random things I put in comments!
From various places on my flist:
Drop me a comment, and I'll tell you the first thing that comes into my mind when I think of you, whether it makes sense or not.
I was pretty productive this morning despite having to drag myself out of bed and despite almost falling asleep in the shower. This is pleasing to me.
RANDOM.
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Drop me a comment, and I'll tell you the first thing that comes into my mind when I think of you, whether it makes sense or not.
I was pretty productive this morning despite having to drag myself out of bed and despite almost falling asleep in the shower. This is pleasing to me.
RANDOM.
.eta: Now updated with ( Read more... )
"So, what happens to the lucky bastards who don't go to hell?"
Dean's learned to pick up on Castiel's abrupt comings and goings, the wing-wind-whisper shush of his appearance and the strange absence when he goes away, and he's learned to ask questions before Castiel gets a chance to start going on about God and the Plan and whatever the fuck else he has on his mind.
And this probably isn't a question for a summer day, or for the tiny park where they're sitting, but... well, you get rid of enough unquiet spirits, and you start to wonder.
"I don't know," Castiel says eventually. "No angel knows."
"Nice." Dean leans against the back of the bench and stretches his legs out. "God doesn't tell you that either, huh? So as far as you know, we poor bastards suffer and bleed and die and never find out what happens? We don't get anything?"
Castiel pauses. He's squinting into the sun, gaze fixed attentively on some kids rough-housing on the swings. One of the kids hits the dirt, picks himself up, and launches himself at the kid who pushed him over. Parents get up to referee.
"Would it help," he says at last, "if I told you I believe that a creator who loved creation would not suffer to see it destroyed forever?" He almost looks awkward, as hesitant as Dean's ever seen him. "Humans wouldn't be happy in heaven, but I believe there is a place where there is... quiet. Love."
"That's very poetic," Dean says gruffly. He tries to imagine quiet, and the closest he can come is a long drive in the Impala, Sam snoring next to him and the wind blowing through rolled-down windows.
"It would be," Castiel says, "like that."
"Sounds like heaven," Dean says, and means it.
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From your lips to whoever is listening's ears.
♥ you!
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