#it's gr8

Image ID: White text on a black background. It reads, "And your voice isn't necessarily required to match the form you take?"

"Not really." Stan shrugged. "Listen to this, though." He cleared his throat for effect, then, in Ford's voice, said, "Look at me, I'm a genius with a bajillion PhDs who can't remember to feed himself!" End ID.

Oh, is he beautiful.

Castiel had been so distanced from humanity for so long. His mission to rescue Dean Winchester from Alastair's rack would be his closest brush with humanity in eons. When he reaches into the pit, he never expected the sheer brilliance of Dean's soul-- all of his eyes burn when he first sees it.

A decade is a short time compared to the ages Castiel has lived, but the last decade sticks in his memory more than any other point in his existence. He's seen it all.

That's what he thought.

He had seen it all-- until he saw Dean Winchester.

Dean's soul was astounding itself.

But his smile? Cas has never felt much emotion before. Dean's smile makes Cas' chest tighten for the first time in ways he can't describe. He never wants to stop feeling it. The green of Dean's eyes? He's seen colors of green unimaginable to humans, but the green of Dean Winchester's eyes is something... unknown to him. He could stare at it for another eternity (and he tries sometimes without thinking, but Dean reminds him that staring is usually considered rude among humans). The dusting of freckles across his cheeks? Like a star map that Cas would gladly study for a lifetime.

Even in the end, when Dean is hopeless and desperate and terrified that this is it-- he's gotten himself and Cas killed and the entire damn universe killed-- Cas can't stop staring at him.

He knows it'll be the last chance he gets.

Speaking the endless hidden thoughts he buried for so long to give Dean a shot at surviving, at living, he takes in every detail.

When he feels the darkness envelope him, the last thing he sees is green.

“We’re having a rematch when I’m fully recovered,” Tim warned Axton.

“Sure, toothpick arms,” Axton said, but offered his hand to Tim. He hauled Tim to his feet and pat his bicep. “Toned, but not very functional, huh?”

“Shut up, himbo,” he said. He paused, then groaned. “God, I’ve become the kind of prick who actually has push-up competitions and gets mad when I lose. I don’t think I could even do a push-up in high school.”

“Yea, you didn’t sound like the kind of guy who could do push-ups,” Axton said, snickering as Tim punched him. “Hit the gym before you hit me, man.”

“Fuck you,” Tim said. 

He grabbed a slice of pizza out of the box Maya had brought up for lunch and threw himself onto his bed moodily. He bit into it, ignoring Axton as he strut towards the pizza box for his own slice.