dean looks so happy


Favorite Sam & Dean moments per episode: 3x16 “No Rest for the Wicked”

You know if this doesn’t.. if this doesn’t go the way we want, I want you to know-..

No. No, no, no. No, you’re not gonna bust out the misty good-bye speech, okay? And if this is my last day on earth, I do not want it to be socially awkward. You know what I do want?

Baby, I’m dancing in the dark, with you between my arms
Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song
When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful
I don’t deserve this, darling, you look perfect tonight



married bbies 。゚◟ (*; ▽  ;)◞。゚ 。


[ au’s that exist elsewhere ]

He didn’t say much as the reaper came to him in the night, telling him that it was time, that he was going to have to pay the debt that he created that one evening. The reaper handed him the scythe and said that there was no world without death. He who kills death must become death himself.

And so that’s what Dean became.

He watched with tired eyes as his brother desperately tried to find a way to save Dean from this fate of an immortal eternity. He tried all the way up to the moment that Dean came for him one night, hand outstretched, saying that it was finally time to come with him.

And Sam did without question. He followed Death into the endless abyss, bowing his head for one final time.


Better Latte than Never

it’s my birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE 21ST OF SEPTEMBER IS FINALLY HERE, and that means a fic!!! have a destiel coffee shop AU on me. <3

read it here on AO3!!

“What are you having?” Castiel asked with a smile, and Dean’s stomach flipped.

“Um. Regular latte,” he managed to say, and smiled.

“Regular latte,” Castiel repeated. “Coming right up.” He turned away, and began to prepare Dean’s drink, tanned hands picking up a plain white cup which he spun into position onto the coffee machine, glancing up to see whether Dean had noticed. Dean smiled, hoping it came across as ‘impressed’ and not ‘totally smitten’.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other behind the cafe counter, Dean waited for his latte to be ready. He preferred espresso, if he was honest - but lattes took longer to drink, and just recently, Dean had found himself becoming a professional in the niche field of ‘reasons to take a long time over drinking a coffee in a small cafe’. He’d never even liked coffee that much - it had always been more of a necessary evil, utilized when he’d pushed his sleeping schedule beyond the reasonable limit - but that was something that he’d conveniently forgotten, just recently.

In fact, he could date this very specific amnesia to the exact moment that he’d walked through the door of this tiny cafe, tired in the middle of a long day at work and gasping for something to drink on his lunch break. That had been the first time he’d come, but there had been a second time, and a third… and now it was almost a whole month later, and Dean was still coming in every day.

He wished he could say that it was the coffee at Better Latte Than Never that kept him coming back. The coffee was good – or at least, Dean thought it was, though he was no expert - he hadn’t exactly sampled a whole lot of different brands. In fact, recently, he hadn’t even bothered buying his usual packet of filter coffee when he went grocery shopping. He spent so much time in Better Latte Than Never that he was starting to genuinely worry about the effects of overcaffeination.

After all, maybe those effects included giddiness, and butterflies in his stomach, and a heart rate through the roof, all of which Dean had been experiencing on a daily basis - but if he was honest, Dean didn’t think he could blame the coffee so much as the maker of the coffee for the symptoms.

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On a date (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)


a birthday gift for @succulent-sam!! happy birthday, gabby!!! I hope you enjoy this little canon ‘verse happiness. <3

now on AO3!

“Do you always understand everything you feel?” Cas asked, one day.

He thought, obscurely, that Spring was the right time for a question like this; or at least this Spring was - a Spring that felt fresh and light and hazy, still dazed by the wonder of Winter’s passing. Dean, sitting in the car beside him, looked washed out by it - or rather, washed clean, Cas supposed he meant. Softened, in any case.

“How d’you mean?” Dean said. He turned to Cas, the bright sun shrinking out the darkness in his eyes - turning them green. Green like go-lights, green like mazes - no, gentler than both of those; green like the water-full leaves of succulent plants. Green like book covers, like peppermint-flavour candies.

“I mean… do you ever feel something that you can’t explain? Something… ineffable?”

Dean pressed his lips together. Cas wondered if he needed to explain the word ‘ineffable’.

“Nah?” he said. “I guess most of what I feel, I know what to call it. I don’t always like it, but at least I know what it is.”

Cas nodded seriously. Dean let the silence rest for a while as they cruised down the Spring-morning road.

“What about you?” he said eventually.

Cas lifted a shoulder.

“I… have a thousand words for how things feel,” he said, “and a thousand things to feel within me. But I… I cannot make them match.”

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There Will Still Be You and Me

13.05 coda, destiel, 1.3k

“I just need a win.”

The words rattle around in Dean’s skull. Baby rolls smoothly down the interstate heading straight east. They’re through the mountains now and it’ll be an easy drive once they pass through Denver.

It’s been nearly four hours now, the sun has set entirely behind the mountains and Sam is sleeping against the window. His deep, even breaths should be calming but Dean still full of nervous energy and strung out like a live wire.

Getting drunk off his ass doesn’t help. Eyeing a pretty girl didn’t help. Billie wouldn’t just let him die. Yeah, something’s fucking wrong but there’s nothing he can do about it and Dean’s not fine but he can’t fix it.

He grips the wheel angrily, teeth grinding. Why can’t something just go right for once, why—

His phone rings.

With an apologetic glance at Sam, who’s startled awake, Dean answers.


“Dean, don’t hang up.”

