#And then he's gone

[its-alittleobsessed]

Orpheus and Eurydice but it's Dean and Castiel coming out of the empty. Jesus Christ. JESUS. is there a fic like that?

Like imagine Dean, smack dab in the middle of nothing. Pitch black for miles and miles and the empty speaks to him, says, "I'll give him back on one condition."

And Dean nodding, desperate to it, "Anything."

And the empty smiles, though it doesn't have a face or body or soul, Dean can hear it smile, can feel it in the molecules around him, when it says, "Do not look back."

There's a small light at the end of nothing, so miniscule it looks like a grain of rice. The empty points it out, commands, "Go."

And Dean doesn't move. The grain of rice is so small and it is so quiet around him. "Go?"

"Yes, go."

The empty is nothing. It is nothing in nothing. A black hole sucking up another black hole—that is what the empty is. Dean’s inside it, inside the hole inside another hole, looking for a guy who shines brighter than the sun on a cloudless day. 

It’s so fucking quiet. Dean shakes his head, “I don’t—”

“You don’t trust that I’ve placed him behind you?” The empty snarls, groans, and festers, “You don’t trust that he’ll follow you?”

The first step he takes is heavy. It weighs and echoes across the great expanse of hollowness. It is not followed by another immediate step. He is the only thing breathing, the only noise rising, and he asks, because he has to know, “Cas?”

There is no reply. 

“He’s behind you.” The empty assures. There’s a tilt to its voice like it might be lying. Or maybe it’s amused. Dean can’t tell, his heart’s beating too loudly in his ears to tell the difference. 

The second, third, and fourth steps are just as earth quaking as the first. He walks—drags his feet below him, closer to the blinding light leading them home, still so far away, still the size of a mere flame. 

“It was really fucked up. What you did.” Dean says, because he can’t look, and he can’t hear, but he can still talk. “What kind of an asshole does that? What kind of a—” He swallows, keeps a steady rhythm foot after foot, “You said. What you said. Why’d you say it?”

He’d practiced this in his room a few times. What he’d say if he ever saw Cas again. At least then, the walls would hum back. They'd stare back and hold him up if he couldn’t keep his knees from buckling. But here, in this vacuum, what is there to rely on? 

“Thought I was dyin’. ” Dean confesses, the light has turned into the size of a dime, and he keeps staring it down, determined, “Watchin’ you get taken, I mean. Felt like—felt like you took my heart with you down here, y’know?” 

There aren’t any footsteps behind him. There’s no flutter of wings or exhale or exasperated sigh. He’s—he feels alone. 

“Couldn’t go on without you, man. S’why I’m here.” Why is it so fucking quiet? Dean wasn’t this quiet when Cas said his piece. He’d been frozen, maybe, but not quiet. Never quiet. “I—I need you to be there. I can’t—don’t know how I’m supposed to go on if you aren't there.”

The empty’s stopped replying, too. The rice turned into dime and now it’s the size of a baseball and it’s still so fucking. Hollow. And the empty likes to play games doesn’t it? Likes to trick poor schmucks like Dean who are desperate hopeful bastards. 

With Cas in the room, there’d be electricity around them. A spark of something. But now, Jesus, now, there isn’t—the air’s so fucking stiff and horrible. 

Dean reaches an arm back, still walking, “Gimme your hand.” 

No one touches him.

“Empty didn’t say nothin’ about skin on skin, man. C’mon.” His steps stutter and his hand shakes, “C’mon.”

The light is the size of a window. He’s getting closer—no, no, no they’re getting closer. Both of them. ‘Cause Cas is there. He’s right there. He’s—

“I just wanna know you’re okay.” He looks at the ground, tries to cheat, tries to find another set of feet with his peripheral vision. “M’not leavin’ without you, you dick. So you better—you better gimme a fuckn’ sign or I’ll stay here. Forever if I gotta.”

His voice doesn’t even bounce off the fucking walls. There are no walls. Or feet or breaths or hands touching his own. There is no answer to any of his questions. And he stretches his arm as far as it can go behind him, as far as his broken muscles can, he begs, “Please, Cas.”

The light has grown to the size of a door and it’s too quiet. Too vacant and blank. So unlike Cas at the end of everything. And Dean can’t leave—he can’t just—he came here for someone and if he’s not—if this is a trick then, then—

“Please.” 

One more step. That’s all he needs. He’s one step away, just one, but Cas isn’t answering. He isn’t answering or touching Dean’s hand and the empty lies.

It’s too quiet, the empty lies, and Dean can’t leave without him. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t and the door is right there, it’s right there but Dean can’t leave, he can’t leave ‘cause Cas isn’t behind him, he was never behind him, and he turns, oh God, Dean turns around and—

Cas smiles, that soft deep smile of his that edges on a little sad, he tilts his head, so loving and forgiving, “I love you too.”

And then he’s gone. Ripped away one more time.

[macabremoose]

I just realised what is so heartbreaking about that finale - Mobius and the others don't know. They don't Loki has spent centuries trying to save them, over and over and over, that his sacrifice is quite literally the only way out. Only the Loki and the audience know this. To Mobius it would have looked like Loki left and it is so sudden but there could have been another way, they had a plan, they could have fixed this together-

(But this is the only way it could have ended)

[ceaselessbasher]

I swear to god one of these days were going to see a video of Amaury Guichon and he's going to be making some wings and they are going to look dope as hell, the detail of each feather will be breathtaking, he'll spray paint them to perfection, but as the video goes on, he's not building any sort of winged creature, just the wings. And then there's a human-sized harness (also made of chocolate, somehow, he can do it). And he's attaching the wings to the harness. And he's putting the harness on and he demonstrates how he can flap the wings. And then he'll be off. Out the window and up and up and up. And we'll be looking at the livestream (it's a livestream now) and we'll scream "No, Amaury, the sun! It's going to melt the wings!". But he knows this already. And he is free.

[marypsue]

Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

[symphonyofsilence]

Let the poor man rest.

[roppiepop]

Typical role dustribution

[hinamie]

to moving forward

[nizaen]

silly wall-e art from twitter c:

[amustikas]

“I showed you my fish pls respond”

would you swipe right on him???

oh and happy valentines ;)

[bean-spring]

I hate whoever said "since Mel's theoretically and literally a mirror then it was about Viktor all along" because now gay Jayce won't leave my mind

[kenchann]

alexa play im not okay by my chemical romance

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

after six hundred strike

*odysseus and poseidon are both still on the rocks in the middle of the sea*

odysseus: ok, let's just agree to both say we're sorry

odysseus: on the count of three

odysseus: one..two..three

poseidon:

odysseus:

odysseus: see, now i'm just disappointed in the both of us

[anbaisai]

how it felt to wake up today

[gongyussy]

liberté, egalité, fraternité et yaoi

[noodles-and-tea]

also what about an inverse twins in time au where ford went back to the 60's and stan stayed in the 80's?

Oh this is super interesting