#destiel if you squint
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I've been watching spn since high school but for some reason it took me this long to make actual art for it.
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Today, Dean has trouble falling asleep. He walks into the kitchen and finds Jack and Cas at the table, both with smoothies that must have come from a miraculously muted blender. They invite Dean over to sit and Cas offers Dean the rest of his drink. They resolve to share as Dean joins in the non/little-sleeping entity tradition of playing checkers and drinking smoothies.
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Grave Encounter
Whoosh.
The sound of wings has Dean pivot and squint into the silvery darkness of the cemetery. As he turns, he drops the shovel and pulls his gun from the back of his jeans.
The figure marching toward him isn’t Castiel, but it’s definitely an angel. Eyes blazing white, the tall man in a tailored suit has the typical almighty poise Dean has come to associate with these feathered bastards. And this one is pissed.
He doesn’t break his stride when Dean cocks the gun and aims in a two-handed, determined grip, belting a “Stop it right there, Swan Lake!” the angel’s way. But he just keeps coming, and Dean sees the flash of a blade sliding from the angel’s sleeve into his palm.
Screw this.
Dean pulls the trigger, twice. The shots hit the angel square in the chest. The double-tap won’t kill the immortal son-of-a-bitch; Dean knows this. But at least the impact slows him down somewhat. The angel stops. His eyes flicker as he stares down at the smoking holes in his suit with indignation.
It’s enough time for Dean to stash his gun and pull his own Angel Blade from his jacket.
“Who are you?!” he yells at the angel. “What do you want?”
His opponent lifts his smooth, handsome face. The blaze in his eyes dims down to a dangerous glow. Expressionless, he stares at Dean.
“My name is Tamiel,” he says, in a voice cool as silk. He cocks his head. “And I want you to die.”
Dean swallows, but there is no room for fear. Frankly, he’s done being afraid of these holier-than-thou motherfuckers who - except for Castiel - have turned out to be the biggest monsters of them all. Defiance kicks through Dean.
“Why?!” he shouts. If he has to die today, at least he wants to know the reason.
“Because it is your destiny.” The angel lifts the blade, letting it glint in the moonlight. “It always has been, and it is time you stop running from your fate.”
Dean’s blood boils.
Screw destiny! Screw fate! And screw God, who’s jerking off on a beach somewhere while his creation is going to hell.
And running? Dean may be a lot of things, but he’s never been a coward. He’s always stood his ground and faced what was coming head-on. And he will do the same now.
He plants his feet and hisses.
“Bite me!”
The angel charges. For all Dean knows, Tamiel wouldn’t even need a blade. He could kill Dean without touching him, and in the split second before they clash, Dean wonders why the angel chooses this - messy, physical combat - instead of the swift, zero-contact kills his kind usually prefer.
Fine by me, Dean thinks. He’d rather go down in a fight than evaporate at the click of celestial fingers.
He blocks Tamiel’s thrust and spins, redirecting the angel’s momentum past him. His forearm groans at the contact - the angel’s flesh feels like he’s made of marble. The feathered fucker looks surprised, but he quickly regroups and attacks again. Dean blocks - this time a vicious stab aimed from above, and his ulna lights up in pain, but he ignores it, driving his own blade forward. He misses Tamiel’s ribcage by a hair’s breadth - the son of a bitch is simply too fast - and ends up diving through underneath his arm to swivel back into a fighting stance on the other side. Already, Dean is breathing heavily from the effort, and his arm - bruised, possibly worse - is on fire.
The angel, in contrast, hasn’t even broken into a sweat. He still looks angry, but a glacial smile plays around his lips, and he tauntingly switches his weapon from one hand to the other and back.
“Not bad for a miserly human,” he says, disdain bleeding through his words.
He begins to circle Dean, like a predator circling his prey.
This is a game for the angel, Dean realizes. Tamiel could have taken him down in a wink, but he wants to enjoy this.
