“You get called pretty a lot.” 

Dean laughs as he says it, and passes Castiel a beer bottle. 

“Yes,” Castiel says, not reaching for the drink and eyes Dean as he sits beside him. “I’ve noticed.” 

“You should figure out how to take the compliment without getting all tongue-tied,” Dean says, and takes a swig of beer. “Sure, it’s endearing, but at what cost?

Castiel glances down at his hands. 

“It’s an arbitrary compliment. I don’t know what to say in response.”

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes. He, himself, has been called pretty enough to last anyone several lifetimes and definitely understands that it can be embarrassing at first, but Castiel has been around for almost ten years and has Metatron’s entire library of pop-culture floating around in his brain - he should know how to gracefully accept a compliment by now. 

“Just say ‘thanks’ and maybe throw in a wink.” Dean says and sets the drink down. “You know, something comprehensible.”

“But why?” Castiel says and glances back up at Dean. “They’re just remarking on my physical appearance.”

“Yeah, you’re a handsome guy.” Dean lets his eyes flick over his features, and he knows it’s one of the more truthful things he’s said recently.

But this -” Castiel gestures at himself, “- this has nothing to do with me. All they’re doing is complimenting the aesthetics of Jimmy Novak, and while that’s a gesture I’m sure he’d appreciate, it doesn’t feel right accepting words that aren’t meant for me.” 

Dean frowns. 

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Jimmy’s face isn’t who Castiel is. The dark hair and sharp features, dark lines under the eyes - all Jimmy. 

But the eyes - the eyes have never once fooled Dean into thinking that the being behind them is anything but cosmic. 

“Alright, sure. Jimmy’s a good-looking dude.” Dean says once he’s brought his thoughts back around, “But he’s not you. I’d take you over him any day.”

Dean tilts his head upwards and points his beer towards the ceiling. 

“No offense, Jimmy.”

When Dean looks back, Castiel is smiling at him softly. 

“Thank you, Dean.” 

“No problem.” Dean shrugs. “I mean, I have no fucking clue what you actually look like, but I’m sure you’re the prettiest damn eldritch being out there.” 

Castiel chuckles and finally reaches for his beer. 

“I suppose that would depend. How attractive do you find three-hundred eyes and four heads?”

Dean nearly chokes on his next swig.

Exist Without Fear

today is the birthday of my dear, wonderful friend Maggie. known to many as dreamedofwings, I know her best as a constant source of kindness, support and fun in my life. Magson, you are one of a kind. happy birthday!! <3

read it here on AO3!

Dean was standing in front of the mirror, rubbing at his jaw with an expression of dissatisfaction. He peered closer, touching the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and the rough, scarred skin under his right ear where some monster or other – Dean forgot which, there had been so many – had got a little too friendly. He looked like his oldest pair of jeans: a little wrinkled, patched up and worn thin in too many places. Slightly sad-looking, even on the brightest of days, and with some dirt ground in so deep that no amount of washing would ever get it out.

He sighed and shrugged at his reflection before turning away, heading for the door – where Cas was standing, awkwardly upright with his hands hanging by his sides. He must’ve seen the whole thing.

Dean cleared his throat and made to push past him, but Cas didn’t move.

“Why do you look so disappointed in yourself?” he asked, frowning. His head was tilted on one side, at the angle that Dean thought of as acute confusion.

“What?” he said, bluff and slightly aggressive. “I’m tired, Cas, I gotta hit the hay.”

Cas didn’t move, nor did his expression change.

“I saw you looking at yourself,” he said stubbornly. “Your expression was… displeased. Are you upset?”

“Cas,” Dean said, smiling a little coldly and clapping him on the shoulder. “Come back to me when you’ve got a psychology degree, OK, buddy? I’m tired.”

This time, Cas allowed Dean to pass, although his frown didn’t lift. Dean sighed again, and kept walking. Cas only wanted to help, but there were some things that you just couldn’t solve with a few kind words and an intensely solemn expression… some dirt that was ground in too deep, Dean found himself thinking again. It was as though he had dirt in the marrow of his bones.

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cenedrariva  asked:

I heard you collect trueform!Cas headcanons? So, Castiel really likes his true form. He isn't vain, but he thinks it is very aesthetically pleasing, and other angels agree. The problem is that trueform angels are pretty close to what humans consider eldritch horrors.

Ohhmyylordy is this late, I am so so sorry I am shit at replying

ANYWAY I need a sassy confident Cas vogueing and Dean just sitting there in TERROR (but supportive terror)