indecadence | [ic contact]

[ how is he feeling? how the fuck do you think?

the laughing doesn't help and prompts another low sound of displeasure from dean as he attempts to move, the pain throbbing through his head stilling him again shortly after. fingers curl into the sheets as the memories of last night slowly etch themselves into his head, the miserable disaster that he'd been.

and all because of sam. because sam was dealing with the devil, going behind his back, and dean felt like he was losing his brother all over again.

he moves roughly after that, with no thought spared for his aching head, he shifts up and....

well, kicks cas off the bed. shoves or pushes or whatever as long as it gets the other man out of his way. ]

I'm fucking great, can't you tell?

[ sorry cas, cuddling time's over. ]

[ He's grateful that he'd put enough space between them not to be thrown outright onto the floor, though there's a moment he sort of scrambles for something to hold onto to keep himself on the bed. It dislodges the arm over his eyes, and the smile on his face slowly fades into something a bit tighter. Less amused.

Castiel sighs, forcing himself to sit up with him. That late night texting session really hadn't been the wisest plan of action. ]

Yeah. Much improved from the night before.

[ He can't help the sarcasm, equally annoyed that he'd woken up to this and had nearly been shoved away. It doesn't make him happy either, and whatever had happened before seems to be dissolving right back into reality. He does reach out to catch his arm, lightly pulling at the sleeve. ]

Where are you going? [ As far as he can tell, he's still drunk. Hungover. It's almost the same thing anymore. It might not be ideal, but he doesn't want him falling down the steps and killing himself. ]

[ dean grunts something at that, low and still very much growly, not really bothering with an answer. he'd been shit last night, he was shit this morning, nothing more to it. and he even still feels like shit-- so it's all great. yet he knows he shouldn't be taking it out on cas, that the other man definitely doesn't deserve it.

he's surprised, when cas clings to his sleeve, turns to look at him with a barely raised brow. ]

What's it to you?

[ he's not entirely sure. he feels like crap -- maybe he still is drunk, who knows -- everything aching and hurting, yet nothing stings more than what had originally driven him to this, sam's betrayal coming back to him at full force. he doesn't pull away from cas though, just sort of lingers there....

he doesn't know where he's going or what he's going to do, only that staying here seems like a bad idea. ]

Not supposed to be here to begin with.

[ he offers a breath later, quietly. ]

[ He's hardly fazed by it, allowing his fingers to curl a little tighter into the material before he even notices that's what he's doing. It's just an unconscious reaction, something he does and still can't quite seem to monitor. Really, all of this reminds him of the conversation he'd had with the other Dean--about calling him out. Except it also reminds Castiel that he would have to stand with him even if it meant against him, and he doesn't think he ever could.

So, they sit there beside each other while he looks at Dean and wonders. ]

I told you to stay. Whatever is out there can wait.

[ Meaning he's not ready to face those truths and consequences just yet, still burning from his conversation with Sam and waiting. He could bring it up, but he's tired and just wants to take these last few hours for himself. For them. But he's not that generous anymore. If Dean hasn't stumbled out of his room by now, maybe there's some hope left to salvage.

Then again, maybe all he wants to do is ask things that are never meant to be asked. ]

Besides, you wouldn't make it down the steps like that. [ So don't fight him on this. ]

[ maybe some more sleep wouldn't hurt, but dean can't let himself sink back into the bed, the warmth. there are things to be done, those intent on trapping the devil and making him pay. a part of him wants to say as much to cas, but he's no sure if he should drag the other man into it. this place has offered him comfort today, and he can't quite sum up his thanks for cas, won't even try, but it lingers there, the gratitude...

even if cas probably can't tell.

dean grunts something, not quite denying that yeah, he probably can't make it down the steps like this, but he has to go all the same. if the stairs end up killing him-- well, that would be hilarious, and he might as well embrace it. ]

Have to try.

[ he feels like crap, but the words are lighter. he can't stay, it's that simple. so a breath later, a look at cas, and he's getting up, unsteady in his movements but sure. a hand comes to his head, rubbing in circles as the aches increase with movements, his face pinched in momentary pain.

then it's a couple steps towards the door before he pauses, casting cas a quick look, eyes not quite meeting. ]

Thanks.

[ and out the door!!! ]

[ Is this really a thing we're doing? ]

:] ?

One does not share Grace.

[ He's just about offended that he's even having this conversation with his future self, and half-wonders if some substance had done lasting damage to his cognitive functions or... judgment or something. Of course, this offense does not seem to extend to the reverse -- which he points out. ]

In theory, I could possess you... but what you are suggesting -- It has never been done before.

I don't mean possession.

[ It's a frustrated noise that follows, wishing to be close enough to shake the angel. That isn't what he's asking, and it should be painfully obvious. For once, he's thinking clearly. Even if he doesn't feel it's hardly necessary anymore. ] Maybe not. [ Quiet agreement, and he looks at him. ] But that doesn't make it impossible.

[ He isn't going to beg, but he won't stop asking either. ]

[ An experiment, basically... and one that sounds completely off the rails and that pretty much confirms the angel's suspicions. He drops his gaze, resigning himself to that being a reality -- that he's seen his future and it's... this.

This destitution in more ways than he knows how to deal with. All he can do is shake his head, and get to his feet and push past this insanity toward a more fruitful topic. Which means yes, he's dismissing this idea of his entirely. ]

On my way back, I stopped at the pharmacy.

[ It wasn't his idea, he would have otherwise just scrubbed his body clean of any substances and left him dry. Castiel extends his hand and holds out a bottle of pills. The label reads these are meant to be taken twice daily to treat anxiety. ]

I am told these help with certain... imbalances. Try not to abuse them.

[ It wouldn't have to be if he cooperated, if he tried. Is it because he's scared to test the theory? Or is it that he cares so little for himself that he'd allow Castiel to continue in his misery without so much as a gesture of goodwill? He doesn't know which is worse now: feeling as if some other part of yourself can't stand you or is simply medicating you to shut you up.

He takes one glance at them, staring at the label and feeling... angry. Offended. Castiel unwinds himself and reaches out as if to take them before hitting the angel's hand to knock them onto the floor. ]

Don't try that with me, Castiel. [ His tone is sharp. ] I know you better than anyone else. It's not going to work.

[ Being dismissed or ignored. He's not going to sit back and accept it any longer. ] Consider it - that's all I ask.

[ Castiel lifts his eyes toward the ceiling, irritation plain on his face despite having a limited range of expressions to begin with. The bottle clatters to some dark corner of the room and he makes no effort to retrieve it.

It's not that he doesn't care. One doesn't tuck someone into bed and bring them ~~cold~~ breakfast because they are indifferent about someone's well-being. Castiel is just not well equipped to handle what appears to him to be a worst case scenario -- a human him and a broken version at that. ]

You need help. And I -- I don't know how to give it to you. [ Castiel announces, his tone hardened with frustration but he at least levels his gaze down on him. ] I wouldn't even know where to begin this... this experiment of yours.

I'm telling you how to give it to me.

[ He had been for a while now. Granted, most of it had been a rather inebriated excuse that did not warrant any real understanding, but they are here now, together in his room and speaking on - what he wishes to be - equal terms. Castiel shifts so that he's sitting on the edge of the bed this time, leaning forward and dropping his voice as if it's some great secret that no one else should overhear despite being the only ones in the room. ] We try until we find a way. There is no right or wrong if it's never been done before, and we can use that to our advantage.

[ Besides, the starting point is easy: the angel's grace. Everything else is just trial and error. ]