Dean spent so long hating Jack and (while I love papa cas, I really do!) Cas just arrived. Sam has literally been the Father figure to him since day 1.
Sam has more reason to hate the son of Lucifer than anyone, but he see’s past that. He see’s Jack as just an innocent kid, someone who was born into something he never had a choice in.
Someone who everyone wants but only because he can do something for them.
Someone who scared, alone, and just wants a family.
Someone who was just like him, back when he ran away to Stanford.
And instead of punishing him or hating him for his parentage, he becomes the parent he needed himself back then.
@winchester-reload : I couldn’t make it dirty. I tried. But it didn’t want to. The art was just that fucking good.
Dean is acting weird because he caught the bouquet. He caught the bouquet and now everything about him is weird. And Castiel thinks it’s weird that a bunch of flowers are making Dean so weird.
Dean is sitting on the small grassy hill overlooking the remnants of the wedding ceremony, fiddling with the roses. They’re a passionate red, though several of them now have bruised petals thanks to Dean’s fingers pinching and picking at them.
“Dean,” Castiel says.
“I caught the bouquet,” Dean says, sounding weird about it still.
“Yes,” Castiel answers, brow furrowing. “You caught the bouquet.”
“Do ya know what that means?” Dean asks.
Castiel sits in front of him, stilling his listless fingers. “What does it mean?” He knows what it means, but if Dean says it, he might stop being so weird.
“Means I’m the next to get married.” He can barely finish the sentence. His voice cracks and he starts to laugh. A full, belly laugh that goes on until tears pool in the corner of his eyes. He falls onto his back laughing until his sides ache. “Can you fucking imagine?!” he gasps. “Married! Oh, my God!”
Castiel plucks two of the roses and some baby’s breath out of the arrangement. Slowly, he begins to twist the stems, winding them together. “I can imagine it,” he says, squinting seriously at his work. He remembers how to do this from the time he swore he’d never fight again. Never stand in blood and solidarity with the Winchesters ever again.
Dean stops laughing. He wipes at his flushed cheeks with the meat of his palm. “Dude,” he says accusingly, but Castiel isn’t making a joke.
“I can,” he shrugs. Flower after flower, he weaves carefully, picking off the bruised petals. Dean didn’t ruin too much. After a time, the hunter sits up to watch. Eventually begins to pass him another flower when he needs it.
“Who the hell would want to marry me?”
Castiel stops working. Turns his blue eyes to Dean. It’s important to look him in the eye at times like these. It’s too easy for Dean to dismiss him when he doesn’t. He’s mastered it. “If an angel was allowed, I would.”
Clearly Dean doesn’t know what to do with that. But he doesn’t turn away, either. He takes the ring of flowers from Castiel. Cradles them in his hands like he’ll crush them just by association. He won’t. And he doesn’t say anything because everything he has in his head is something that he doesn’t want to say.
So Castiel takes pity. “If it was how I could stay with you forever.”
Dean raises his arms and gently places the flower crown atop Castiel’s head. It feels… like rings are meant to, he supposes. Like Dean’s always made him feel.
Thank you so much! I’ll totally need that this week! And the same to you!
So, usually over the holidays, my mom bans talk about politics. On Thanksgiving, we had a brief exchange anyway. I was telling her that Obama used to send out nice emails to us government workers over the holidays and stuff and give us administrative leave. Trump has never once done that. Though, the secretaries have.
So, my mom says, “did you vote for him?”
And I say, “no way. I’m a poor, queer woman. That’s already three strikes. He literally wants people like me to die.”
And my mom’s face scrunches up and she says, “I didn’t vote for him, either. None of us [the family] did.”
My mom, the Republican actually had a limit. I’m proud of her.
Jupiter Astrid James 