“You are doomed, Dean Winchester,” Tamiel says acidly. “And it will be my pleasure to send you back where you belong - back to Hell!”
Now it’s Dean who’s driven by pure, blinding anger. And by fear.
On instinct, he lets rip a feral scream and throws himself at the angel, dagger first.
Taken aback, Tamiel reacts a fraction slower than before. He tries to grab Dean’s arm, but he only catches his sleeve. Dean stumbles into the angel’s chest, his elbow catching Tamiel’s chin, and they both lose their balance. They fall in a heap. Dean’s blade is harmlessly wedged between them; he can’t angle it enough to impale the angel as they go down.
Tamiel, however, can. When they hit the ground, Dean feels the white-hot shock of a blade being plunged deep into his side. He gasps.
The angel’s weight pressing down on him, Dean can’t breathe, and he can only gargle in horror when, with a squelching sound, the dagger is pulled out of his flesh again. Pain sears through his side and deep into his belly.
His vision wavers. Tamiel pushes himself off him, a looming, blurry figure radiating wrath. Dean sees him lift his arm, the Angel Blade in hand, dripping blood - Dean’s blood - to deliver the final blow.
Dean does not close his eyes.
Instead, he takes all the adrenaline that’s left in him, all the rage, all the desperation he can muster and, with a scream, he sits up and shoves his own blade into the angel’s chest, all the way to the hilt.
Tamiel freezes. The dagger drops from his hand. His body begins to flicker, a silver blaze spreading from the wound until it envelops him completely and obliterates him in angelic white. Dean, blinded, has to turn his head away and squeeze his eyes shut.
Then it is over.
Darkness and silence return to the cemetery. The only remaining sound is the thumping of Dean’s heart as he falls back and clutches at his belly. The adrenaline is still keeping the worst of the pain at bay, but he knows this is bad. Blood is flowing freely through his fingers. His shirt is already soaked with it. There’s a tingling sensation in his limbs, and his guts throb in the rhythm of his heartbeat. This is nothing a few stitches and a few shots of whiskey can fix.
“God…”, he moans, full well knowing that no deity is listening or even cares about him bleeding out in a fucking graveyard - how ironic is that? - but he can’t help it.
“God… Uhhhngg.”
Shifting painfully, he fumbles his phone out of his pocket. His first instinct is to call Sam. It is always his first instinct. But even if his brother could get here in the next few minutes, what could he do? This is beyond any of their field medic skills.
“Shit,” Dean grits out against a new wave of pain and nausea. If only Cas were here, with his serious face and his quick-healing touch. But the angel is off somewhere caught up in a war, out of reach of Dean’s prayers.
Fingers shaking, Dean squints at his phone and dials 9-1-1. He has no idea how to explain his injury or what he’s doing in a graveyard in the middle of the night, but he’ll think of something once they’ve patched him up. Might not even become a problem, since he’s feeling weaker by the minute from blood loss. Deceptive, leaden tiredness is creeping in, and he‘s cold - the call signs of Death’s approach. With a burst of fear, Dean looks around, expecting a Reaper to appear from the shadows. Vision greying, he has trouble holding on to his phone.
“911, what’s your emergency?” The tinny voice of the operator asks.
“I… I’ve… uh-“ Dean’s mouth refuses to form the words, his tongue thick, his brain fogged by mixed messages of pain and sleep. “Pl-…ease…” comes out in a whisper before he realizes it’s too late.
He’s run out of strength. He’s run out of time.
The phone drops from his hand.
Flat on his back, red-black wetness spreading underneath him, above him a canopy of stars, he waits for peace to push aside the last flurries of panic.
It’s okay, he tells himself. He’s a hunter. It was always going to end like this, somewhere, in darkness and violence and blood.
Faintly, he wishes that he wasn’t alone. That Sammy was here.
No. It’s better that he’s not.
It’s okay, he tells himself again, heart thump-thumping sluggishly in his chest.
Why are the stars so loud?
