So, when we first watched the finale, my husband was like “it was fine, I don’t get why you’re THAT upset. Sucks Dean and Cas couldn’t be together, but eh.” (He did, however, hate the Sam wig).
But the more we talk about it, the more he’s like “Jesus Christ, the fuck were they thinking?!”
He was also watching DeanCas fanvids last night
So now he’s back to early-morning rage-tweeting at the CW about their treatment of Cas ♀️
Dean takes his time, running his fingers over the banister of the porch. The white paint is chipping and worn down, but the wood, he can tell, is quality. No splinters, no cracking, no warping. It’s nice. He drags in a deep breath, his senses flooding with the scent of pine trees as the warm early-autumn air blows through them. The sky is clear, save for a couple little puffs of cloud here and there. And as his eyes scan the sky, he waits for it – that impending sense of doom and dread. Even when he’s trying to relax, it’s always there, bubbling beneath the surface. There’s a reason he’s slept with a gun under his pillow for three decades.
But he’s struck with the sudden realization: it’s not there. All he feels is calm and peace. Something he’s never really known.
Well, that’s not true, he silently amends.
He felt peace with Cas.
Frowning, Dean drops his head and closes his eyes. Cas… Fuck, he misses him. He misses everything about him. He misses telling Cas jokes that land like a fucking brick in front of him. He misses the tie that’s always askew. He misses that mess of hair. He misses those eyes Dean can, and often has, get lost in. He misses that trench coat. He misses Cas, plain and simple. And while he feels calm and peaceful here… it does feel like a piece of him is missing. It’s probably not supposed to. Not here. But it does.
It’s comforting to know he escaped the torment of the Empty… but, “Damn it, Cas,” he breathes, wrapping both hands around the banister.
“Hello, Dean.”
Standing suddenly, Dean opens his eyes and whips around. Cas is standing beside the battered screen door, smiling warmly at Dean. “Cas,” he breathes, his eyes wide as he looks him over, like he’s taking inventory of all his favorite things. Messy hair, check; crooked tie, check; trench coat, check; breathtaking eyes, check… Cas, check. “It’s–”
“Yes,” Cas nods. “It’s me.”
Dean surges forward, throwing his arms around him in a crushing hug. He buries his face against Cas’s neck and closes his eyes, breathing him in. It’s another thing he’d previously forgotten to add to his list of things he missed. That clean, earthy smell that was somehow distinctlyCastiel.
When he pulls away, his hand slips down Cas’s arm to his hand, his thumb brushing the inside of Cas’s wrist. He heaves a breath, the line between his brows deepening. “You’re a dick, you know that?” He says suddenly.
Cas blinks in surprise and tilts his head. “I– what?”
Dean purses his lips and shakes his head. “You drop somethin’ like that on me and then just fuck off to the netherworld?”
“I wasn’t in the Netherworld, I was–”
“In the Empty, whatever. You’re still a dick.”
Cas lifts his eyes to the ceiling of the porch, as if the answer to Dean’s outburst is written there. “I still don’t underst–”
“You drop that on me and then you die, and you didn’t give me a chance to say anything.”
“I didn’t think there was anything for you to say.”
Dean scoffs, incredulous. Didn’t think there was anything for him to say? “What show have you been watching, huh?”
“I haven’t been watching television.”
Though outwardly, Dean appears frustrated, he fucking missed this. But something suddenly occurs to him. “Wait.” He shakes his head, those lines between his brows growing deeper. “You really didn’t think I’d have somethin’ to say? You didn’t think I–”
“Reciprocated?” Cas says. He frowns, casting his glance downward. “No, Dean. I didn’t.”
“Well you’re dead wrong.”
One corner of Cas’s lips turn up in a smirk. “I believe we’re both deceased now.”
Scoffing, Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “Did you just make a joke?”
“Yes,” Cas’s smile widens, “I believe I did.”
“Alright, listen.” Dean grasps the back of Cas’s neck, his fingers brushing up into his hair. There’s no sense of fear or uncertainty welling up inside of him anymore. He’s in Heaven. He gets what he wants. There’s no fear of judgment or self-sacrifice anymore. He’s just gonna fucking go for it. “I love you, Cas. I shoulda said somethin’ a long time ago, but I-I-I was scared, okay? I’m sorry. But–” He cuts himself off and glances out over the farmhouse’s property; the sprawling lawn (that he can’t wait to mow) surrounded by lush trees; the path that leads to the garage that houses Baby. The house he’s always imagined for himself, but always knew wasn’t a possibility. “This is about havin’ peace, right?” His gaze turns back to Cas’s, and he swallows the emotion rising in his throat. “We get forever here.”
