dean glares at him for a moment, lets the bitter anger wash over him and drive his actions like it's so easy to let. sam would have said the same, would have kept up the lies if dean hadn't found out about them. and cas could be doing the same.
could be, would be, maybe, he doesn't know-- ]
How do I know I can trust you.
[ it's said eventually, with the same weariness that sags cas' body, he feels it weigh him down, too. this is all becoming too much, and he has no idea what to do anymore. he doesn't let up though, just sways there for a moment, the burn of alcohol numbing his mind despite his best efforts to concentrate.
[ Something in those words snap hard and fast, and Castiel's staring pointblank at him, fingers twitching an inch before curling into the fabric of his shirt. ]
Are we having this conversation again? [ How many times will they have to suffer through it? ] I have given you everything. Your trust is the least you could give me.
[ The least. It's grit, teeth clenched but voice still relatively even as he speaks, and yet, with the mention of Sam's name, it causes him to pause. To hesitate, to stumble. He'd seen Sam not long ago, and things had been... okay. Yet, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Whatever secrets the Winchesters keep only continues to prove that statement true.
Some sinking feeling settles in the pit of his stomach, and he hates that he has to ask. ]
[ maybe he just doesn't know how to trust anymore. he'd placed some faith in sam, had dug it up from somewhere only to find out about sam's dates with the devil. ]
Has a deal with Lucifer. Hangs out with him, is gettin' friendly with him but that's alright, 'cause he won't say yes, he--
[ he sucks in a breath, sound pained like he's finding out about it all over again. ]
He lied, he said-- it's all going just like last time, Cas, he'll end up right where I lost him.
[ the bottle falls then, shattering on the floor in tiny pieces of glass, the insides staining the floor. but dean doesn't budge, just lingers there without looking at cas anymore, eyes downcast somewhere else as he tries to get the words out. how he could have been so fucking stupid to believe sam, to ever let him out of his sight is beyond dean.
if anything, maybe it means he's meant to lose him no matter what. ]
[ He'd been expecting... something else. Something not so earth-moving, something that doesn't make his heart skip a beat or his breath to catch as his throat tightens. It's not the same as when their Sam had said yes, but it's close. These events that had led them to this road are so very close and intangibly wound together that it's so difficult to pull them apart now. It explains why Dean is here, why he's drunk. Why they're such a mess standing together in the hallway.
All Castiel can think are the words Lucifer had told him before he'd snapped his neck. You will always end up here. They would, they have, and it feels like someone has ripped part of him out of his chest.
Hope. Their hope. He struggles to find the words even as the sound of the bottle breaking jars him back into reality. ]
I-- [ No, no, no. He has to try. He has to say something. ] It's not going to be like last time. We have the advantage, Dean, and nothing can change that. We know.
[ How, when, why. All of it. Their experiences simply do not mean anything, and they can fix this before Sam does something worse than making a deal with the devil. It burns through him, all that anger because he doesn't want what they have sacrificed to mean absolutely nothing or be forgotten. Castiel slides his hand from Dean's arm to his wrist. ]
This is why we're here, and this is why we trust each other. [ God knows they couldn't count on their counterparts to do anything. ] We will make it right this time.
[ it should be comforting, what castiel says. instead, dean just makes a low sound, not agreeing because it's not that simple, not at all. if sam is choosing lucifer over him, in any way, then that's it. they've lost him-- are losing him, just like they had back home all those years ago.
and dean feels like he has no one else to blame except himself. ]
How--
[ alcohol blinds his mind, makes everything miserable and muddy now that he's letting it. there's no changing anything this time, even if they do know how it can all go down. no, this time it's just them watching it all unfold the same, helplessly losing sam all over again.
dean leans closer then, rests his forehead on cas' shoulder and sucks in another breath, stance unsteady even where he still has cas against the wall. it's about as close to a hug as he's been to the other man in years which is why it only lasts a beat or two-- right until dean's pushing away, taking steps back and turning. ]
Whatever. We're done here.