He barely hears the whoosh of wings over the buzzing in his ears, and he’s too close to unconsciousness to recognize the figure materializing beside him. Tamiel? He can’t fight him off again.
The presence kneels beside him. A hand gently settles over the wound in his belly. There’s a flare of white light. Warmth runs through Dean, nudging his heart to beat… beat… beat. His vision begins to clear, and the pain in his guts lessens. Blinking, he finds himself looking into familiar blue eyes.
“Cas…?”
The angel studies him intently. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah…”
Carefully, Dean moves and pats himself down. His arm’s fine. The wound in his belly has fused, leaving an echo of tender new skin and soreness behind. There’s some lingering weakness, probably due to the blood loss, but he definitely doesn’t feel like dying anymore.
Gingerly, Dean sits up.
“Yeah, thanks, Cas. That was-“
“-close, I know. You should be more careful.”
Cas’ face looks haggard and serious. Only now does Dean notice that Castiel, too, looks like he’s been through the wringer. No wounds. Angels in their full power don’t do wounds. But he has dark circles under his eyes, his stubble is approaching beard status, and his trenchcoat is wrinkled and stained.
“I could say the same to you. You look like crap, Cas!”
One hand bracing his side, Dean gets his feet under him and, with Castiel’s help, he’s finally standing upright again.
“We’ve taken some losses,” the angel replies gravely. “The battle for heaven… it’s demanding my full attention. I almost didn’t hear your prayer.” His eyes darken. “I almost came too late.”
Dean blinks in confusion. He feels lightheaded.
“Prayer? I didn’t-”
But he did.
If only Cas were here…
The thought had been enough. Enough for the angel to leave a raging war - wings against horns - behind and swoop down to save his ass. Again.
Castiel just looks at him in that quiet, penetrating way that he has.
Dean doesn’t cast his eyes away.
“Thanks,” he says sincerely. He feels an awkward smile tug at his lips.
Castiel nods. “You’re welcome.”
And then, with another whoosh, Cas is gone again, leaving Dean standing there, grateful, dizzy and oddly alone.
#whumptober 2023#no.4#I see the danger it's written there in your eyes#supernatural#spn#fanfic#dean winchester#castiel#destiel if you squint#whump#hurt dean#hurt/comfort#blood tw
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Whumpcember 2023, Day 1, Prompt: Fever Stabbed
Trigger Warnings: stabbing, loved one almost dying, mentions of severe past trauma
Taglist: @catsconflictscopicsandchamomile
Comment to be added to taglist!!
Sam watched as the angel (Muraqiel? Marazuel? Muraquel?) motioned with their blade, and then disappeared with the quick sound of wind gushing.
Sam then watched as Castiel, who had been standing closest to the angel, grunted and flinched, falling backwards to reveal an Angel blade in his chest.
Sam watched as Castiel’s true form flickered a dangerous fire-orange inside his vessel, along the lines of Jim Novak’s skeleton.
Which is when Sam stopped watching, because Dean rushed from where the angel had thrown him to, barely wincing when he put pressure on his ankle, to Cas’ side. Sam followed suit. To his surprise, Cas was still blinking, awake, and very much alive. His hands, as well as Dean’s, went to check for pulse and breath automatically anyway.
Dean had a very worried look on his face, one usually reserved for Sam. Though… there was something more to it now. “Cas.”, came with a high sob bleeding through it, breathless.
“Dean” came with a grunt and a wince, but it was a full sentence, like only Castiel had the capability of doing. “Cas.”
Well Sam knew that could go on forever and there were some pressing issues.
If Sam was a civilian, he would say that the look on Cas’ face would forever haunt him, more than the stab wound would. Cas looked scared to death and hopeful and desperate and all of it centered on Dean. But Sam wasn’t a civilian, and between everything he’d seen, felt, he wasn’t sure if this would even make the cut for a nightmare.
“Cas, we saw you.. flicker. Are you,- what was that? Can you- are you dying?” He knew it was blunt of him, but if Cas was dying they would need to know sooner rather than later.