“That is the idea, yes.”
Dean licks his lips and takes a step closer. His shoes bump Cas’s, and his hands slips further into the back of Cas’s hair. “Then that means I get forever with you, right?”
Cas is smiling, and he pulls his free hand out of the coat pocket. He grabs a fistful of Dean’s jacket and Dean watches his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows, Cas’s eyes roaming Dean’s face. “Of course, Dean.”
Dean breathes out in relief. All at once, that feeling that a puzzle piece was askew; the feeling that something was missing dissipates. Forty-one years of sacrifice and loss earned him this: a life of peace with the love of his life – the love that had come completely out of left field and left him breathless. Forty-one years of sacrifice and loneliness and loss earned him the love of a millennia-old angel who thought he was worth something. Worth everything.
He kisses Cas then. It’s soft and slow and gentle. There’s no sense of urgency or fear or desperation behind it. It’s being lovingly handed what he’s always wanted; what he’d always been missing. And, well… he’s in Heaven, so that makes a whole lot of sense.
When they part, Dean keeps his forehead against Cas’s, and they’re both smiling. Finally, Dean rocks back enough to meet Cas’s eyes. He tips his head toward the house and raises a brow. “Wanna come in. Stay a while?” He presses his lips together and shrugs. “I’m thinkin’ maybe forever?”
“I’d like nothing more.” Cas smiles, and Dean feels warmth flooding his chest. In Cas’s smile, Dean feels content. He feels like he’s home. He’s waited his whole life to feel like this. He tried, with Lisa and Ben, but that piece of the puzzle just wasn’t there. He tried with the Bunker, and while he loved that place… there was always just something not quite right. But here, he has Cas. He feels calm. He has no feeling of cosmic obligation or the feeling that he’s running the clock. He has everything he’s ever wanted.
For the first time, and for the rest of time, Dean Winchester is at peace.
are those two dudes from supernatural ok? it’s been like 14 years. there’s high schoolers younger than their contract. i don’t think i’ve ever seen them in any other shows. are they allowed to leave? do they feed them?
when supernatural began airing:
tumblr wouldnt exist for another two years
bush was still president
lost hadn’t aired its second season yet
youtube wasnt even a year old
the #1 song was kanye west - gold digger
ariana grande was 12
taylor swift wasn’t famous yet
paris hilton was at the height of her fame, kim k was not famous yet
jesus christ
This is as jarring as that history post talking about how MLK and Anne Frank were born in the same year only i actually lived through it
This makes me ✨uncomfy✨
I was a junior in high school when this show premiered.
I am now an almost 32-year-old married mother to a 7-year-old. I have been in my chosen career for a decade.
My son is closer to the age I was when I started watching it than I am to that age now.
Someone give me some ointment for my achy knees while I process this information.
Hello, beautiful people, I just hit 700 followers!
To celebrate, because I’m back on my DeanCas bull shit and #cantstopwontstop, send me asks with your headcanons or mini prompts, and I’ll write you a drabble!
Millie turns to him and grasps his chin, and in that moment, he’s taken back. Taken back to the last time it was good. To the last time he felt that true happiness. The happiness that he only ever found with her.
~
“Forgive me,” she whispers, “for I have sinned.”
John’s fingertips trail the dip of her spine, smirking at the goosebumps on her skin. She’s draped across his chest, and she’s so warm and soft. As the moonlight filters in through the window, pouring over her alabaster skin, she almost looks like she’s glowing. He smiles at that. This, above all else, is his favorite place to be. And perhaps there is sin in that, but he can’t seem to find it. “No,” he says softly, and she lifts his head to look at him. His hand cradles her jaw as he admires her beautiful face. “Nothing about you is sinful, my love.”
Millie smiles warmly, though John can see a hint of sadness behind it. He pulls her in and tries to kiss it away. He’s always been able to kiss it away… and he hopes he always can. “Above all,” he murmurs, “love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.”
John shifts, turning Millie to her back as he leans over her; her soft giggles melding with the quiet crackling of the candle’s flames; the wind against the old clapboard siding. Her hands skim his sides and she’s moaning under his touch; her breaths heavy against his ear. He wishes he could make a recording of those sounds. It’s a symphony to him. A masterpiece.
