I Am Having Thoughts About Law Being Extremely Worried Any Time Roci Gets Sick, Just Because He Remembers

I am having thoughts about Law being extremely worried any time Roci gets sick, just because he remembers how miserable he was when he was sick, and maybe he thinks it’s his fault, because his immune system’s been compromised by Amber Lead

this one really got away from me it really was just supposed to be the first one with a different ending but anyway here it is lol

hey. after the tachihara hunting dog reveal how many times do you think gin and hirotdu got to think back to all of the close calls they've had, bullets that just barely missed anything vital, remembering how panicked tachihara had looked, how he undoubtedly was the only reason it didn't hit anything vital? how many times has tachihara saved their lives with the skill he hides, the skill that would out him as a traitor, as someone who can't be his true self anywhere? who still chose to save his family and nearly reveal himself, who betrayed them anyway?

It will never not be funny to me that Dean is several inches taller than Chuck, so he just litterally looks down upon God as he threatens him.

Quick little comfort character doodle as I try and ward away art block

a story where dean opens up about his childhood to cas would be amazing 💙💙

destiel, 1.5k, established relationship, hurt-comfort, angst, anxiety attack, mentions of abuse and childhood trauma not in complete detail

Cas didn’t need to sleep.

Before he and Dean started dating, Cas would spend his nights out in the library, on his own, and Dean always hated it. He hated knowing that Cas would be out there on his own, waiting for somebody to wake up to keep him company. It used to keep Dean up some nights, when he was hopelessly in love with the angel but too scared to do anything about it, and all he could picture was Cas sat on his own in the dark, waiting.

So when they did get together, Dean urged Cas to spend his nights with him. And at first, it had been a way to keep him company even when Dean was asleep. He’d fall asleep with Cas beside him, and wake up with him in the same position, tangled up in Dean’s limbs that had soothed him through the lonely night. Dean would kiss him Goodnight and kiss him good morning, and they’d get up and leave the bedroom together.

But sometimes, Cas being in bed with Dean was more for Dean’s benefit than the angel’s.

Dean could feel the warmth of him pressed up against his back through the thin material of his sleep shirt. Cas had his body draped along the length of Dean’s back, an arm hooked over his waist, a leg between his — practically every part of Cas was touching him, and it kept him grounded. He needed the contact to keep himself sane.

“Another one,” Castiel’s breath fanned over the back of his neck as his voice came out in a low rumble. “Breathe, Dean.”

It had happened more times than he’d like to admit, that Cas helped him breathe. Dean didn’t get panic attacks, he didn’t have anxiety or depression, he was fine. But… there had been occasions where he thought too hard and it felt like he’d been winded, or his vision blurred and his chest ached. And before Cas, he’d forced himself through it. He clenched his jaw and sat stiffened until it passed, or at least until it got marginally better, and he carried on with whatever he was doing. If Sam asked, he got told the same thing every time, that he was fine.

But Dean couldn’t lie to Cas. The first time it had happened in front of the angel he’d tried to shrug him off, but Cas had seen right through him, and just forced him to sit down and eased him through it.

Cas has been easing him through it for almost six hours by that point.

The case that he and Cas had worked had left Dean with a nauseous swirl in his gut instead of the usual relief. He’d grit his teeth through the drive home and only hadn’t crashed because of his partner’s hand on his leg. He got food and didn’t choke because of the warmth of the angel sat by his side. When they got back to the bunker the only reason Dean hadn’t sat and drank an entire bottle of whiskey was because Cas had led him to their bedroom before he had the chance to pour a third glass.

When he’d been doing things, it was easier to try and ignore the feeling. But when he just laid there with nothing to do but stare at the wall, he thought. And when he thought about the case too much, it physically took his breath away.

“That’s better,” Cas had one hand against Dean’s chest and rubbed his sternum with the heel of his palm, and his other arm was underneath the pillow Dean laid on. “Another one.”

Dean forced the breaths until the ache in his chest subsided and his vision stopped swimming. When the wall finally stopped looking blurry, his shoulders slumped slightly, and he tipped his head back until he was flush against Cas. “Thanks.” His voice was a little rough and a little shaky.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Cas sounded so concerned that it made Dean’s heart ache. To be fair, he didn’t even know what was wrong, why the case had fucked him up so much. Dean hadn’t been able to tell him at the time without compromising the case by sending himself into a spiral.

