indecadence | [ic contact]

[ ARE YOU PROUD OF HIM????? ]

We both agreed we made some mistakes. And we're going to work together.

I'm glad to hear it. [ Still processing, hold on. ] So, where do we start?

With finding a place. I think having a base would be smart. Like back home, with the camp.

I've been looking. It's not going to be easy finding something similar.

It simply needs to be big enough for three people. We'll find something. I'll come look with you.

[ That's not all he's taken into account because that's not all it needs to be, but he'll save the thought for later. Honestly, this feels surreal. ]

I suppose we can begin where I left off. [ He decides to send a location. ] The building across campus near the library.

I'll meet you there then.

All right. [ As an afterthought: ] Bring Sam with you.

[ after picking up sam, after confronting the cultists building the barricade around the place, after having said cultists flip their shit and things getting violent and bloody-- that's when dean returns home. after the entire mess is over and done with, after things had gone just as badly as he'd thought they would, he comes home. where sam slinks off to is beyond dean, but he's stepping into the dark room late, not calling out, not make much noise other than by moving through the place, and dropping off items left and right.

his gun goes to the rest on a table, placed down with something of a pained sound... his jacket is torn at one arm, painted red with his own blood. the wound isn't the worst he's ever suffered, but it makes using his arm a chore. that, and it needs to be cleaned out before an infection can settle in.

so it's what he settles to do, quiet, pained breathing the only audible sound in the room. ]

[ He's not asleep. Or hadn't been.

After suffering his own scrapes and bruises from picking through places just off the campus line, he'd detoured back and spent the rest of his time taking care of them. Superficial things, really, but he'd stripped down to a t-shirt that probably wasn't his and his ragged pair of jeans just to make sure. Both Dean and Sam's absence weren't a problem; he could contact them if he needed it, get in touch with some of the people who would help him if he couldn't. So, the quiet fills the part of the building they've claimed aside from the occasional outside interference, and he lights some of the candles they've managed to scavenge when it grows dark.

Except it's far more dark than he remembers it when he opens his eyes again, body stiff from having folded his legs up in some meditative pose. The light's burned out, and he frowns at his carelessness when the sounds catch his attention. If he hadn't known, by the steps or the breath or the click of the gun being dropped on the table, he would have tensed up and reached for the knife stashed under the mattress. But he unwinds himself and rolls out, purposely loud as he heads straight for the place he'd set the candles to light them. ]

Where were you? [ It's not accusatory, just curious. ]

[ dean tenses some when castiel comes in, but only casts a quick look at the other man before turning back to himself. it's been... a week now, but dean hasn't brought up what happened on the night they made up, hasn't tried to do anything else about it. it's been good like this, no fighting, no arguing and no secrets... it's what dean had wanted, and he doesn't want to ruin it.

he's shrugging half out of his jacket, one sleeve still in place where it's plastered around the torn skin, matted with dirt and blood. he scoffs an amused, quiet sound. ]

Talking to cultists.

[ fucking sam and his fucking plan. ]

It went well.

[ With light now, it's easier to make out everything in the room--including Dean. Castiel makes his way toward him, expression solemn even as he takes immediate notice of the wound on his arm. He might have expected any other answer, but the fact he'd gone to talk to them... There's softer scoff in response. ]

I take it your brother convinced you to go. [ Which is surprising considering how Sam had asked him to keep in check, more or less. ] That wasn't very smart.

[ And then, he's reaching out to take Dean's wrist, pulling his arm closer to inspect the injury. He says nothing about their proximity, about whatever had happened almost a week ago. Things are peaceful, strangely enough, and he's enjoying it a little too much. Castiel eases his arm back to Dean's side a second later and steps around him. ]

Let me help you. [ Even if he doesn't let him have the choice, already heading straight for the supplies they have. ]

[ dean watches cas carefully, voice even. ]

I told him what would happen, but he insisted. [ cas' hand finds dean's wrist, and he lets him look. the wound stings, cuts deep through muscle and it's still bleeding. not as badly as before, and the pain has turned into something more throbbing, rendering most of his arm useless. but while cas looks, dean looks at him; the dip of his nose, the angle of his jaw-- all so familiar, yet in a new light now. ]

I couldn't let him go alone.

[ he would have died out there, and they both know dean can't have that. plus, he'd wanted to give the cultists a piece of his mind, and he had. if there's blood splattered anywhere else on him, it's not his. ]

You don't have to help. I got this.

[ he says despite cas moving to get the supplies. ]

I know. I spoke to him about it too.

[ Which doesn't do any good considering how stubborn a Winchester is. He hadn't outright said talking would be good, but neither would trying to fight them head-on as Dean had apparently wanted to do. There's the slightest shake of his head at the thought; poorly thought-out ideas always ended like this, and his fingers curl around the box they've stashed medical supplies in, hesitating for a moment before turning back to him. ]

It still isn't smart. [ A pointed look. ] But at least both of you are alive.