[ or would be if dean didn't stumble with his next step, whoops. ]
[ Their proximity and the pressure of Dean's forehead to his shoulder catches him a little unaware, stunned to silence as he waits for something. Castiel waits for the ball to drop because it always does. No matter the time or place, he's left with this gaping hole that neither of them can properly fill because their friendship teeters in such a precarious direction. On again, off. Not quite together but so touched that everything affects them one way or the other.
He lifts his hand, hovering there over the expanse of Dean's back as if he's going to give in and hug him. He doesn't remember the last time they'd been so casual. Drinking isn't the same. Speaking isn't either.
But then Dean is shoving away, making real what he'd been waiting for. The gap only continues to grow, and he's helpless to stop it. Whatever he says is always the wrong thing. Whatever he does doesn't seem to matter anymore. It's why he reaches out and grabs him tight by the arm--maybe to keep him from falling, maybe just because he's a little hurt by everything that's happened. He doesn't need Dean to fuel it, but he doesn't need him to just turn his back on him again. ]
No we're not. [ Still holding him, he turns to the door and gets it open. ] Inside. Now.
[ He's not letting him leave like this. Not until they can sort some things out, and whatever original reason Dean had come to him for can wait. ]
[ dean doesn't even realize cas has a hold on him until he stops him from stumbling. it leaves dean blinking back at cas, weariness written into his face as he looks form cas to where the other man's hand is latched onto his arm. normally, that might get cas into a whole heap of trouble, but today dean just grumbles something foul under his breath, shards of broken glass cracking under his boots.
it's only at the command to go inside that dean starts protesting. ]
Let go of me...
[ he has business to attend to!! like killing lucifer and beating sam and killing himself and looking at ripples.
he does get to about as far as the door, stands there in the frame and just latches a hand onto the side like he's not feeling too hot for a minute. a groan later, and he's looking at cas, eyes unfocused and pained. ]
I don't want to shoot him again.
[ as sam, as lucifer. he doesn't even want to try. ]
[ He should hold some sympathy for him, but Castiel can't be bothered with that right now. He takes in his entire demeanor and feels his resolve for all of this strengthen. If Dean is feeling low, he will pick him up. One thing that can be said about being here is that it's changed his perspective, the outcomes of the things around him, and he isn't going to allow Dean the luxury of slipping away from him again. He is a mover, and Castiel is going to make certain he stays on that path no matter how hard he has to push. No matter what it takes, he's going to make it so.
His grip doesn't lessen, fingers curling into the muscle he feels beneath those layers. ]
You're not going to. It won't happen like before.
[ His certainty is astounding, unbreakable, and Castiel pushes him a little, determined to keep wherever this conversation is going as private as possible. What they have to say can be said in his room, away from everyone else. That, and he can get Dean into his bed before he passes out on the floor. He frowns at him, eyes leveling with his and trying to see through all the misery that blatantly stares back. For someone who tries so hard not to feel, it burns deep in him. ]
Come on. [ And there's the gentleness now, taking a step back to urge him inside. He doesn't let go though. If anything, his hold grows firmer. ]
[ but cas what if he wants to have this conversation right here!!!
the certainty in cas' voice is unexpected, a mirror of sam's words from before. he'd believed him, and wants to believe cas now but he can't keep going through this... betrayal that people seem to favor when it comes to him. he might deserve it in some part, but it leaves him tired and hopeless.
even the usual anger doesn't seem to save him this time.
he follows with the urging, eyes on the floor now as he steps inside. ]
You can't stop it. You're just...
[ you might have stood by him all this time, but you're just...you, cas. either way, dean looks ready to drop, the alcohol burning in his blood and dragging him down all the more, making every part of his grow heavier. he hasn't been this drunk in years, probably not since sam first said yes, when he died and dean lost him forever.
dean twists his arm just a little, hand wrapping around cas'. it's mostly for balance, to make their connection stronger, more firm, but also because... cas grounds him, gives him the proof he needs right now that this is real, at least. that he's there and despite all the bullshit, he won't leave. ]
[ Everything in him wants to ask what. All this time, through the things that separate them, and he still yearns for Dean's approval. He still needs it, still wants to do the right thing even if the road they travel has been nothing but cruelty and suffering. It's a difficult existence when you've seen what makes the insides of a person and still can't fit them back together after they've shattered to pieces. Perhaps it's because he'd never been strong enough to do so in the first place; temptation and curiosity had been his downfall. Love. They may never agree or see eye-to-eye, but there is no doubt that that has always been there for Castiel. He wouldn't have stayed with him if it hadn't been.