“I love you,” she gasps as they break together, and he buries his face against her neck, breathing her in.
John presses his lips beneath her ear, along her jaw, across her cheek. He presses his forehead to hers and closes his eyes. “Oh, I love you, Millie.” He transfers his weight to his forearm, burying his fingers in her soft hair. “I love you more than anything in the world.”
He kisses her again, deep and languid, like she’s an oasis in the desert. He rolls to his side, his hand smoothing over her hip; gently squeezing her thigh as she presses against him.
“I wish,” Millie says softly, her nose brushing his, “I wish we could stay here forever.” Her hand is on his chest, her lithe fingertips tracing slowly over his skin.
And oh how he wishes they could. He would stay in this bed with her forever. He would forsake all things for her. Only for her. He has never known love and completion the way he has with her. “I do, too.”
“For tonight, let’s just pretend.”
His hand closes around her jaw, and she lifts her eyes to him. God, they’re beautiful. She is so beautiful. “For tonight, it’s only you, my love. It’s only us. For tonight, this is forever.”
Millie lifts her fingers to his chin, leaning in to kiss him, and the earth around them burns.
And here it is, our final night alive… as the earth burns to the ground…
Their daughter lay in his lap, peaceful in death, and together they go quietly into the sunrise. Into their forever.
Ah, shit. Here we go again. Did I fall in love with another tall, dark-haired, emotionally broken sad boi who may or may not have committed varying degrees of mass murder?
Absolutely a sucker for the “ARE YOU HURT” once over. The wandering hands, frantically checking for blood or pain just SOMETHING. ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED of what they might find while searching. The panicked look on the face of the person doing the checking, the glossy, confused “I’m fine” from the person being checked. HOO BOY just inject that shit right into my veins
The cool evening breeze blows in through the window in the hall as Rick passes, and though he’d killed the bastard himself, he wonders if he’ll ever not be on alert again. What with the creep’s magical ability to waltz in through the window and whisk away himself – and anyone of his choosing – in a flurry of sand. What the hell is this life?
Rick shakes his head to clear his thoughts, his hair falling in his eyes. He stops outside the door and clears his throat, haphazardly pushing his hair away from his face. The action is futile; it only flops right back over his forehead.
He pauses a moment, then lifts his hand and knocks. When the door opens, he forgets to breathe. She looks so goddamn beautiful. The ends of her hair are damp, and her cheeks are flushed — she must have just stepped out of the bath. As his gaze falls lower, he sees the sheen of water glistening on her neck and chest. “Hi. Hello.” He snaps his mouth shut and forces his eyes back to hers.
“Hello,” Evelyn says softly. She’s smiling, and tilts her head. A curl slips loose from her braid, and Rick wants to reach out to touch it.
“I just—“ he hesitates, shifting his weight to the other foot. “I wanted to see how you were. How you’re doing. Y’know. After all that. So are you good? You’re good?”
Evelyn’s smile widens, and she pulls the door open further, stepping back to gesture inside. “I am. Would you like a drink?”
Rick takes a breath and nods, stepping past her. He waits as she closes the door, then catches her hand on her way to the drink cart. She meets his eyes, and he pulls her in, slipping his free arm around her waist. He can feel the warmth of her skin through her thin nightgown, and he tightens his grip on her. He lifts her hand, settling it on his chest before brushing his fingers along her jaw. She’s so goddamn beautiful; so goddamn perfect, he can’t stop the worry that she’s going to come to her senses and realize she’s made a terrible mistake. That she shouldn’t be associating with the likes of him – a scoundrel. Perhaps she’ll chock it up to the heat of the desert and the adrenaline of near-death. But now, safely back in Cairo, she’ll come to her senses.
“What is it?”
Rick blinks, her gentle voice pulling him from his thoughts. He realizes she’s staring up at him, watching closely, the line between her delicate brows furrowed. “I’m just counting my blessings, is all.” His thumb brushes her cheek, and her fingers curl around his shirt. He leans down, brushing his lips against hers before capturing them in a slow kiss. She sighs into his mouth, and he pulls her closer, his fingers slipping back into her hair to cradle her head. His tongue begs entrance, and he groans quietly when she allows him.
They part, breathless, and he rests his forehead against Evelyn’s. “I should let you get some rest,” he whispers, though he pulls her closer.
