#it is freaky how much dean looks like john in this
(Source: , via ladymalchav)
I got drunk, started texting LDDM about politics, started randomly texting in French because clearly I am Grantaire, then I get home, turn on my laptop and people are talking to me about John Winchester, I listen to Carry on my wayward son again, I die under a sea of feels, I can’t deal with life.
What’s my life come to?
I’m here, call me. Trust me, my dear, trust me. by 吉
I am an angel.
Though it takes a moment for this… this Castiel’s announcement to settle completely in his mind, John finds it remarkably easy to accept it. He’s seen a lot of things in his short stint as a hunter — a lot of powerful things that used their abilities to achieve whatever ends — but they weren’t like Castiel. John feels the truth of it down to his bones.
Accepting it is easy, but accepting what it means — for himself, for the world, for Mary and the kids — that’s harder. Sorrow drags at John’s shoulders with fresh weight. When he looks up at Castiel, he expects the angel to be as straight-faced as before, like maybe angels are so focused on the Will of God and the Big Picture that they don’t realize what it means for the foot soldiers down on the ground.
But Castiel’s expression is soft — mildly so. Mouth parted instead of thin-lipped. Eyes tracking over the tight creases by John’s eyes and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows past his grief. Castiel takes a few, measured steps toward John. He reaches out — touches the folds of his coat lightly before settling his fingers around John’s arm.
“You will see her again,” Castiel says. “Take comfort in that.”
So, John does.
Every goddamn day, John does.