I have no idea who runs the Astroglide twitter account but honestly, they’re my hero.
No one ships it more, and what’s sad is the amount of hate they get from bronlies!!! Their product gets insulted and belittled because the PR person ships Destiel, wtf??? So does Olive Garden and Denny’s.
You mean Dean 100% putting on a performance for Wally – Mr I make fun of guys by insinuating they’re queer (soft hands comment to Mick) who tries desperately to emulate Dean by ordering the same dinner then getting all embarrassed and looking at Dean whilst everyone corrects him about cheese not being a carb.
Wally looking like John with the dark hair, beard etc, nodding along in all the shots of Dean postulating.
This scene just looks like a family dinner where Dean’s invited his crush best friend, Wally/John and Mary are sat next to each other, Wally/John is encouraging Dean to act like a dudebro, might as well be like yeah Dean tell us all about your last QB performance! Meanwhile little brother Sam is just looking on at Dean/Cas interactions huffing like “wow…” and making fun of Dean’s shit excuses and postulating.
Yeah. Wally is John.
He’s in Dean’s performance/postulating scenes, nodding in the background.
Total accident. Much coincidence.
Dean’s first look is totally off guard. THIS is how he really feels. Fucking pissed and jealous. Look at the dimples of discontent 😉
Then he gets his act together, pulls himself up and puts the facade on.
We then have Dean and Wally agreeing together about Mandy being into Cas and Dean posturing with all the yeah yeah, you hot waitress, you should find Cas sexy, he’s… yeah my Cas, he’s…he’s hot right, devastatingly handsome you might say! Ummm…. awkward weird smirk that it takes SO MUCH EFFORT for Jensen not NOT look good, I mean this was so on purpose to look awkward and terrible as FUCK.
Meanwhile Mary is watching on like Dean wtf are you doing to your husband? Sam is just like, god, not this again.
Wally is the John stand-in for Dean’s performance whilst Mary and Sam are the “it so doesn’t matter we don’t care who you think is hot or wanna bag or if you’re in freaking LOVE with Cas just focus on the job, Dean!”.
Watch it back too, when you flip between takes, Cas doesn’t even notice Mandy and his memory of Dean is kinda nice. Mary however… totally thinks Dean is being skeevy AF.
It’s all about Dean’s performance. It’s hugely linked to John. It’s fucking fantastic, just before Cas’ death bed confession, Dean’s eternal second half of the season months of worry and then grief that now could not be less framed as romantic.
Leading into a season that is ALL ABOUT FATHERS and specifically brings John up, literally out of fucking nowhere, to remind us that this season is SO much about Dean’s daddy issues and getting past them.
Letting go of precisely this kind of performance and accepting himself and who he is and who he loves.
Dean: when you said you’d do “magic in bed”, this isn’t exactly what I was ex-
Cas: (holds up 8 of hearts) is this your card?
Dean: (softly, in awe) son of a bitch
The bottle dangles in one hand, the knife in the other, and Dean
stalks down the hall, heading back to the kitchen. He should tell Sam, let him
know the stupid kid’s gone all stab-happy-Bukowski. Then Sam can rush in with
his Dr Phil crap and smother the kid in stupid platitudes about rock bottom and getting through it. The two of them will probably have a good cry,
listen to some fucking Enya, then start moving
on, in all the ways that Dean can’t.
There’s nothing to move on to. Dean’s future is lost in gritty, greasy, black smoke.
Dean stops, braces a hand on the cold, stone wall, and chugs
the last of the bottle. Screw telling Sam. He’ll figure it out. Kid wears his
damn heart on his sleeve, like an idiot.
He’ll learn.
The beer’s gone now, and Dean’s already had four, but they’re
not really doing anything. Big surprise. He’ll have to make a detour to his stash
in the library on his way to his room.
Mercifully, there’s an unopened bottle on the little table in
the corner. It’s cheap-ass whiskey, and it’s probably not gonna do much either,
but it’s what he’s got. He grabs the bottle by the neck and turns to go, but
the corner of the table catches his eye.
Two sets of initials, carved with a pocketknife, only a few
weeks ago. Feels like a decade.
The bottle thunks down on the table and Dean pulls back a
chair. He collapses, slumps back, and then realizes he’s still holding the
knife.
There’s a lot of things he could do with the knife. But he’s
a coward – always has been – so he drops it on the table and starts sucking
down the whiskey.
Gotta give Jack props on that score. He at least tried –
just went for it.
Given the option though, Dean will always choose the slow
suicide.
He swallows, swig after swig, 40-proof burning the back of
his throat like the acrid smoke of the pyre.
He’d wanted to fling himself onto it. How fitting it would’ve
been, to end their story the way it had begun: one of them diving headfirst
into fire, searching for the other.
But he hadn’t moved, couldn’t summon the energy. And before
he knew it Sam was there, using the same tone he always used with grieving
widows, the bastard.
It’s been a half hour and the bottle’s half-empty. He tries
to focus back in on the table, but his vision’s a little blurry. He can’t
decide if it’s his head or his eyes that are swimming.
Probably both. Score one for the slow suicide.
Dean’s always played it slow, though. Always assumed there’d
be time.
Time to talk, work it all out together. Time to finally spit
out the words, instead of making a dumbass mixtape and hoping Cas has a decoder
ring for Dean’s cryptic fucking feelings. Time for Cas to carve his own initial
into the table next to Dean’s.
The knife’s in his hand in he next instant, the point
digging into the wood. It’s too large, unwieldy, and it’s still covered in Jack’s
drying blood.
Dean only gets halfway through a squarish-looking ‘C’ before
it slips, slicing into the meat of his palm.
“Fuck.” His hand
flies to his mouth and he sucks on the cut. But it’s not too deep, and the
booze is dulling the pain, so he just leans across the table and yanks a few
tissues from the box. He crumples them in his fist, squeezing tight, then looks
up at the library’s high ceiling.
“You can’t hear me. I know you can’t. ‘M not trying to
pretend.” Dean’s keeping his voice low, but in this space, it still sounds too
loud. “‘Kay, maybe I am.”
He takes another pull from the bottle, then picks the knife
back up to keep carving.
“But I prayed to God, to Chuck, and that was stupid. When
has he ever actually answered one of our goddamn prayers? I shoulda prayed to you. You always hear me.”
The ‘C’ is finished now. Dean didn’t do a good job; the
lines are jagged and rough. He probably should’ve waited until he was sober.
“I need you to come home. I can’t do this. I’m trying, and I
can’t. I just – I can’t. So come back to me.”
The knife drops from his hand again, clattering against the
table. He’d gotten halfway through the ‘W’ without even realizing what he was
doing.
He stands abruptly and reaches for the bottle, but it’s empty
now. Maybe this suicide’s not that slow after all.
Tumblr backup 