Evelyn’s hand slips up his chest, grasping the back of his neck. “I’m not at all tired, Mr. O’Connell.”
His eyes are closed, but he can hear the smile in her voice. Even so, he feels that fear rising in his throat. Terror is more like it. “No, I know, I just– I don’t–” He’s not unfamiliar with the feeling: his whole life has been one terror after another. Trauma, fighting, loss… But for the first time, he feels like he’s finally found something worth holding onto. He feels like if he lost Evelyn, he might finally perish. It is with astonishing clarity and horror that he realizes he is wholly, deeply, and irrevocably in love with her.
“Rick,” she whispers, and her lithe fingers trail his jaw. Rick opens his eyes to meet hers, and he sucks in a breath. He loves the sound of his name on her lips, and he never wants to go a day without hearing it. “What is it?”
Finally, he opens his eyes, pulling back just enough to look down at her and meet her gaze. He licks his lips and sighs, losing himself for a moment in her freckles; in the swirls of green and honey that make up her eyes. She is breathtakingly beautiful, and he can’t bring himself to understand why someone as beautiful and astonishingly intelligent wants someone like him. “I don’t wanna push you,” he says finally. He surprises himself – it’s not what he intends to say. He intends to keep it to himself, but once the words are out, it’s like a floodgate. “I don’t want you to change your mind or think you made a mistake ‘cause I’m crazy about you, ‘n’ you’re way outta my league–”
Evelyn presses a finger to his lips, and he stops. Her gaze is intense and intent. “Stay with me tonight.”
Rick’s eyebrows disappear behind his hair. “Evy, I–”
“There’s nothing that could change my mind about you. You can’t scare me off or push me too far. I would expect you’ve figured out by now, I’m not a girl who’s easily frightened.”
At that, Rick smiles. It’s quite possibly one of the things he loves most about her – her absolute unbridled bravery in the face of horror. “You’ve got a point there.” For the time being, he suppresses his worries and drops both hands to her thighs to lift her up. Her nightgown bunches at her hips, and his fingers brush her skin. He kisses her, slow and heated as he makes his way to the bed, laying her back gently. He toes out of his boots and climbs over her, careful not to crush her; his weight braced on an elbow beside her head.
Evelyn’s fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, and Rick gasps against her lips when her fingers slip beneath it. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she murmurs between kisses, “than I am of how much I want you.” Despite her words, he can feel her heart racing; hammering against her chest. And more than ever, he wants to do everything he can to show her how much he cares about her. To make it special.
He lets her work open the rest of his buttons, and he shifts his weight to shrug out of his shirt, tossing it to the floor. Smirking, he watches as she drinks him in, her fingers delicately brushing over his broad chest. God, he never wants to lose this feeling. He never wants to let go of the way she’s looking at him; the feeling of her fingertips against his skin.
Slipping his hand under her nightgown, he caresses the soft skin of her thigh gently, pushing the silky fabric upward as he ducks his head, pressing slow, soft kisses to her neck, along her collar bone. He’s encouraged by the sound she makes; by the way her fingers grip his shoulders. Breaking away, he sits back on his knees and pulls her up with him, holding her gaze. Slowly, he gathers her nightgown in his hands and tugs it upward; she lifts her arms above her head, allowing him to pull it off. It flutters forgotten to the floor with his discarded shirt. “My god, Evy,” he breathes, shaking his head.
Her hands clasp over her chest as her cheeks flush crimson, and he shakes his head again. He reaches out, gently taking her hands in one of his to pull them away; his other cradles her jaw. “No, sweetheart,” he whispers, licking his lips, “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you.” He seals his sentiment with a languid kiss, and he swallows her sigh.
+
The cool evening breeze gives way to the chill of the night, floating in through the white chiffon curtains adorning Evelyn’s windows. Rick sprawls on his back, gripping Evelyn tight against him, her head settling on his chest as the sweat dries on their skin. As her fingers trace invisible patterns on his abdomen, he trails his finger along her shoulder, still reveling in her soft skin, warm against his own. He lifts his free hand to cover hers, stilling it on his stomach.
“I’m in love with you, Evy,” he whispers. He draws in a shaky breath, his heart pounding in his chest. She shifts, lifting herself to her elbow to look down at him. Her dark curls tumble forward, and as his eyes are fixed on hers, he pushes them over her shoulder. “You were never just a contract. Matter of fact, since the moment I met you, I realized you’re the most important thing – the most precious thing I’ve ever held, ‘n’ I… I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to.”