He'd once told Dean that they were family, that they were friends and that he needed him. He does, and he might always, even when the last of what holds them to each other crumbles to dust.
Castiel feels himself giving in, sighing and taking hold of Dean's hand better. Tighter. He leads him through the short space between rooms and into his, arm going around him if he needs it. If he happens to stumble, he's simply there for support. He doesn't make a scene or accuse him of being an idiot--which he is, of that there is no doubt. And once they're inside, shut out from the world, he takes him to his bed and finally speaks. ]
I hate it too. [ If he's being honest. ] But there are some things that make it tolerable.
[ Like him and Evelynn and sometimes Sam. People he would have lost or never knew if it weren't for being here. ]
[ once in cas' room and by the bed, dean sits down mostly because his legs are very much in the mood to give out by now. he sits with a grunt, eyes still on the floor until a beat later he's looking at cas again. or glancing, more like, as if he's afraid he'll find something there that he doesn't like-- like pity or concern, anger or disappointment. something. ]
Could've fooled me.
[ but no, cas is right. sam, despite the pain he's causing dean right now, makes things better too. as does cas. everything else though... he wants to shut them all out. even jo, no matter how glad he is to see her again. she's not his jo, she doesn't understand him or where he comes from.
dean's hand trails from cas', drops down onto the bed next to him. he sways there for a minute, sitting on the bed with slumped shoulders. ]
At least I have you.
[ it's quiet, mumbled and barely audible, almost as if he hadn't meant it to be said out loud. and maybe he doesn't even realize that he does indeed say it. he's still not looking at cas, instead has his eyes fixed on his hand over the bed, flexing his fingers over the fabric of his blanket.
it feels nice and soft now, even if it's not really that great. ]
[ Castiel ignores those words, forcing back a sharp roll of his eyes so there's a passive look instead. He knows Dean is hurting, and that this, whatever it is, is his way of expressing it, lashing out without so much as thinking about it. For that, at least, there is no blame. They have their vices and their faults, and somehow, they are still here. They have still come this far. He realizes that they might never be as they'd been before, when he'd been an angel and Dean so righteous, but perhaps it could be better. If only they can work through these things without estranging themselves again.
For several seconds, he watches him. He's so drunk, and it's almost pathetic, pitying. Yet, he isn't going to give him that or judge him. Besides, what he says after causes him to come up short, thoughts falling away to one simple truth. Castiel hesitates and then presses forward to sit beside him on the bed, impossibly close so that their knees and thighs touch. He's never been overly concerned with personal space, and even now, especially now, it doesn't matter. Resting his forearms on his legs, he idly looks at his hands. ]
You have always had me, Dean.
[ It's equally soft, an intimate whisper that's just as good as a confession. It had been a promise Castiel had made--that he would be there, that he would never leave, that Dean would not suffer alone. ] I can't understand why it's taken you so long to see it.
[ And only then does he risk a glance at him, nerves suddenly drawn tight. Like he's exposed something that should never have been said. ]
[ this is probably not the best conversation to have while dean's drunk out of his mind....
but it definitely is the best time to have it.
dean doesn't move when cas sits next to him, when he presses the length of his leg against dean's, the warmth seeping from his body. it's...comforting, though he doesn't say it, and dean only gives him a short look for it, one that isn't apparently met by cas. right now all physical contact is strangely nice, and the realization hits him as something he seems to have forgotten somewhere along the way...
why has it taken him this long to see it? dean can't find the answer. it's somewhere buried underneath relentless pain over his past failing, under the self-hatred and ever-present anger he can't ever seem to shake completely. the answer is out of his grasp, so he can't offer it to cas.
instead he leans slightly on the other man, shoulder to shoulder, personal space not an issue for him today either. it's getting difficult to stay upright and cas is there, solid and warm. ]
I don't know why.
