#scripturallyaccurate

HIS NERVE ENDINGS ARE SAWED OFF, raw to the root, shivering. rough-palmed, scrubbing the heel of his hand to the chafed, pink sleepless sockets, dean sits in the aftermath of his own reckless vulnerability. cas is ...

silence suspends, pendulous, between them. castiel lays him bare as if rending him from chin to belly button with the angel blade & now, with all his guts bleeding out before him, dean still has the desperate urge to DENY ( step one would be to acknowledge it at all & his grit iron stubbornness is deep-seated, dug into the heels of his boots in the ground ).

swallowing hangs his adam's apple, sticky & thick, working at all the things he isn't ready to say.

he looks down, askance, away.

" soulmates? " battle scars litter his own soul, pockmarked with salt shot & scorch marks, but there's something binding him to sam, like he's the other end of his own arm. five fingers still blister his bicep's cap, staining his flesh with a lurid, avenging grasp. flannel strains around dean's own noncommittal diffidence as if he hadn't just told castiel that he is the only one with eyes into the truth of him. " people go looking for someone special. & sometimes they find 'em. so maybe that's somethin' "

taking care of (sam). | @scripturallyaccurate

the paralytics of fear keep sam trapped here, mulling over the shallow horizon that awaits him, and the inevitability of a fate worse than death.

castiel is certain he wont die. he won't elaborate on what he means, but sam saw it in his face, his recent adaptation to human bodies and improved autonomic function in his vessel working against him. part of sam's job entailed the deciphering of body language--even an angel wasn't spared his scrutiny, cutting a shadowy furrow of the brow between one of sam's beauty marks.

his skin burns raging hot. the blood inoculation process is slow going, as not to rip sam's soul from his cushioning body, his bones nothing but struts and building blocks for god's most loathed child. his swimming head rests ear to castiel's thighs, firmer than the soft fats and muscle would betray; the angel beneath is skyscraper solid, and probably just as tall.

castiel's grounding hand offers a tract of affection that is far less mechanical these days, guiding stray chestnut hairs back behind sam's ear. every now and then, his forefinger and middle come to cusp sam's jugular, and it takes until the third or fourth time of this for sam to realize that he's searching for the telltale note of his droning pulse. security, perhaps.

' jumping in the cage won't kill me...? ' ' no. sam.. the cage is lucifer's domain, please understand. it will entrap whatever goes into it. it was created to hold the devil himself. '

a bud of a tear collects at the filmy corner of sam's eye. his revelation accompanies a slow, tremorous exhale. castiel braces him as if he were feverish, smoothly thumbing his cheek. ' so it'll be me and him, for eternity. '

castiel's slack grip furls into a loose fist, just briefly, before unwinding to brush back sam's bang. a spark of fury without resolution or grand purpose: there was no escape.

bewildered doesn't even begin to fucking cover it. resists the urge to flinch, but the angel just keeps going and going, like a train wreck. a train wreck with a mouth reading him his own natural disaster of a personality right back to him, jesus christ. "dean's explanations are inconsistent," repeats dryly, in a drawl that promises he was already finished with this conversation well before it began. can't even tell if it's comical or ridiculous to imagine his son talking sex ed with one of god's finest. is this really god's finest? "go ask him for more details, be my guest. sure he'd love to have you."

bad gets worse. john finally flinches. hand twitches where @scripturallyaccurate touches it, and it's only the pure shock of it ( and maybe the fact that he's an angel ) that doesn't prompt him to wrench out of his grip as soon as he can. skin practically hums with the physical contact, like on any other day, with anyone else, maybe he could be deceived into finding it soothing. ( you spend a considerable amount of time pretending you do not. )

send ❔ and i’ll list a couple muses that i’d like to throw at yours!

delloso de la rue. in a supernatural verse, they'd be some sort of fae that's lived thousands of years. they're trying to prove that the chorus ( the organization that stole them when they were young ) is evil and could use some help with that before they try to drain all magic from the world.

captain kp hob. knick is a hellhound in his supernatural verse, but he's not evil. basically he lost his owner and is trying to saddle up with a new one bc he's not meant to go around on his own lmao.

key and legend. the keeper of the keys, the librarians of the lines between. holds everyone's past, present, and future in millions of books there. if cas needs any information, they're the ones to go to.

mira. dark version of the little mermaid. she lost her tongue and her father's trying to get her to go back into the ocean, so she's hiding from him bc she knows he's going to trap her somewhere and keep her there.