“Rick–”
“I don’t have much. I know I don’t have much to give you. But I want you. I want to be–”
“O’Connell–”
“–with you. I realized some things out there, and I–” Rick’s cut off by Evelyn’s lips against his own; her small, lithe hand on his jaw. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her closer, lifting his hand to her face.
“I love you,” she whispers when they part, and Rick’s face lights up. “I haven’t the slightest care what you do or do not have, Rick. I care about you.” Her eyes fall to his chest, and she smiles, bashful. The sight makes Rick’s heart swell. She’s so unbelievably beautiful; so perfectly adorable. Though he speaks a couple of languages (enough to get by, thank you very much), there aren’t proper words for how he feels about her. He hopes that maybe one day he can find them. “I care about this. Us.”
Rick bends his knee, pulling Evelyn closer. His fingers trail down her spine as he tucks her hair behind her ear. “I don’t care what plagues you unleash next, as long as I get to hear that, I’m a happy man,” he teases. Before she can protest, he pulls her in for a kiss, smiling against her lips.
It’s then that he realizes how long it’s been since he was happy. Rather, he realizes that he had never truly found happiness. There had been women along the way to ease the sting of loneliness, of course. But no one had ever done what Evelyn had; he had never felt for anyone the way he feels for her. He handed his heart to her in that desert, and he never wants it back.
I was struck with SUPER random inspiration for a fic, and now, after 6 months I’m mad again that they couldn’t have even bothered to use a single ‘Hello, Dean’ sound clip from one of the 12 seasons he was in to give them a happy en—
Bringing something “full circle” is a great device for thematic elements over the course of a story. Bookending can be great.
However, years of rigorous, detailed, painful character development and movement of stories should not, under any circumstances, be destroyed for the sake of bringing something “full circle.”
That’s not a satisfying ending. That’s saying to your viewers; your readers; your fans, “Remember all that time you invested? Eh, didn’t matter. Train’s right back in the station. Hop on off. Sorry for bumpy ride around the block.”
The cause and effect is negated. If you start a story, throw in a bunch of emotional, situational, and personal development in the middle, you should end up further down the road than where you began. But if you start a story and are able to take away all of the middle and you still end up right where you began with no betterment or differences save for the age of your characters… that’s not a good ending.
It’s like you make a sandwich just to remove all the filling and eat the bread. Why make the sandwich if you just wanted bread?
Why create meaningful relationships and focus large portions of entire seasons on them, only for them to be completely erased in the end? Why focus so much on free will and finding who you are and being happy despite everything, only for him to die unfulfilled, alone, and co-dependent… right where he started?
I saw a post somewhere and if I find it, I’ll tag the OP, but it went something like this:
Sam, if the last 15 years never happened: White picket fence, wife, dog, kids, etc.
Dean, if the last 15 years never happened: Dies alone on a hunt gone wrong.
Sam, after 15 years of character development: White picket fence, wife, dog, kids, etc.
Dean, after 15 years of character development: Dies alone on a hunt gone wrong.
No matter what the issue was and how or why that was the ending we got… it was deeply unsatisfying to someone who has been on this journey since day 1. Since the absolute beginning. I’m not discussing this through the goggles of a ship. I’m speaking as someone who appreciates well-written stories. As someone who invested twelve years (eighty percent of the entirety of the show) in a character and the development of a deep, meaningful relationship (whether or not you view it as romantic).
There was a lot missing from that finale. A lot. I can make jokes about it all day, but overall, I’m deeply disappointed and hurt by whatever went down behind the scenes for that to be the final product (something, I’m certain, we’ll never know).
I’m done beating the dead horse. I’ll carry on (heh) with my fic writing. Because no matter what happened with that finale, I will never not love these characters. They’re in my heart and under my skin (literally, I have Cas’s tattoo on my arm) forever.
Anybody have a transcript of Dean’s death scene? I’m writing a fix-it and I just don’t feel like putting myself through watching that train wreck again.
Hello, beautiful people, I just hit 700 followers!
To celebrate, because I’m back on my DeanCas bull shit and #cantstopwontstop, send me asks with your headcanons or mini prompts, and I’ll write you a drabble!
Reblogging if you want to send me fix-it headcanons, fix-it prompts, Heaven prompts, etc.
