uran: (always right)
"That wasn't weirdly uncomfortable, that was like watching Amish porn. Your brother is immune to subtle, he requires the careful application of large and obvious to the skull." /Gabriel to Sam/

The first time Dean says God in bed, Castiel stops, frowns, and politely asks him not to do that anymore.
The seventh time Dean says God in bed, the angel glares up at him and fails to finish the blow job.
The twelfth time, Cas presses closer to him, grinding against him as he pants "John.” brokenly into Dean's ear.
It's not a problem that ever crops up again.

There’s a wealth of unspoken words crowded into the look Cas directs at him, and it’s clear that Cas is rethinking the fact that he professed his love for an apparent moron. /Cas about Dean/

Leave it to a little nerdy dude with wings to know exactly what he needed. /Dean about Cas/

He was Dean Winchester. He'd been to hell. He'd lived through the fucking apocalypse. If he could do that, he could handle being bisexual.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked.
"Fuck if I'm telling you, Share'n Care," Sam spat and slammed the door shut. 

Being a good brother and all, Sam is suitably concerned. Being a younger brother and all, Sam is also way done with Dean’s emo bullshit.
(What? Don’t look at him like that. Concern came first, okay?) /Sam is my hero xD/

I took you from Hell, and it cannot have you back! I stole you from Heaven, and they cannot use you! /Cas about Dean/

Sam even hears a whimpering sigh come from Dean when his gaze trails over the features of Castiel's profile like he can't quite believe the dude exists. Sam saw Dean look at a double-cheeseburger topped with bacon, fried onion strips, and guacamole like this once. /priorities../

Dean has no doubt that inanimate objects would prefer Castiel snuggling into them far more than anyone else, anyway, if they had a preference. It’s just how things work, like rare tropical butterflies landing on his head and the sun coming out every time he sneezes. It’s hard to like him, but impossible not to.

"This coffee tastes suspiciously girly," Dean says, looking around the hotel room as though he could find some motor oil to put in his drink. Sam makes a face.
"Coffee can't taste girly, Dean. Besides, I made sure all the coffee beans wore leather jackets and only listened to hair bands."

Sam turned to Dean, his attention drawn by the strangled noise that had escaped his older brother's throat.
Dean looked as though he had been smacked by a piece of homicidal lumber.
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