[ he almost sounds apologetic about it. and it prompts him to look at cas closer, turn his head and really look at him; no half-glances or such. ]
[ He's not expecting an answer. He never expects anything, really, and even getting so much as that, the i don't know why is more than he'd ever hoped to get. Dean is so closed off, so hard to figure out when he's so fearless leader. But things are beginning to change, he supposes. They fight, they argue, but they speak. Castiel doesn't remember the last time he's touched pills either, and that has to count for something too. Right? All of this has to count for something.
He just isn't sure what.
Castiel sucks in a breath when Dean leans against him, clasping his fingers together and loosening them just as quick. Maybe he means to get a grip on his arm and ease him back upright, but it's not as if this has ever bothered him. Contact he generally likes anyway, now, and it's reminiscent of things before, when they could rely on each other and not think twice about it. Yet, Castiel has grown incredibly selfish through the years, and he can't stop himself from looking back or resting a hand on Dean's arm. His lips press thin before the words fall out. ]
Would it have changed things between us if you had?
[ Would they have still become like this? Ended up here? Would they be sitting here like this without an inch of space between them? Castiel doesn't blink, afraid he might miss the answer when it comes. ]
dean doesn't know. he pretends to, but honestly in this place, this city, he doesn't know much. everything's been turned on its head, and it's left him lost for the most part. ]
Probably.
[ maybe he would have tried to find another way, but then again, maybe not. if anything, he'd like to think he wouldn't have sacrificed cas for a shot at the devil, but at the same time, he'd been so blinded by that need to kill lucifer it might have still killed their friendship. it's a lot of ifs and buts and maybes, all things cas has a right to ask even if dean wishes he wouldn't.
he sighs some then, another wave of fatigue hitting him. this is nice though, them like this, it leaves dean feeling like he can't move-- doesn't even want to. he could just about fall asleep like this for once, the normal paranoia and wariness that keeps him awake at nights dulled right then.
still, he ends up asking quietly; ]
Would you be happier if we were still like the other two?
[ He tries to hold the look as long as he can when that answer finally does come, but it sinks and spins out of control to the point he has to shift his eyes away and look at something else. Probably doesn't necessarily mean it would, and that's not enough of him. Castiel has found that uncertainties are a better friend than unknowns because it lends the power of hope. It gives them something to look to even when everything is so bleak, so out of focus. And it's this world too, how it messes with them and twists them in different directions. For a moment, they are impossibly close, and tomorrow-- Well, tomorrow is never enough.
Instead, he tries to focus on what he's asked and what the truth of it is. Sometimes he fools himself into thinking that erasing what has been done would make him happier. That if he woke up an angel again, filled to the brim with grace and knowing, it would change his outlook. Yet, there's so much he's traded for his place at Dean's side, and it's too much to decide whether or not he would have thrown it away to keep what he'd lost. ]
Maybe. [ It's the definite he settles on, just as quiet as he looks around the room and finally back at him. ] But we're not them. He isn't you, and I'm-- I like this.
[ Whatever this co-existence happens to be, whatever sort of place they've found themselves in. Besides, he hardly wants anything to do with his other self, and past Dean is this strange conundrum he hasn't decided whether to really like or hate. At least his Dean is familiar. At least he can guess what would happen if he were to press certain issues. ]
Nothing is ever going to be perfect - I think we've managed so far. [ Being not so perfect, the two of them. ] Is that what you would want? If you could change things, would you want to be like them?
[ It makes him nervous to ask, and unconsciously, his fingers dig just a fraction harder into Dean's arm. ]
[ there's something dean, even with his alcohol foggy brain, doesn't expect to hear.
i like this.
nobody is supposed to like this. nobody. not cas, not him-- neither of them, not even sam and the other dean, they're just reminders of how shit things can get, what they could all turn into down the road. dean hates it, what they've turned into, who he is now. he hates himself more than he ever thought capable, it oozes out of him with everything he does, every time he challenges an archangel, every time he puts his life on the line. he hates himself, and honestly, he hates what he's turned cas into.
but hearing that leaves him speechless, a little more rigid as he leans against cas... right until dean snorts, the sound faintly amused and relaxes again. ]
To this day I still don't really get you.
