#and maybe do some edits to my jacket for the sake of accuracy

[jimmyandthegiraffes]

Unironically think it wouldn’t be hard for me to do a p decent nyssa cosplay

[tuesdayhatersammylovermishamigo]

EDIT LATER AND POST ON MAIN

Bobby and Castiel were waiting. The older hunter was going through the spells of the ingredient again, though it had already been done and discovering a flaw wouldn’t be helpful - but perhaps he did it to look for a reason why he hadn’t shown up yet.

Dean.

That’s all Pamela had been able to tell them.

It didn’t even sound like a grand name of an all-powerful entity. It wasn’t a name you’d listen to and quake in your boots. It was the name of a casual guy-next-door, the name of a mechanic shop owner, maybe a business major at community college. It didn’t remind Castiel of someone who could pull him out of hell. Literally.

But he didn’t doubt Pamela’s abilities either. So, he simply waited, with a shotgun and a demon blade, all prepared for whoever came through that door - demon or some other supernatural sonuvabitch.

Castiel had been leaning against a dusty slab, counting his breath, and he could see Bobby pace around in circles around the ashes of the performed ritual as if the grey remains would tell him that he’d done it all wrong. “Bobby,” He called. “You didn’t make any mistakes, I trust that. And we both went through it together too. So if - if this thing is summonable, he’s on his way.”

Bobby shot a gruff look at the hunter, who may not have been pacing around, but his grip on his demon blade hadn’t loosened an inch. Castiel’s eyes held a familiar flare, one of the final stages of a hunt. What had he known, that this was the opposite of a hunt, and the opposite of a finale?

But, Bobby did open his mouth to say something to the latter, when suddenly the barn door swung open. Following the clear creak of rusted metal hinges, and darkness pouring in from outside, finally came distinct footsteps.

It was everything at once. The man’s face came in the clear, and he recognized a confident stride. Green eyes. No greatness implied in his gait. Barely taller than Castiel himself. No weapons on him. It was everything at once, and nothing at all.

Castiel had instantly aimed his gun at the figure but didn’t use it just yet. He stared at the man.

No, not a man.

The footsteps brought him closer. Now that Castiel had gotten over his initial surprise at the man’s surprisingly attractive and chiselled face, he stared at the rest of him with a more objective sense. This was the being that pulled him out of hell. This was the terrific Dean! It was ridiculous that Castiel had trouble looking past those green, green eyes.

The one who’d walked in looked shockingly ordinary, in the cosmic scheme of things. He wore a leather jacket, with the air of someone who wore it a lot, and had classic cut blond hair. There was no such expression on his face, all sharp lines and bright eyes - except perhaps the beginnings of a smirk as he noticed Castiel’s heavy, inspecting gaze.

Inwardly, Castiel didn’t know what to make of this. They’d been expecting a higher-paygrade demon - but Dean looked the opposite of one of those hellish creatures. There was a tinge of light he carried into the room with himself. They’d expected a force of nature strong enough to pull him out of hell, someone terrible and dangerous and vicious and violent; something vastly more evil!

This being...he wore holey acid-washed jeans, for Christ’s sake.

Castiel shoved the incredulous judgement of character from his head, and resumed thinking like a hunter should’ve been. Not someone who’s suddenly enamored by the everything of a non-human who walked into his summoning like he was looking to order two drinks for a date.

He walked over the devil’s trap without half a thought, crossing the barn over to them. Either this creature was strong enough that those didn’t affect him - or he wasn’t a demon at all.

But when Castiel heard Bobby cock his gun, he dropped his thoughts and did the same. They both shot at him together.

Well, neither of them had expected him to drop dead due to salt-iron-bullets, but he didn’t even flinch backwards. Just twisted his lips into a bemused frown, directing it completely at Castiel with eyebrows raised as if to mock.

The strain of being focused upon affected Castiel’s accuracy, and he put down the gun after two of his bullets hit Dean without a cause, and one struck the wall behind him with a loud rapport. His grip on the knife in his jeans tightened still.

“Who are you?”

“Wanna do this the good ol’ 20-questions style?” He grinned.

It was a sudden gesture, the baring of teeth in such a genial smile, and Castiel’s sense of safety shattered. He snapped, and all the righteous fury to demand answers - and much of the residue from goddamn hell came bolting back to his chest.

He’d always, especially hated the villains who thought they were funny.

“No, I don't.” He growled, and in a quick motion, stabbed him; piercing the man’s heart with his silver blade. This had killed the worst of monsters yet. A stab in the heart could kill just about everyone, and with Ruby’s blade - no monster Castiel had met yet, had ever lived past it.

But there was no dying light. Blood flowed from the wound, and Castiel was too taken aback to even twist it out. As if he’d been ticked with a feather, the man took the blade by the hilt and calmly pulled it out of his chest. The blood which flowed out seemed to reduce, somehow.

