Iwtv Textposts Part Six

you talking about retiring? you? ; or dean’s unfulfilled life.

Nah, because they didn't even introduce Abel, THE Abel, but they created a completely new character, Colette, the love of Cain's life and then paralleled her with Cas.

Posting this here on a whim since it never got to see the light of day on twitter <33

does your partner ever pose AU ideas just to bedevil and bewitch you? to give you a tummyache on purpose?

amc iwtv cast truly a cast of all time: you have the australian vampire-obsessed blond guy who performed a frankly incomparable yassification on himself where he went from looking like the most Just Some Guy ever to the most insane cunt-serving limp-wristed bisexual slut the likes of which tv had never before seen; the british guy who took a somewhat dull character and made him the most depressed doe-eyed toxic-men-magnet meow meow on earth giving a lot of people several types of different complexes; the older guy who has apparently decided to larp as his own character and reveal increasingly more insane pieces of lore about his own life with every new interview he gives and who also appears to harbor genuine enthusiasm for the psychosexual gay relationship his character is likely to have in the future with a guy half his age; and the cutest girl on earth who’s probably the only (mostly) normal one

he's sowwy for swallowing all the souls in the purgatory and releasing ancient horrors upon the earth 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

it's 0:03 on the 24th of january, 2003 and dean is 24 years old. he's lonely and scared and his dad hasn't seen him in person in over nine months. he doesn't really know what to do. he wanders the continent waiting for his father to text him the details of a hunt (john doesn't even bother calling anymore) and when he does, dean goes. he finds something to put his fist through. finds somewhere to kill his liver. finds someone to keep him warm at night. it's all very tideous and empty and he doesn't know how long he's supposed to sustain himself like this.

dean's 24, and his dad doesn't call on his birthday. his brother doesn't either. there was a time when sam would pretend to be asleep, but he'd really be hiding under the covers with candy he bought with change he'd pilfered (badly) from dean's pockets, waiting for the clock to strike midnight so he could "surprise" dean. but that was when dean was 8, 10, 12. dean's 24 now, and his brother doesn't give a shit.

the world feels like it's moving fast when you're 24. you think you've seen all you can already, think you've met everyone you're ever going to meet. wherever you are, whatever you're doing, it feels like that's all there is. forever.

dean's 24, and he's shit faced in a podunk town somewhere in middle america with six bucks to his name and a colt under his jacket.

it's a bleak fucking forever, and he isn't sure what he's supposed to do about it. there's that feeling in his chest like some sonofabitch has its claws stuck in there. he can't breathe. he can't think. he's scared, kind of, but he doesn't even know what he's scared of.

it's a shitty fucking feeling.

dean's 24, and he really, really just wants his mom. his family. he wants a degree, and he wants to see the proud smile on mary's face — lined, it would be lined, because dean's 24 now — when she hangs it up in the foyer. he wants —

well. whatever. it doesn't matter. dean's 24. and alone. and he thinks that's all he's ever going to be.

but dean's only 24, and there's a lot he doesn't know.

~

it's 00:03 on the 24th of january, 2023 and dean winchester is 44 years old.

he's putting on a show of being annoyed at being woken up at midnight, grumbling and grouching, but really, he's preening under all the attention.

his house — and he has a house — is a mess. he's been corralled onto the couch by jody's girls who crowd around him as he waits for the birthday cake — or pie, he isn't sure yet — to arrive. they joke over his head like he there isn't six feet and change of person between them, and it makes him want to smile.

dean's 44, and his life is slow, and quiet. there's a ring on his left hand and no gun under his pillow. the only time he wields a knife these days is when he's cooking for his family. his hair is more salt than it is pepper, and his knees hurt when he bends them. he's got glasses and hearing aids and he's traded in his heeled boots for orthopedic shoes.

all this is not forever, not really, but he likes whatever it is. there's this feeling in his chest, like maybe an angel's pressed a palm to it and is blessing him. like sunshine. or a good meal. or the sound of his family being dorky in the room over. he's happy, is the thing. he's so damn happy.

dean's 44. he's got an angel for a husband and a band of almost-kids he loves so much he doesn't know what to do with it. his mother's here, too. his mother's here. her face is lined— just like his, because dean's 44 now — and when she smiles, it feels like the world is sighing. like it'll be okay.

it's a good feeling.

it's the 24th of january, 2023, and it is a birthday pie. there's a candle that he blows, and the noise following that is loud enough that he almost worries about the neighbours.

"happy birthday, dean!" they all say — mother, brother, son, husband, and the girls. his family.

cas— his cas, who's here, he's here—holds dean's face in his hands, kisses his forehead.

"i love you," he says. "you, too. always," dean replies.

dean's 44, and his life is good. it's more than good. there's so much he doesn't know, but he's not too worried about all that, because he's not alone.

life happens. they'll deal.

dean and his cute freckles for @feeddoughnut ♡