It took a second to get an answer, but eventually Cas grunted out a “No”. Sam could see the relief flooding Dean’s eyes and slightly crumbling at his perfect posture. He looked over Cas once more, now knowing he wasn’t (actively) dying, and determined the next thing; the Angel blade had to be removed.
“Okay Cas, we need to get this blade out of you. Uhm.. will it bleed?”
Cas’ eyes widened. He seemed to steel himself. “Not, ..here”, came the vaguely ominous reply. “Okay, that’s.. good. Dean?” That seemed to snap Dean out of whatever it was he was thinking. “Yeah. Okay, Cas, brace yourself.”, Dean said, and wrapped his hands around the hilt of the blade, locking eyes with Sam, wincing when he realised he’d shifted the blade in Cas’ shoulder. At Sam’s nod, he pulled up, leaving Cas to fold double in pain with a low shout and lie back down with heaving breath.
Dean quickly threw the blade across the room, putting his hands back on Cas’ shoulders. “You good?”
“Far from it. I’ll live.” Cas sounded like someone had shoved sandpaper down his throat and torn at his voicebox. “Good. That’s good. Can you get up?”, Sam asked.
Cas seemed to consider it for a moment before giving up and lying more comfortably.
“I’ll need some time to recharge before I can heal myself… You two should try to locate Muraziel in the meantime.” “No, Cas, we’re not leaving you here-” “Dean. Go. I’ll stay.”
The brothers locked eyes before Sam nodded again, Dean got up, and Dean left.
It took Cas four hours to get up.
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Do not be afraid
👁 👁 👁
Wanted to post this art on its own
And here is the post that inspired this masterpiece
⬇️
#supernatural#supernatural fanart#spn#spn art#spn castiel#castiel art#castiel#supernatural castiel#digital art#really made me go out of my comfort zone#AND IM LOVING IT RAAAAAAA#destiel#if you squint but not really#castiel angel of the lord#spn angels#castiel angel form#gay gay homosexual gay#imean with the rainbow hues and shit
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We were never lovers, and we never will be, now. I do not regret that, however. I regret the conversations we never had, the time we did not spend together. I regret that I never told him that he made me happy, when I was in his company. The world was the better for his being in it. These things alone do I now regret: things left unsaid. And he is gone, and I am old.
—The Wake, Neil Gaiman
#back to clowning#no actually I'm not okay#spn#destiel#spn parallels#(if you squint)#15x09 the trap#15x18 despair#my edits#spnedit#destieledit#spncreatorsdaily#cowboycoven#kitchencule#useralison#donestiel#emeraldcas#userkels
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“sunshine x midnight rain” but the sunshine is actually deeply fucked up in the head
#my fav trope fr fr#they ARE a sunshine and they ARE traumatized#bubbly characters who have a dark side<3#my beloved#hangster#(Jake is the sunshine and he’s also fucked up in the head!)#thiam#(this is obvious)#(but is it?)#(it could honestly go both ways if you squint)#anderperry#(the blueprint)#lumity#(can go both ways tbh)#marceline x bubblegum#is destiel a sunshine x midnight rain?#you tell me#destiel
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Pictures Dean definitely has on his phone
Just cause I like this pic of it lol
#castiel#cas#spn cas#supernatural#spn castiel#supernatural castiel#spn fanart#supernatural fanart#archie art#destiel#if you squint
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fics where dean and cas get married are like. one of you is a convicted felon who is legally dead six times over and one of you is the possessed husk of an illinois accountant who went missing a decade ago. only one last name between the two of you and nary a social security number in sight. who is giving you a marriage license
#do you dean winchester take this man uh castiel uhhhhh (squints) castiel castiel? to be your husband#dean hissing under his breath: it’s dean smith dean smith dean SMITH are you trying to get me arrested#beth.txt#spn#supernatural#destiel
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Me trying to draw Cas in my style + some doodles 🫶🏻 (all the doodles are based off reaction pics/emojis 😭😭😭)
The "say hello" part is based off a tiktok I saw where the "hello!" Is just loud squeaking and I thought it was funny lol
#spn#spn fanart#fanart#supernatural#supernatural fanart#sam winchester fanart#sam winchester#dean winchester fanart#castiel fanart#dean winchester#castiel#dean and cas#dean and sam#sam and dean#destiel#kinda if you squint#ig#fun little doodles#i love them#the winchester brothers#not wincest#destiel fanart#if you want it to be#lol#doodles
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The power couple
#art#fanart#castiel#misha collins#dean winchester#jensen ackles#jackles#rainbow wings#demon dean#leviathan cas#destiel#if you squint
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sometimes when I watch supernatural (first mistake) there will be (1) singular shot of Cas looking (usually at Dean but also just in general) and I lose all my marbles. They are coins escaping a dropped purse on the filthy grocery store checkout, some of them gathered hasitly. Some of them rolling away never to be seen again
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What if we stayed here for one more minute?
