In the dream

In the dream, Dean was in hell again.

The cold was suffocating, cutting every inch of his unclothed body and hurting more than Alastair’s blade (which had created a pattern on his arms and legs a couple of minutes ago). There were chains on his wrists and ankles, preventing him from hugging his chest and curling up in a fetal position.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was remembering what was going on in his mind at the time. Dead-Dean was cursing every living thing in the world, and plotting his revenge. Dead-Dean was hoping that Alastair came back soon so he could teach the hunter on how to use the blade on other people. Dead-Dean wished that Sam was in hell in his place.

It was that final thought that pushed Dean into awakening, a silent scream in his lips. The hotel room was dark, but some light got in from the window. Dean looked at his brother on the other bed, still asleep, and closed his eyes in self-disgust. It took some time of breathing in and out slowly until he could make his limbs move (make them understand that he wasn’t cold, that he wasn’t in hell) and order them to take him to the bathroom to splash some water in his face. Upon coming back he wasn’t really surprised to find a glowing winged figure sitting crossed legged on his bed.

‘‘What are you doing here?’’ Dean mouthed. He didn’t want to awake Sam and he knew that Castiel could understand him.

The angel said nothing. He just petted the bed in a silent request for Dean to lie on it. Like a puppy, Dean thought, sighing. He went though, watching the angel carefully.

Castiel had a creamy-white skin, blue eyes and blond hair. His wings were white and gold, each one bigger than his bed. His features were delicate and genderless; Dean remembers that the first word that popped into his head when he saw the angel was ‘‘ethereal’’. Castiel looked young and old, peaceful and strong, female and male, innocent and experienced.

The angel watched him lying on the bed and pulling his blankets to his chin. It was one of their staring contests, where Dean felt that all of his vulnerabilities were out in the open, but he didn’t care: Castiel’s kind off were too. Dean was amazed but all the divinity that he found and Castiel looked like he was admiring humanities greatest creation.

They stayed like this for what felt like hours. Both barely even breathing in fear of the other turning his gaze and stopping their intimacy - because if Dean was being honest with himself, this is what their staring contests were. No romantic encounter with any woman made him feel like this: it was joy, sadness, pain and pleasure all at once, filling his system with warmth that not even heaven could provide.

Dean fell asleep though, the human in his finally winning the battle.

He dreamt of the sun.

compassionatedragon  asked:

You are aware that not-misha is, in fact, not Misha, right?

Nooo don’t ruin my little dream world! I want not-misha to be Misha. They are so good at it! So intelligent and both twisted/straightforward in their thinking, so kind and compassionate. Maybe, possibly, actually a mite TOO good with the literacy and spelling. Misha is very good too but he usually makes a tiny mistake here and there. Do you seriously know for a fact that not-misha is not Misha?

NOT Misha Collins/NOT Jensen Ackles/NOT Jared Padalecki - Photo Collection Special

Editorial: The Ultimate Dandies 

Magazine: Numero Homme

Shot by: Karl Lagerfeld


Some the photos have been mirrored of course. Could not pin down the second Jensen Picture, yet.