel and idk the head canon sorta ends there but the point is he has the jacket in his closet and I will hear no different.

“You don’t,” Dean starts to say, but the words clog up in his throat before he can get the rest of them out. He stops, and suddenly he can feel every breath going into his lungs, every twitch of muscle as his fingers curl listlessly at his sides. If he listens hard enough, maybe he can even feel the blood rushing to his head and his heart pound against his eardrums. And if he bothers, maybe he can even hear every instinct rattling through his bones and screaming no.

Cas stands there before him, ratty sweatshirt–where did he even get that, what happened to the trench coat–zipped up and his hands buried in the pockets and Dean’s never seen Cas look so small, curled in on himself and trying so badly to mask how hurt he is. This is the expression that accompanied the devastation of Heaven, the decimation of angels, tearing apart the cosmos and Purgatory–this is the expression of Dean telling him to leave. This is his response to Dean rejecting him.

And yet, Cas stands there before him and waits for him to finish.

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