One more second?
One more moment to remember this,
before everything changes and we’re not
the people we were ten minutes ago, or five, or even one.
Before everything shifts and we part ways.
Can we just pretend for one last breath,
to hold onto this for all it’s worth.
Get ready, get set, please don’t let go.
#bex writing#poetry#poem#idk what this is#i usually dont post poetry like this#but im feeling things today#so anyway here’s this#not tagging anyone#personal post#personal poetry#i guess this could be destiel if you squint#destiel#spn#supernatural
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> hey sam
still on our way up north
we just stopped for the night
10:30pm
> saw some cows at a farm by the road
i remembered you used to go nuts whenever we saw them when we were kids
we stopped and i made cas take a picture with me in front of them
> attached image
10:35pm
Sam opens the picture and huffs out a laugh. Right there, looking at the camera his brother smiles brightly, perched on a wooden fence with Cas standing between his legs, his arms wrapped around the former angel that is smiling at the camera too but in that reserved way of his. Behind them, in a field of tall green grass, there are a bunch of cows, some brown and some black and white, the majority of them are minding their own business, but a couple of them staring at the two strangers on the fence. He guesses they propped the phone up against the impala's windshield for the photo.
It hasn't been that long since they left, but Sam is sure he can see a couple new wrinkles have appeared on Dean's face. It still shocks him, if only because he never dared to imagine they would see each other grow old. He smiles at the picture, he is sure he has never seen Dean look as happy as he does in the daily pictures he sends Sam when they check in with him and Eileen.
> say hello to eileen for me
10:38pm
...
> and cas told me to send his regards too always so formal
10:39pm
< i will tell her
tell cas i say hi
He types away,
glad you guys are having a good time
be careful out there
cool cows by the way
10:45pm
He gets a bunch of smiling faces wearing sunglasses back.
#destiel#look i am so nostalgic and for no reason#lmao#ficlet#vanessa writes ✨#saileen#too kinda i guess if you cas squint at this for sure#brothers#u best believe i would draw the picture with the cows if i knew how to draw something other than stick figures huh
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dean winchester 🤝 tongues and teeth by the crane wives
#the crane wives#supernatural#supernatural fanart#supernatural art#supernatural destiel#spn#spn fanart#spn art#spn destiel#dean winchester#dean winchester fanart#destiel#destiel fanart#destiel art#if you squint i guess
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Text below the cut:
I won’t apologize for
believing in redemption.
I think we all have to die
with either sorry on our lips
or forgiveness in our hands.
I get exponentially better
at not letting anybody die
and exponentially closer
to losing myself instead.
Here, take ‘em: my teeth.
Here, have ‘em: chipped
on words I never got to say.
I can’t give you the tongue
I swallowed, so a molar-
maybe two- will have to do.
Maybe every given breath
is one I don’t get back. It’s
all good. They can keep ‘em:
my bones and my air and
even my redemption.
Someone can take all my
apologies and I will be the one
to die
open-mouthed
instead.
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