“I love you.” The words come out of Dean’s mouth as naturally as the feeling has been built over the years.

There are no fireworks. The world doesn’t stop on its tracks. Sparks don’t fly.

It’s like the whole universe is long adapted to this truth; voicing it equals to wind hitting ocean water - there’s some disturbance, but the components don’t change. Things don’t change much at all. The current will always be there, sometimes slow and calm, others wild and feral, but it’ll never waste away. 


“I loved you first.” Cas says earnestly.

The world does stop a little this time.

Do you feel like there are pairings that aren’t really you’re own, like you have you’re own OTP, but these other pairings you agree with so hard that even though you don’t spend time shipping them, when you meet people who do you’re just like, “ I support you so hard, dude. I got my own ship to steer but someone NEEDS to be making sure those two are together. Keep up the good work.”
This is how I feel about passionate bagginshield shippers amongst others.

What was forgotten in purgatory

If Dean forgot the truth of how he and Castiel parted in purgatory, what else was lost from his tormented mind?

Did he greet his lost angel with an embrace or a kiss when he found him?

Did he lie in the angel’s arms, in the starless night, their breaths synchronised as they listened to the sounds of the creatures lurking in the dark. Did Castiel lay his hand over Dean’s heart to soothe him?

Did they make love in the river, the first time they got to wash the blood and mud from their skin. Did they touch each other’s warm flesh just to be sure that the other was still alive and as well as could be expected?

Did Castiel watch Dean grow hungry and weak and weep with sorrow for him?

Did Dean watch Castiel stare into the distance, full of self recrimination, blaming all Dean’s suffering on himself?

Dean doesn’t remember.

Naomi took Castiel’s memory, castrated what held him back, honed him into a weapon of heaven.

Did Castiel profess his love for Dean, that time Dean held him in the river, washing his face with his trembling hands?

Did Castiel lay in the dead leaves, on top of his coat, sinking into the soft earth as Dean pressed down on him?

Did Castiel pledge his body and grace to Dean, kill for him, run for him, worship him with hand and mouth and all he was and ever will be?

Castiel doesn’t remember.

Their bodies remember. Their eyes seek out each other. Dean’s hands stray to Castiel’s shoulder or arm. Castiel just holds himself back, hands fisted, shoulders back, lips pursed or pouted. Unable to remember why his whole body seems to strain forward in Dean’s presence.

Letters That Broke Them

“Dear Castiel,

“I know that a letter seems a little weird when all I have to do is pull up your number on my phone and send you a quick text or call. I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to write you this letter so you could see the way my hand will shake the pen as I write what I have never said to you before.

“It’s been three years since we met. Four years ago my life was a mess. I had hit so low I felt like I was drowning in hell. It was your saving grace that rescued me from it. No matter how rude I came off of at first you always cared for me. I used to think that I didn’t need anyone, that I was strong enough to live on my own, but that night you made me coffee and held me while I cried I realized that I needed you.

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