Demon Dean Fest

demon!dean thinks hes better than everyone else on the supernatural level BC HE ISNT KIDNAPPING OTHER PPL’S BODIES TO DO DIRTY BUSINESS HE’S USING HIS OWN 

amonitrate:

demon!dean’s first act is to go get benny out of purgatory.

When Dean comes back, Purgatory tries harder. 

Warnings for: torture, character death, suicide references, sexual assault text & subtext, and incest vibes from Alastair claiming to be a father figure. Credit to Super-Wiki for the transcript of Crowley’s monologue.

♥ deancest in july ♥

it’s that time of year again! well, sort of. it’s only been six months since deancest december but we’re finding that the wait is far too long until actual december, so we’re going to throw a mid-year month long deancest celebration in july, and of course it’s going to be called “deancest in july”. this round is just like the last — all types deancest all the time with a few changes since december:

we have a new look! a big, huge thank you to abaddonshark for allowing us to use their artwork for our header and icon.

a revamped, functional tags page so you can find specific deans easily and get an idea of what kinds of deancest people have come up with so far (hint: it’s lots). 

affiliates! we’re buddy-buddying up with other dean-centric blogs such as deanmeme, deanwinchestersource, deanwinchesterscreencaps, and demondeanfest! 

prompts and prompt fills — post it as a prompt for others to take a crack at! we’ll make a post a bit later with more information on this. 

guidelines. this is nothing super new because we’ve always had unwritten guidelines, but now they are written down so you know exactly what kind of content to expect from us. 

Dean looked himself in the eyes. Shiny, glassy black in the shiny, glassy surface of the mirror. He wanted to break it. To punch the glass and make it shatter, then keep hitting the shards until somehow it broke the other layer, the one in his eyes. 

It didn’t work. 

It smeared the shards with blood, though, and added to the red haze draped across his fragmented reflection. On his hands and in the mirror the red was a fine network of glowing veins, shining like the light that had burned out of his skin when Cain gave him the Mark. Underneath it, in between the veins of light that human eyes couldn’t see, Dean wasn’t sure if his skin looked faintly sooty (like the stain from Hell was finally visible, like he was crumbling into black demon smoke), or if the glow just made it look dim and smudged by comparison. 

His blood looked dull against the red veins, flat and lifeless. It was lifeless, Dean reminded himself. The cuts on his knuckles had already sealed up, the dead flesh binding together without even leaving a chance at a scar. 

Dean hoped someone had killed Metatron. 

How many people— fifteen, twenty?— killers because he’d shown up with his promises of kindness and salvation. Jesus, he wanted to kill him. He wanted to—

Light quivered in the shards of the mirror that were still clinging to the edges of the frame like what a halo ought to look like if God had bothered to leave a warning for humanity. Dean’s hands were shaking, and the reflected shine from the lightbulb and the glow from his hands blocking it trembled in response.

He found his eyes again in the shards of mirror. Black and empty. A darkness you could fall into and drown in. Dean leaned closer, thinking bitterly, Come on in, the water’s hot. 

This was what he was, all grown up. The shadows under his eyes at four had migrated up and deepened, the blood on his hands at sixteen had traced its way up his arms and lit up like neon. He hadn’t even needed Hell at twenty-nine (thirty-nine, forty-nine, fifty-nine, sixty-nine), he’d been headed down this road since the world had first taught him his life was kill or be killed, kill or watch the ones he loved die. He’d wanted to stay alive, and he’d wanted his family to stay alive, and pieces of himself got sliced away and wrenched loose in payment. 

Dean leaned his forehead on the cracked glass, and— too close to focus on his reflection— closed his eyes. Now the blackness was all he could see. Maybe he could learn to stay there, he thought, drifting in the darkness. Like one of those deep sea creatures in the nature documentaries. They knew how to survive the cold, the crushing pressure. He could be a giant squid, ten arms and nothing to hold on to except for the sperm whales. Real contact only in fending off those who would chase him down to the depths, the ones who were looking to devour him. 

He could live down there like it was just his world, his life, where he was meant to be.