deansangelicpurity:

relucant:

kreweofimp:

thecorruptedquietone:

ladymalchav:

winglesshunter:

thecorruptedquietone:

What if some kids made fun of dean for not having a mom tho

#but I do have a mommy’ #dean tells them #’she’s with the angels’

I hate you.

It’s in art class when it happens

The kindergarteners are supposed to be making cards for Mother’s Day

Dean’s making the biggest heart he can, covered in glitter and XO’s

The little girl next to him says, in that truthful yet mean way that kids have

‘But Dean, you ain’t got a mommy’

His little hands still over the table for just a second

‘Yes I have, an she’s the most beautiful mommy ever.  But she’s with the angels now’

‘So how are you gonna give her that card?’

Dean thinks as he signs his name in big block letters at the bottom

‘I’ll find an angel’ he eventually answers

‘I’ll find an angel and give it to him an then he can take it to my mom’

He picks up his art and tries to shake off the extra glitter, most of it landing in his hair

‘I bet she’s gots lotsa friends up there, and everyone will know her’

He smiles big, just picturing it

Oh, just fuck you.  Seriously.  What the hell?  How dare you?

ok but what if then the little girl just sits there for a minute, chewing her lip in thought.

“Mr. Pebbles went to heaven last month, my mommy told me,” she finally says.  “He’s my kitty.  Does your mommy like cats?”

“I… dunno,” Dean says, confused.  “I bet she does.  She loves everyone.”

“Well, she’d love Mr. Pebbles,” the little girl says confidently.  “I bet they’re friends.  D’you think she’d say hi for me?”

Dean nods vigorously.  He hesitates, then pushes his card over to her.  “Can you draw him?  So’s she knows what he looks like and can rec-recog-recognize him.”

She bends over the card, tongue between tiny teeth in concentration.  Finally sits back and hands it to Dean proudly, showing off a small orange shape in a corner, with triangular ears, stick legs, and big green circles for eyes.

“His eyes look like yours,” she says seriously, then squints at Dean before snatching the card back and grabbing a brown crayon, pressing it down.  “Imma make freckles, too.  That way we know she’ll recognize him.”

“Cats don’t have freckles,” Dean protests, despite peering at the card with interest.

“Course they do.  S’where the whiskers grow.  Boy, if you was a kitty, you’d have lots of whiskers.”  She presses one more dot to the card and slides it back over.  “There.  Now she’ll find him and they’ll be friends forever an’ ever.”

Dean looks at the card, then draws a smaller but distinct heart around the cat.  “Now they will,” he affirms, smiling even bigger.