Before Castiel could exchange a look with Bobby about this strange encounter they were in the middle of, and warn him against attacking more, it was too late. Bobby rushed up to hit the guy with a pipe from behind, aiming for the head and a fatal wound. Without even looking in his direction, he caught Bobby’s swing, turned, and waved two fingers at the grizzled hunter’s forehead, causing him to pass out instantly.

Castiel inhaled sharply, fearful for Bobby’s safety. He followed his dropping body and noticed - hopefully - a heaving chest, indicating there’s still life. Castiel needed to save him! So, he doesn’t charge at the man or yell at him, lest he anger him further and make him take Bobby’s life. All his thoughts of this thing not being as evil as they’d anticipated, vanished.

“Look,” He suddenly spoke up, and Castiel glared at him. Dean took a step ahead and Castiel unattentively shuffled back, “We need to talk. Preferably somewhere less farmer’s-barn, though.” Castiel swallowed, waiting for him to finish. The man went on casually, and it was all sorts of ridiculous how normal he sounded. “How about this roadhouse that I’m a regular at? It’s a couple states away, so whatsay you and I skip town?”

“Who are you?” Castiel repeated, stormy. What sort of jest was this? Take him out for drinks, and then take out his intestines? And what did he want to talk about? What did Castiel know about anything, that was of interest to him?

“Dean.” He replied, simply.

“I..” Castiel was once again hit by how the name was so normal. Why couldn’t he have had an unpronouncable Latin name which translated to The Supreme Evil, or something, that’d make it easier? “I know that!” He recomposed himself. “I meant, what are you?”

“You could call me an angel if that’s the kind of stuff you’re into,” Dean shrugged. Castiel froze. “But it’d be better if you called me Dean. There’s thousands of angels, just as there’s millions of humans. But I’m Dean. That’s what’s important, if at all. Just as you’re Cas, right?”

“I’m not.” Castiel pulled back, dumbly.

“What, wrong address?” Dean squinted, before breaking into such an easy grin that the desire to mirror it was strong. “Nah, I’m kidding. I know you well enough to know who you are, Cas. I pulled you from hell. And I’m kind of a gentleman that way, because I only forget the really dumb one-night-stands, not my four-month favorites.” He winked.

Castiel frowned. “First of all, I’m Castiel.” Dean rolled his eyes, dismissively. Castiel ignored it. “And secondly, we - I mean, obviously you can’t be an angel!?”

“Why not?” Dean asked, curious. “You don't believe we exist?” Dean didn’t wait for Castiel’s firm nod of his head. “Don't be a dick, Cas, everyone is valid.” Dean chuckled at his own joke, but Castiel didn’t.

Castiel was silent for a minute, and when he finally spoke up, his head was a tangle of indecision. “But if you’re a-actually an angel,” He stammered. “Wouldn’t you have wings?”

“You need proof?” Dean’s eyes flashed with a slight bit of emotion. As if...for some reason, he was disinclined to show Castiel his wings. “Well, it’s kinda third date material, you know?”

“I don't believe you’re an angel, because -” Castiel declared, barely comprehending his own words.

“Because I’m not as grand as an angel would be?” Dean shot back. “Because when I entered, I didn’t make sparks fly and shatter the windows? Because I didn’t give you some lame line like ‘I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition’, and because I’m not a Michael wannabe in a tuxedo and because I -”

Castiel didn’t know exactly why, but it was hurtful to hear Dean mock his judgement, and hurtful still to see him this fighting back verbally. “Some angel you are,” He cut him off, pointedly. Not listening to the voice in his head. “You burned out that poor woman’s eyes!”

“I warned her to stop,” Dean countered, but sounding like he’d taken a blow too. “I did. Looking at my true form can do that to people.”

“Then, what is this?” The dots connected in his head. “Why am I alright? Is this not your true form?”

“Of course not,” Dean displayed a tiny bit of a smirk. “You underestimate me if you think this freckle-faced white guy is all that’s me?”

“So, you’re possessing someone -” Castiel recoiled.

“He prayed for this; some corner-office-y Smith from Illinois,” Dean raised his eyebrows. “There’s a limit to the number of days you can survive on suspenders, treadmill desks and kale salads. He turned to the divine, gave himself over, and well - I kinda liked his face.” Dean ran a hand through his hair.

Castiel decided to drop it, because he had hardly an idea what he’d even say to that. “I still don't get it, Dean. Why would an angel rescue me from hell? ...why did you do it?”

“Because I was around on an errand, and the guy they told me to save originally seemed like a dick, but you were much better, so I went with my instincts and badass-edly fought off those dickheads to fly out with you,” Dean deadpanned.

“I -” Castiel blinked.

“I’m kidding, okay?” Dean suddenly burst into a grin. “You were my errand. My charge. Because God - no, because Heaven commanded it.” And in a slow descend, the dangerously contagious charming smile slipped away into a frown, his eyes grave. “W-They have work for you.”