[ always full of surprises, cas. always saying and doing the unexpected, giving him reasons that he doesn't know how to deal with. in the uncertainty that is cas though, in the tight squeeze of his fingers, dean finds comfort, even now. ]
No. Maybe I did before, but... I don't know anymore.
[ he doesn't like himself, not then or now, so what point would there be in wanting one over the other. he wants things to be alright for once, with sam, with cas, but that seems to be asking for too much. the thought hurts, still, but the pain isn't quite as sharp some when dean had first found cas in the hallway, dulled by the other man's presence and the alcohol that's now slowly putting him to sleep. ]
[ Something in those words actually brings a smile to his face, short and small but a smile nonetheless. Castiel could counter with a pointless have you ever really understood me that would hang heavier between them than all the problems they have already, so he holds his tongue. Instead, he allows his hand to loosen, merely lying atop Dean's arm in the most casual touch he can muster. He never knows what lines there are to cross until they've been walked over or Dean is shoving him away. He doesn't want to ruin this.
Yet, he has to say something to ease him. Whatever it is, even if it's mindless-- But his words are always spoken with purpose when he means them, and now, more than anything, he wishes for Dean to see him. As Castiel, as Cas. His friend and whatever else, not the burnt out shell of an angel who had traded Heaven for him. ]
I wouldn't want you to change. [ He offers it softly, coaxing him like he knows he won't believe it. ] And I don't blame you for any of this either.
[ He never could. He'd be angry or annoyed or find his ideas incredibly stupid, but the intention of good is still there, buried beneath all that frustration and anger that still pours from Dean. Castiel would fix it if he could, but even that might be too much. Eventually, he looks away again and settles his gaze on the far wall. ]
[ dean doubts that, despite the soft, confirming voice cas uses. how can he not want him to change? how can he not blame dean for everything? he'd gotten him killed, might as well have done it himself, if they really start thinking about it. guilt twists his insides, a cold clutch of something familiar he's used to from years of letting those around him down.
but he doesn't say anything to it, just looks at cas for a long beat...
and then huffs, moving on. ]
Good. Don't think I can get up even if I wanted to.
[ at least he's being honest, right? with that dean just... sort of falls to his other side, right until he's lying on the bed, leg still partly against cas'. the blanket is soft under his face, leaving him to sigh a quiet, pleased sound. he does crack open an eye a beat later though, looking at cas.
normally he wouldn't dare let himself be this vulnerable, but nothing's been normal today, none of this, and he can't find the normal worry and paranoia that someone might attack. instead, he just watches cas quietly for a moment, twisting onto his back, still fully clothed, the fabric of his shirt and jacket twisting unevenly with his body. he watches, like he's trying to figure him out just by staring.
and apparently the fact that he's effectively taking over cas' bed isn't a thought that's passing through his head right now. ]
[ If he had minded any of it, he wouldn't have forced Dean into the room.
Maybe it's a little strange though, watching him relax and trying to figure out the last time either of them had really had this opportunity--to be this close and talk about something so... important. Castiel hasn't forgotten what's driven Dean to him, why he's still drunk and why there's a broken bottle of alcohol covering the floor outside his dorm room. He's already made plans to speak with Sam and Lucifer, though he will put one off far more than the other until he can't any longer. That is what he's going to do, but later. Now is this, and he has to decide whether or not he's going to pursue half the thoughts in his head.
Eventually, he settles on one, nudging him with his leg as he shifts to peel himself out of the thin jacket he wears over the faded blue one he still has from home. ]
I hope you don't mind sharing.
[ Because as generous as he's been, he's still selfish. Castiel likes his bed, though it's hardly what he'd had before being dragged here, and he's not selfless enough to sleep on the floor. That, and he finds it amusing in some context should his roommate return and find them there together.
