On the mun's designs for character development

[decadency]

Even that ninth grade history text book you stole from your Catholic high school told you that the crusades ended badly.

I'm not doing it. Dean is unable.

So, uh. I rebel.

Comments

[ginormotron]

There has to be a way. Some way.

[He's not surprised, though. Hadn't he done the same thing, or close enough, after Dean went to Hell? And that was nothing like the whole world ending and Lucifer walking the earth.]

Even if it kills Dean doing it. [Which he feels kind of horrible, talking about like that, but he gets that too. That if it's hopeless, Dean'd rather have a proper hunter's end.] It can't just-- the Devil can't just win.

[decadency]

[ Yeah. The devil just can't win. But he does. But he has. ]

The world is, uh, dying. There are no more children. For the first time since creation, the birds no longer sing. Dean's soul—it looks gangrenous now. When I pulled him from Hell, I used my Grace to repair the wounds in his soul. As best that I could. Patched its tattered edges.

But there is no more Grace in the world. Except for the angel that wears your face.

[ That's the world, Sam. That's Dean. Everything sucks. He shrugs, and then lights the joint. ]

We all find comfort where we can.

[ginormotron]

That's. Really fucked.

[He can't really think of anything better to say, and he doesn't really succeed in hiding how uncomfortable it makes him, hearing about the world gone so utterly to shit, Dean's soul gone gangrenous, whatever the fuck that means. He thinks maybe it's something like what would have happened to him, if he'd kept on with the demon blood. Somehow hearing about it makes him twitchy in a way just living it wouldn't; if he was living it, at least he could do something. Probably go out and get himself killed fighting demons like Dean plans on doing, but at least it'd be something.]

I'm sorry. I know sorry doesn't mean anything, but that's. Does Dean have the Colt yet?