“Peachy,” Dean continued to stare at the wall. “M’fine, Cas.”

Though he was breathing fine, the palm that rubbed against his chest hadn’t stopped. It was nice, it kept him at least somewhat relaxed.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” There was a pause behind him, before, “If you want to. You don’t have to.”

Dean hesitated, swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in his throat.

The case they’d worked was at the house of a mother and her young son who kept getting unexplainable bruises, and it turned out that they were being haunted by the ghost of the boy’s deceased father. They spoke to the mother and found out all about her dead husband — the ex-military, violent, angry man — and they’d spoken to the son, and it just hit a bit too close to home. It made Dean think too much about it.

He’d never told Cas much about his dad. He knew the basics, knew that there had been some issues, but Dean had never gone into too much detail. That shit was in the past, he had forced himself to forgive and forget his father’s actions. He supposed it was why when he was forced to remember it all, it threw him through the fucking loop. Because he’d forced himself to pack it all away years ago.

“Dean,” Cas prompted softly when he hadn’t replied, and rubbed the heel of his palm over his sternum again. “With me?”

Dean cleared his throat and nodded, and forced himself to focus on the angel’s touch, the warmth of his body, the breath on his neck. “Yeah, um…” he took in a shuddering breath and exhaled before he spoke again. “The case just got me thinkin’.”

There was silence behind him. Cas just pressed his palm to his chest again, as if to say go on.

“That… fuck, that kid,” Dean hated the way his voice wavered, he wanted to choke down the feeling and shove it back into the box that he’d kept locked up for years, that he hadn’t touched in god knows how long. “He didn’t deserve that.”

“No, he didn’t,” Castiel agreed solemnly. “He was just a boy.”

Dean’s throat constricted. “It wasn’t fair, it was his dad, he was supposed to… to keep him safe, not to… to take his anger out on him.”

Cas was silent for a moment, continued the ministrations against Dean’s chest. “There’s no complacency in a man that angry,” there was silence, before, “That… boy, he didn’t deserve it. Any of it.”

Dean’s eyes stung and he squeezed them shut. He knew that they weren’t talking about the boy. “He’s been dead for years.”

“So?” Castiel also knew that they weren’t talking about the boy. “He was also alive for years. Time makes no difference to the extent of the damage that was done.”

It was the gentleness of Cas’ tone that broke the barrier, and Dean felt as the first tears slipped past his eyelashes, over the curve of his nose. He took a few moments of silence, breathed through his mouth and focused on the pressure on his chest, before he spoke again.

“It scares me, sometimes. The… the anger he left me with. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt Sam, or… or you.”

Again, Castiel didn’t reply straight away. His hand lifted from Dean’s chest and pressed to his shoulder, pulled him until he laid flat on his back, looking up at the angel. His expression was so loving that Dean’s throat clenched again.

“Dean,” there was a certain sincerity to Castiel’s voice, a hard seriousness that he felt in his bones. “You are nothing like your father.”

It felt like getting winded. Dean had to remember to breathe back in as he absorbed the statement, eyes flickered around the angel’s face for any crack in the sincerity. He couldn’t find one. The tears fell a little faster.

A warm hand cupped Dean’s cheek before Cas’ head dipped down, and their mouths met with a tenderness that sucked most of the aches out of Dean’s bones. It was soft and warm and felt like safety.

“You’re not,” Cas promised again as soon as the kiss had broken, like he couldn’t bare the thought of Dean doubting him. “You are good, Dean. You are who you are in spite of him, not because of him.”

The lump in his throat just grew larger. Dean tried to swallow around it but couldn’t, so he blinked away the tears and nodded, and just leaned up to kiss Cas again.

He hoped that in every press of his lips, stroke of his tongue, in every breath that they shared, that he could convey the I love you that he wasn’t able to say in that moment.

If reincarnation is real I wonder how many people stare at their own art in museums, listen to their own music they made in a different life and read books they don't remember writing