[ Small miracles, right? He drops the box on the table beside Dean's gun and blatantly ignores his last comment. Whether or not he can handle it, It's always easier with an extra set of hands. Castiel moves in closer, gently picking at the edges of the bloodied shirt in an attempt to roll it away from the wound. He could cut it, but it seems to be cooperating on its own. Which... gives him a better view of it, and he frowns, tilting his head to stare at Dean. ]

It might need stitches. I'll do it. [ So don't argue with him. ]

[ dean hisses some at the way cas picks at the shirt. ]

Alive and ready to put down a few more of those suckers. [ killing cultists has turned into a great stress reliever for him, dean can't deny that much. it feels good to snuff out the lives of those who oppose them and seek to hurt them, it feels great even. like he's doing something good. and now that sam might see it too, well, even better. ]

I don't like stitches.

[ sewing always hurts, no matter how used to it he might be. but this is... better than having to do it alone. but he doesn't argue more, just ends huffing a quiet; ]

We could go together, next time. [ hunt some cultists. ]

Could be fun.

[ There's the slightest roll of his eyes at that comment. No need to add to it though, and Castiel cups the back of his arm with a hand, the thumb of his other carefully pulling apart the damaged skin to check the depth of the wound; it goes straight to the muscle, blood welling to the surface. He eases up and presses his lips together, thinning them. ]

Stitches. [ It's a quiet confirmation, twisting to dig through the box for what he needs now. Clean it first, sew it up after. ] If you don't like them, you shouldn't be so careless.

[ Despite the fact it's what they should be doing. Castiel is still hesitant about it though, wondering why COMPASS would bother to make a point with them. Besides, if they kill them and put an end to whatever experiments are at hand, what would that mean for them? Would they be sent home? Would they die? The slightest shake goes up his arm, and he curls his fingers tight--right around the bottle of antiseptic. ]

And hunting them isn't going to solve anything. It could be worse next time - even if I went. [ Even if they're good together in a fight. He gently waves the bottle at him. ] Get on the table.

[ As they don't have any chairs and he need him to stay still, it's the closest flat surface they have. ]

[ don't tell him what to do!! ]

No, but it feels great.

[ dean remarks slightly before doing as told. he eases himself on the table, looking at cas and then the wound, no t liking the sight of it one bit. it's inconvenient, and puts his arm on time out when he really needs it most. anything could happen, and wounds are always so limiting...

but instead of letting the frustration building up inside of him swell, he focuses on cas again. ]

What were you up to?

[ he says eventually, voice low and green eyes on cas. ]

[ There's only a sigh, moving away from him to gather something to soak up the excess blood; they needed to save what gauze they had anyway. Then, after Dean's on the table, he's crowding into his space with the shirt he's picked up and the disinfectant, bracing his arm again as he thumbs open the wound. It's going to hurt, he's sure, but there's no point wasting his breath on something so obvious, tipping and pouring the stuff into it. Only a little, though, and he lets it bleed again, gaze lifting to meet Dean's eyes. ]

I think I fell asleep. Before that-- [ He lifts his shoulder in a shrug as he applies pressure to Dean's arm. ] I've been searching parts of the city. It's as if no one was ever really here.

[ Which is creepy, to say the least. Another minute or two passes before he lifts the now ruined material and exchanges everything for the needle and it's counterpart. Castiel leans in again, almost casual as he wipes flecks of blood from Dean's cheek with the tip of his finger. ]

I'll try to be gentle. [ The smile he gives means it's supposed to be a joke. ]

[ dean's been through this dance before, many, many times. the antiseptic always hurts, and having it poured right into an open, raw wound has him biting down on the inside of his cheek and sucking in a sharp breath, forcing his head and eyes away from cas-- as if hiding the obvious pain.

once it's done though, he looks back at castiel, and just listens to what he says. ]

Find anything useful?

[ because he can rest assured that cas knows what's useful versus what's not. not all the time of course, dean still remembers some of the junk cas had stored away in his room back at camp. but here there's no time for junk, no matter how appealing it might be.

the needle and string get a quick look -- he hates this part -- but the fingers at his face distract him then, just as the smile does. the look is unfaltering, piercing almost as he breathes back a quiet. ]

I don't like gentle.

[ two can play at this game. ]

[ He has to let go of him to thread it, keeping a close eye on the wound as he does so. Dean's question is probably meant as a distraction, but he doesn't know what to offer him besides the slightly shake of his head. Nothing useful--no supplies, no food or weapons. He thinks it's going to be a dangerous war when it actually breaks, but the only evidence of that thought is the slight tension in his mouth.

There's a huff of breath at the challenge too. ]

All right. Then I'll be sure to give the patient exactly what he wants.

