sometimes i want to call you and ask if you remember different memories but they aren’t even big memories, just days we existed together, and i think you’d say no
2.02 & 3.05
She’s just always been there for me, taken care of me. And now it’s my turn and I don’t know what to do.
If you use too
much of your own thread
to patch everyone around
you up then
“Hey, wait… Where did you get that?!”
#this is before they get together #castiel started tutoring Dean and one day he sees castiel all beat up #who did this to you Cas?#your so called friends #dean then goes straight to the locker room and beats the shit out of them #later he returns to cas’s side and says #they’re not my friends anymore #dean then grabs cas’s hands and takes him to library to study and other things….
all i want from the world is a full fic of this
I’m sorry but I need this I need this more than I’ve ever needed anything please
IF I HAVE TO WRITE ANOTHER FICLET MYSELF I SWEAR TO CHUCK I WILL BE SO PISSED. SOMEONE WRITE IT. PLEASE. PLEASE.
(I hope this suits your liking!)
It is 3:06 and Cas was late. Dean didn’t have a problem when it came to his being late, but Cas, who was always so punctual and polite and even grammatically correct, was late. By a walloping six minutes too. A record.
Dean sighed and leaned against the wall next to the library, keeping an eye out for his tutor. He could ditch out now, blame it on Cas’s lateness, but Sam would never accept it and would nag and bitch about his grades and what graduation could bring and all sorts of shit. Dean watched the parade of people before him when he saw him- the dark-haired rumpled teen, the one who walked as though he had a rod glued to his spine, the one who stared more intently at people than anyone Dean had even seen before. Besides, if anything, Cas would be disappointed in him. And Cas was… he wasn’t anything like anyone Dean had ever met. He was patient, tough, and sincere. The combination was weird, but in a good way.
“Hello, Dean,” Cas said as he stood before him. Dean gulped, could only think blue, and then smiled, beginning to reply with some shit answer, but then looking to Cas’s left.
Was… was that a bruise? “Who did this to you?” He growled.
Cas tried to pull away, to hide, but it was too late- Dean held his chin, cupped it, really, so he could examine the damage. It was dark and puffy, and looked like the exact shape of someone’s fist.
“Who did this to you?” It was almost a growl, and Dean flinched a little when Cas looked up at him, eyes wide. Open. Vulnerable.
“Your..” he hesitates, clears his throat, looks at the floor. “Your friends, Dean. Your teammates- they… they think…”
Dean did not want to hear Cas say what they thought. Because he already knew, had even joined in, sometimes, talking about Cas’s straight-laced attitude, his staring, the way he knew everything about everywhere and everyone. About how he stared mostly at guys. Cas hearing about it, Cas knowing, Cas being hurt by this, burned. Like nothing else Dean had felt before.
Dean shrugged off his backpack and handed it to Cas. “Hold this, I’ll be right back.”
Cas was torn. He wanted to run, run from the beautiful boy who mocked him, made fun of him, made references he clearly didn’t understand, but the way Dean had looked at Cas… he needed to stay.
If nothing else, he would stick to the plan. He would help Dean Winchester pass History, even if it killed him.
Dean reappeared fifteen minutes later, looked considerably more ruffled than he ever had. Cas rose from his seat, worried, as Dean tried to smooth down his hair. There was some blood at the corner of his mouth. Cas tried not to stare. “Dean…” he whispered, almost shaking.
“Cas, it’s fine,” started Dean gruffly, and sat down, wincing. Cas couldn’t make himself sit down, to rush to get a Kleenex, something. “I.. those guys? They’re jerks. And I’m sorry they…” He paused. “I’m… they’re not my friends anymore.” He looked up at him, in one of the most honest expressions Cas’d ever seen from him. It startled him. “I’m…”
“It’s okay, Dean.”
“They’re never gonna mess with you again, okay?” He grumbles further, eyes narrowed. “They touch you, they come anywhere near you, I’ll rip their lungs out, alright?”
“That hardly seems necessary,” Cas replied, but smiled. “Thank you, Dean.” He sat down, shrugging his coat off of his shoulders, and hands Dean’s bag across the table. “I thought we would start on Mary, Queen of Scots.”
Another lazy doodle.
the sentiment behind this is blinding.
this is one of the most brilliant pieces of Sherlock art I’ve seen O-O
Sarah Kay & Phil Kaye “An Origin Story” (x)