save a horse, ride a superhero

So hum… people should prompt me stuff. (for drawing, not writing)

pretty sure i’ll stay home this weekend so…

i need tonysteve prompts.

you can even go anon if you’re shy.

wincest/wincestiel prompts are also welcome.

cast some light and you’ll be alright

rrrowr:

Dean is mourning.

Sam doesn’t have to be hallucinating to see it. They hunt, and the coat stays folded tight between the wall of the Impala’s trunk and a bag of rock salt. Afterward, Dean drops his weapons and reaches for it like a touchstone. Nothing more than that. He still does his best to take care of Sam and Bobby and to play the game straight-faced, but he spends much of his time trying to appear as if he’s not clinging to Castiel’s coat like a lifeline. 

It’s Sam who finally brings it out, spreads its stained and stinking threads across the back of the Impala. The coat is all they have left of Castiel right now. Its interior is streaked with inky black and there is blood all over the outside. Sam picks gingerly at its loose buttons and thinks about how it’s so odd to see the coat in this condition. Castiel had always managed to keep it pristine, as if the clothes were as much a part of his vessel as the skin he wore; it would be a shame if Castiel came back to it in this condition, with every drop of black and red as an ugly reminder of his last moments.

Sam takes his time cleaning it. He treats it with stain remover — scrubs it in with a dish rag — and ends up washing it a few times before the blood’s been reduced to a tan and the leviathan ink to a dull grey. He finds tears in some of the edges and does his best to stitch it up. Between mending his own clothes and his own body, Sam figures he’s pretty good at it, getting the threads all tidy and the knots hidden.

It takes hours — a quarter of the way through one of Bobby’s books and half a sandwich later — before he’s done and it’s not perfect. The coat looks a bit worse for wear, but better from what it had been, at least. Now, it bears only the memories of the Leviathan and the many deaths; the rest of the evidence has washed away. Sam supposes that it’s fitting that Castiel, whose Heavenly powers kept his body immaculate, should wear his scars on his clothing instead of his skin.

Sam hangs up the coat on the door for a moment, stepping back to see if he’s missed anything, and Dean walks in. Sam sees him stop, startled, in the middle of the room.

“What are you doing with that?” Dean asks.

Sam can hear the grief in his voice and how he aches at being reminded that the coat is a poor stand-in for the person who should be with them — as if he isn’t always thinking it, somewhere, underneath everything else. Dean doesn’t have to say anything. Never has to with Sam.

“Cleaning it up,” Sam tells him without looking. “Didn’t think Cas’d want it looking like crap when he gets back.”

“Sammy—”

Sam cuts him off at once. “Dean.” Thankfully, his brother shuts up and in the brief moment of silence, Sam rubs his thumb over one of the mended cuffs. The threads are more obvious than he’d intended. “He’s gonna come back. There’s no way that he’s not out there, fighting. There’s just not.”

His voice cracks and he wipes at his face, sweeping away the feeling of vulnerability until he can look at the coat without it swimming away.

Dean claps a hand on his shoulder, squeezes him into a half-hug, and says, “Looks real good, Sammy. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“Yeah, hope so.”

Sam is mourning too.

WHY, RO. WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME? OH MY GOD MAKE THE TEARS STOP.

rrrowr:

cacellcee replied to your post: cacellcee replied to your post: problem: can’t…

I WAS HOPING BUT SINCE IT WAS NEVER MENTIONED AGAIN I DIDN’T KNOW AND I DIDN’T WANNA ASK BUT OH DEAR LORD RO I LOVE YOU COME HERE LET ME RAVISH YOU

/IS RAVISHED.

HERE YOU CAN EVEN HAVE SOME OF IT.

Sam would have been better off just being honest from the beginning. With his hands bound at the small of his back and his face pressed into the sheets, he could no more throw Dean off than he could hide the sex flush that gradually worked up over his body. The harder he screwed his eyes shut and the more he held his breath to keep from moaning, the more his body trembled with the force of his want.

Dean, in his victory, already seemed to understand this. “That’s it, Sammy,” he said as he leaned over Sam. He held his body up on his knuckles, stretching his feet back, and bouncing his body between those two points, thrust deep and fast into Sam. “Feels good don’it?”

For his part, Sam merely squirmed under the onslaught, spreading his legs wider to take better the weight behind Dean’s thrusts. His breaths gasped out of him, matching each thrust, but he did not answer.

Dean settled back on his knees and slid one hand into Sam’s hair as he screwed their hips tighter together. “Com’on, Sammy,” he said. “Cas’s watching you and he hasn’t said a word. Don’t you wanna see the way he’s looking at ya? Like he’s wanting nothing more than to have his hands free so he could touch you himself.” He stroked his thumb over Sam’s temple and then cradled the crown of Sam’s skull with a tangle of sweat-dark hair locking around his fingers. “Open your eyes, Sammy. Look at him.”

Congratulations, I skipped a breath and had a coughing fit and almost DIED.

BUT IT WAS SO WORTH IT.

CAN I JUST TIE YOU UP UNTIL YOU’RE DONE WITH THIS?

CAUSE I NEED IT IN MY LIFE

NEEEEEEEEEED.