[ Even if he's teasing, it's not going to be easy. At least the actually cut isn't too terribly jagged, steeling himself before setting to work on stitching him up. He goes quickly, efficiently. Before, he'd thought this form of care archaic and unnecessary; with being able to simply heal any injuries as an angel, there hadn't been any point. But he'd had to learn it after he lost his grace, basic field dressings too. Castiel still carries the scars from his particularly bad first attempts at sewing himself up. Still, that was a long time ago, and he's strangely good at this now, keeping each stitch small and uniform as he goes along.

Once he's done, has the knot tied and is cutting the excess with the tip of a knife also kept on the box, he looks at him with a smirk. ]

There's a very good chance you're going to live.

[ have a matching huff. ]

Give it your best shot.

[ and cas does. it takes little time for dean to fall entirely quiet as cas works, the needle piercing skin over and over again, always hurting just as much as the last stab. but he remains still, breathing short and ragged but he doesn't let anymore pain show, doesn't let himself flinch when cas goes in again with the needle. just waits it out, arm numb by the time cas is tying off his work and looking at him with that smirk.

there's no amusement to be found on dean's face anymore. ]

Great.

[ yay, awesome. now can they be done with this? he looks down at the newly stitched wound, the work left behind clean and acceptable. it still pulses with pain, but he tries to ignore it. ]

Tell me we have something to drink 'round here...

[ The fact that he doesn't appear amused doesn't offset Castiel's own mood, still smiling as he takes the ruined shirt and wipes his hands off before snatching up some of the bandages. Now comes the gauze and something to keep the stitches from sticking to it, making quicker work of wrapping it in place so he can let the other man sit for a few minutes. He drops the needle back into the box, arms behind his back to stretch now that the immediate crisis is over.

His body's still sore from falling asleep in the wrong position, and it's a hard reminder that life hasn't always been this easy. ]

There might be something we haven't drank yet. I'll check.

[ Which is exactly what he does, crouching down where he'd left some of his things from earlier to search through them. There's not much in the way of edibles inside--some rope, ammo, a spare gun and its accompanying knife. But tucked underneath all those things is a bottle that's had its labeled peeled off, the glass dark and the contents strong when he unscrews the cap.

Without another word, Castiel returns to the table to offer it to him and carefully reaches around him to clean up the mess he's made. ]

[ with the gauze wrapped around his wound, dean finally feels like he can relax. of course, the cut still throbs, and his entire arm feels like it's on fire. still, he waits for cas to find something -- and he better do so, dean really needs a drink or eight right now -- and when cas emerges with a bottle, he's more than happy to take it as it's offered.

with the cap off, he throws the bottle back easily enough, taking a long swig even while the liquid burns down his throat. with a satisfied sigh, he just sits there for a moment, breathing as some tension drains from his frame. ]

Do you-- [ he hisses some as he moves his injured arm. ] ...Do you have anything else? For this.

[ something to take the pain away, maybe. because dean's not entirely sure if he'll be able to sleep with the pain of his arm... even if cas is there, next to him. ]

[ Everything neat and where it should be, he leans back to give Dean a slower once-over. There's blood all over his clothes and a bit splattered on his skin. Castiel thinks he and Sam must have given them a good fight by the state of him, and absently, he reaches out to rub off some of the red across Dean's jaw, dropping his hand down to curl it around Dean's and the bottle once he's done. He lifts it to his mouth to take a sip, humming over the question. ]

Maybe. [ He has a bottle of something in another bag. ] But you shouldn't drink that if you want it.

[ Castiel knows more than he should about mixing liquor and drugs. He'd tried enough to be an expert, and he isn't going to risk giving Dean painkillers in addition to the booze. He's already hurt; he doesn't want to kill him. Gently, he releases the hold he has on the bottle and slips his fingers up to hold his wrist. ]

Come on. [ It's a slight tug. ] I'll help you clean up and then give it to you.

[ At the very least, they can get his clothes changed and Dean into bed. Castiel isn't all that tired now, but it's better than just sitting around watching Dean try to drink away the pain. ]

[ dean simply remains still, taking another swig at from the bottle and then feels cas' hand come to the side of his face. there must be blood, or something, but he leans into the touch just a fraction, eyes dropping some from cas' face. the bottle is given freely, the warmth of the liquid already enough, as he waits for an answer.

an answer which doesn't quite please him. ]

And you... [ he begins slowly, voice low. ] Shouldn't tell me what to do.

[ the tug, the command to follow, are ignored. instead, dean breathes for a moment, then reaches out with his uninjured arm, fingers curling into the belt loops of cas' pants, tugging him towards him instead. it's one, swift motion, right until cas is closer-- close enough. his fingers remains there, resting over his hip somewhere, green slowly lifting to find blue. ]

Thank you.

[ for fixing him up, for helping. ]

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w17d7 late evening

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