If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.

Badass!Dean + Gun Porn ↪ Long-Distance Call | 3.14

They must have hooked up between hunts🤨

The 👏 Way 👏 He's 👏 Always 👏 Looked 👏 At 👏 Her

365 days of paceyjoey → day two hundred and twenty

I love how whenever (and it’s sadly very rarely) Dean’s time in Hell is brought up or hinted at, Jensen chooses to portray Dean’s reaction almost as a non-reaction, instead of making a show of being traumatized by the memory. You see that it does hit Dean hard, but he hides it really well and doesn’t show it on the outside. After all, he hates to show any weakness, especially in front of enemies.

Dean: I enjoyed it, Sam. They took me off the rack and I tortured souls and I liked it. All those years; all that pain. Finally getting to deal some out yourself. I didn’t care who they put in front of me, because that pain I felt, it just slipped away. No matter how many people I save, I can’t change that. I can’t fill this hole. Not ever. (4.11 Family Remains)

Do I have to bring it up again, isn’t there another subject? Can I forget about the scrap of flattened squirrel fur fluttering on the road, can I forget the road and how I can’t stop driving no matter what, not even for gas, or love, can I please not think about my father left in some town behind me, in his blue suit, with his folded hands, and my grandmother moaning about her bladder and swallowing all the pills, and the towns I’m passing now can I try not to see them, the children squatting by the ditches, the holes in their chests and foreheads, the woman cradling her tumor, the dog dragging its crippled hips? I can close my eyes and sit back if I want to, I can lean against my friends’ shoulders and eat as they’re eating, and drink from the bottle being passed back and forth; I can lighten up, can’t I, Christ, can’t I? There is another subject, in a minute I’ll think of it. I will. And if you know it, help me. Help me. Remind me why I’m here.

Winged Mermaid  by James fodor