shotgun-shell

There is an old barn in Pontiac, Illinois with sigils spray painted onto every blank surface and with shotgun shells long since dusted littering the floor.

The barn becomes a bit of a local legend—teenagers dare each other to venture in, people shine flashlights on the walls in attempt to make sense of the seemingly nonsense scribbles, rumors spread of witches or satanists or hauntings.

They’re all wrong, of course, but the conspiracies are amusing and take the edge off what the barn really is.

It’s on a whim that Castiel goes back to the place where he met Dean Winchester a year ago. The air is static, making his hair stand up and his fingertips conductive, like the electricity from the lightning that night never really left. His dress shoes become scuffed with dirt as he stands in the center of the area, facing the doors which he had entered, sparks raining down on him.

He quirks half a smile, thinking of how different he was back then, but also of how similar. There’s a sameness in that his feelings for the Righteous Man exceed those he’s ever known. The difference is that now he knows what his feelings mean.

The Castiel that had stormed through those doors did not know rebellion, did not doubt, did not know how the sun can make freckles stand out more, did not know the name “Cas” spoken in a low, ruff voice that sent shivers down his spine. He had known Heaven, and angels, and obedience, and very little beyond that.

Now he knows everything, and he’s thankful for that, despite the pain it’s caused him. If he could go back and repeat the moment, maybe he would simply walk straight toward Dean’s open and afraid face, enduring the bullets that pierced through his borrowed flesh, and not stop until he knew the taste of Dean on his mouth, just for a moment, just once.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. He doesn’t know.

He stands there for awhile, contemplating. It actually ends up being Dean’s own prayer that brings him back from his reverie of thoughts—a motel in Massachusetts, possible case, thought maybe you could help, want to see you again.

Castiel’s heart leaps at that sentiment, tacked on the end of the prayer with hesitation and gruffness, but warmth all the same. It’s that warmth that has him spreading his wings without a moment’s hesitation, taking flight the moment he’s able, following the echoes of Dean’s voice in his head and leaving behind him the place of his beginning.

There is an old barn in Pontiac, Illinois with sigils spray painted onto every blank surface and with shotgun shells long since dusted littering the floor, and etched in it is the first line of a love story.

The Flower Shell is a 12 gauge shotgun shell filled with flower seeds. Each firing would disperse seeds like daisies, sunflowers, poppies, etc. to grow in open fields. I can’t believe this is a legit product…but it is legit. Article here if you are interested. I guess if you really enjoy shooting and seed bombing, this is the product for you. I don’t know what to think about this, but I just had to share it with you all.

(Actually…is anyone else thinking about that episode where Homer SImpson invents a shotgun that applies a full face of makeup by shooting the person in the face?)