# Conversations with my boyfriend
# benedict cumberbatch
# tom hiddleston
# tim roth
# colin morgan
# bradley james
# david tennant
# matt smith
# martin freeman
All those fairy tales are full of it.
One more freaking love song, then I’ll be sick.
prettyyyy please
Species: Human
Bestfriend: Jim Moriarty
Roommate: Master
First Kiss: Eleven
Boyfriend: Tony Stark
Murderer: Jim Moriarty
“Hello, Dean.”
His voice is low and gravelly like always, like he remembers, but Dean is too tired to believe it is true. He slumps back in his chair and balls his fists in his eyes, pushing and pressing until the headache seems to subside, but Castiel’s voice does not.
“Dean.”
He’s calling again and it’s getting harder to ignore him. So Dean huffs and talks back: “you’re not real,” he tells it, and he can’t even look up and stare with violent conviction until it leaves.
But it doesn’t.
“Dean…” there is hesitation this time, and the voice is softer. It’s still Cas—so very Cas—but this isn’t like the other hallucinations and waking dreams.
“No,” Dean chokes out. His eyes sting like he’s crying, but he doesn’t cry—he’s a Winchester—so it must be fatigue. Yeah, that must be it. “You’re not real.”
Castiel steps forward until his knees are touching Dean’s and he just stands there and stares and waits. But Dean won’t look at him.
“I am here,” he says. He wants to raise his hand and lift Dean’s head, force him to look, to acknowledge, to realize, to understand, to accept, but before he can move, Dean’s hand flies out.
“Stop,” he growls, and his fingers are splayed, shaking, demanding attention and obedience. As broken as he may seem, Dean Winchester is and always has been a dangerous man. Cas inches backward until they are no longer touching, but he is as close as he can be. And then the angel waits.
“You’re not real,” Dean repeats, and he pushes forward to wave the apparition away. His hand comes into contact with soft white cotton and the hard body beneath, and he freezes with surprise and shock and confusion because the other ones had never been solid and he could never touch them like this. “You’re not…”
But he stops because he knows that’s wrong and Cas is here and he presses his other hand over his face and breathes hard because he feels like he’s going to be sick.
Cas knows that Dean’s realized, but he can’t even smile at what little there is left of the man who taught him how to feel.
Dean had handed him a five dollar bill and pointed him in the direction of the vending machine, asking for “a coke. And get whatever you want, too.”