What in the—

“I know you may be surprised—don’t hang up—and that’s fine I’m a little amazed myself but, Dean, it’s me. I’m here. I mean, I’m—I’ve just traveled to Denver if you could pick me up. Um, please.”

Who the hell would fake Castiel’s voice Dean has no idea. He looks at Sam but he can’t quite form the words. His brain is too fuzzy.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I—I’ll explain everything. Can you please come? I’m using a payphone behind a Walmart, if you take the exit for Tower Road you’ll see it. Just—”

Dean is still not really listening. Someone who knew his cell phone number and sounds an awful lot like Castiel is waiting for him just three miles ahead and maybe it’s the stupidest fucking thing he’s ever done but Dean, he… he has to know.

“I’m hanging up now,” he says, his voice inexplicably rough. “We’ll be there in five minutes. You… if you’re not him you’d better be long gone or I swear I’ll end you.”

“Dean,” the voice on the other end breathes. Dean’s chest tightens. “I promise you it’s me. I’m so glad you’re close, this was very lucky. I’ll see you soon and I’ll explain everything.” A pause. “Goodbye, Dean.”

With a shaking finger, Dean hangs up.

“What the hell was that?” Sam asks.

Dean continues to stare out of the windshield, numb and dizzy. “Cas,” he manages.

“Cas called you,” Sam says in his most incredulous voice.

“That’s why I said I’d end him,” Dean replies. He sees the Walmart through his window and turns on his blinker. “Only a monster could fake his voice like that.”

“Okay,” Sam agrees easily. Still trying to appease or placate him or whatever.

He drives slowly into the alleyway, eyes fixed on the payphone. And then he sees the figure next to it. A man, with his back turned, is staring up at the nighttime sky. Can’t see a damn star from here but he’s looking anyway. He’s wearing a fucking trench coat and Dean thinks his heart might beat out of his chest.

“Whoa,” Sam says but Dean doesn’t look at him. As if in a trance, he’s suddenly outside of Baby, standing on the pavement and staring at—

The man turns. Dark and neatly styled hair, the sharp point of his nose, the defined angle of his jaw, and finally those familiar blue eyes. Fuck, Dean feels like he’s been punched in the chest.

Neither one of them says a word, locked on to each other’s gaze like it’s the only real thing left in this world. Lucifer could pop up right next to them and Dean thinks he wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

Taking a deep breath, he steps forward one, twice. His breath is still frozen in his lungs. Idly, he contemplates getting some holy water, some silver, something, but…

It’s Castiel. He knows it deep in his bones in some ridiculous, incomprehensible way, the way he knows the callouses on his hands and the tread of Baby’s tires. Cas is standing right in front of him, back from the dead, and Dean can’t summon the wherewithal to say hello.

So he takes two more steps, then three and four, and finds himself nearly chest to chest with an angel of the Lord. The one who saved him over and over and over again. Who only ever tried to do the right thing and to help people and it got him dead but he’s back how is he back what did Dean ever do to deserve—

“Dean,” Cas says so quietly he’s not sure Sam heard him.

Dean raises his hands, pressing his palms to the plane of Cas’s chest. Solid and warm, his heartbeat lub-dubbing beneath his sternum. He lets his fingers trace the edges of this fucking coat, the one he carried around with him for an entire fucking year that other time that Cas died and still Dean got him back.

“Dean, I—” Cas stammers, and Dean looks into his eyes again. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to leave you.”

Dean can’t help but huff a laugh, though it’s like punching air out of a balloon. Hot, heavy tears spring up in his eyes and he can’t be bothered to wipe them away. He clenches his fists in the fabric of Cas’s lapels and bows his head.

And Cas leans forward, ever so slightly, just enough to close the distance between them. He rests his forehead against Dean’s and lets his own tears fall. Dean listens to the way Cas’s breath hitches, feels the warmth of his skin and the scratch of his hair and relishes that Cas is alive. Cas is alive.

“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he demands. “Tell me I’m not going to wake up from this.”

Cas places one hand on the back of Dean’s neck and squeezes. “No, Dean, I am here.” He sniffles. “Surely you have better dreams than this.”

He’s probably referring to the dumpster smell in this alley, but Dean couldn’t give less of a fuck. “No,” he insists. “Not lately.”

Cas’s other hand settles around one of Dean’s fists still clinging to his clothes. His skin is warm and, fuck, Dean’s so glad that he’s alive. He doesn’t care how it happened, only that it’s been too many days since he last heard Cas’s voice.

Oh God. Kelly and Jack. Cas has no idea. He’s—

“Your mind is very noisy,” Cas remarks, a smile on his lips. Dean can’t stop looking at him. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Me too, Cas.”

“I’m going to go greet Sam,” Cas tells him, pulling back minutely from their embrace. “And then we’re going to get in the Impala, and you’re going to take us home.”

“Home,” Dean echoes. Cas frees himself from Dean’s grip but he doesn’t drop his hand, instead using it to drag him over to Sam, who’s leaning against Baby’s hood and looking for all the world like the cat that got the cream.

“It’s good to see you, Sam,” Cas says warmly.

“Hi, Cas, you too.” Sam looks him up and down and sighs. “Looking good, man. Where’d you get your old duds?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Cas allows. He looks back at Dean now, who’s been so utterly focused on staring at Cas’s profile he’d missed what was said.

“You ready to go home?” Sam says but Dean still hasn’t looked at him. Can’t look at anything else, and Cas is staring right back.

“Definitely,” he says with a beautiful, gummy smile. Dean squeezes his hand and smiles, too.

Home is a lot more appealing now.