He rests a hand on the bed and leans, hovering as if he's about to crawl over him before he moves and pushes whatever part of Dean out of the way he needs to. His leg, his hip, his arm. The bed is small, and it's far too cramped for two grown men. Yet, that doesn't stop him from stretching out right beside him. Back to him at first, he finds that more uncomfortable than the proximity and turns to look at him, almost a dare for the other to say something about it. ]
youre gonna run out of cliffs someday also i dont know what i'm writing anymore
[ all things considered, both of them had slept and lived in much more worse conditions. the camp had been decent, they'd made it so, and while the rooms on campus didn't live up it, it beat sleeping on the cold ground somewhere, bruised and bleeding from a close encounter with the infected.
dean doesn't seem bothered when cas crawls next to him, watching though his focus is slipping into something less sharp. the warmth of his body is nice, actually, and dean turns to look at him slowly, breathing out a long breath. ]
...You do this with everyone who stumbles to your door?
[ it might be a little unfair, though the words are light, not intended to hurt. cas' activities have long since quit bothering him as much as they used to, and he wouldn't be surprised if the answer was yes. and as if to prove as much, dean's not really waiting for cas to answer, instead letting his eyes slide shut even if sleep is still some ways off. he does press slightly forward too, forehead inches from cas' in the end, hands resting in between them.
and once he's comfortable, he just stays like that, not offering more conversation. ]
you and me both. i think we need to find more cliffs together
[ It's true that they've had worse, far worse than this. Still, sometimes, the physical comfort doesn't matter if the emotional stability isn't there, and Castiel closes his eyes for a brief second to take it all in. Him and Dean and the circumstances that always seem to revolve around them. It could have been nice with only them and Sam. No demons, no angels or impending apocalypse they had to fix. Dean could finally rest, and they could start over from another point. Yet, nothing is ever so easy, and all of this is testament to that. The hurt and pain that they feel is some punishment they must live with--and forever, it seems.
So, the question he asks goes dead between them for a long while. He opens his eyes to stare at him, tracing the outline of his face in the dim light and wondering why this barrier would always remain between them. Hardly inches of space, and Castiel feels worlds apart anyhow, standing off in the distance and waiting. He's not the angel he'd been anymore, and that should even the odds. Shouldn't it? They should be equals in everything now. ]
No. I-- [ Short syllables, and they're gruff, too lost in uncertainties and possibilities he'd never really considered before. ] There is no one else.
[ Which isn't entirely a lie. He doesn't bring people back here or lay with them or whatever else Dean might think. It's something they don't talk about, his habits inconsequential in the scheme of things. Of course, there are countless others he's attracted to, but he highly doubts Dean is asking him that. Even if he is, Castiel would blame his drunken state on the choice of topic and try to steer clear of it as best he could. Yet, there's something lingering in his voice, an unspoken only you that sits in the back of his throat and lodges itself tight. He would never admit that to anyone; he hardly believes it himself.
The breath he gives is slow and oddly unsteady, and before he can catch himself, he lifts his hand to gently press two fingers to Dean's forehead in a motion that's both familiar and useless now.
[ dean only hums a quiet response to that, not really caring if it's true. he's the one who has been pushing cas away for the better part of their stay here, has told him to just... leave, that he doesn't need to follow dean anymore, there is no need to be loyal after what he'd done to everyone back home for the sake of a mission. he's tired of doing that though -- or maybe it's just the alcohol whispering so -- so for now he doesn't bother.
they're here, like this, there's no need to ruin it.
dean faintly feels the pressure of fingers over his forehead, a phantom reminder of what had once been. not that he needs any angel mojo to guide sleep to him tonight, the darkness is quick to devour his thoughts either way, and soon enough he's slipping away into sleep, breath evening out without problem, the night for once embraced without tension or paranoia. it's good like this, the surface of the bed soft, cas' body warm-- it's easy for once, falling asleep.
he dreams of what he always does; sam standing over his, perfectly white shoe pressing down onto his neck, pressure building, building, building... the difference this time is the location -- zelien -- and some feet away is another body; twisted in an awkward, unnatural angle, broken and bleeding-- dead. he doesn't need details to know it's cas.
it'll all happen again because your brother wants it to.
he doesn't know what the tremendous pressure in his chest is, or how he keeps the scream that he feels clogging up his throat from coming out--
when the first urge to wake up tugs at his consciousness, dean doesn't attempt to sleep longer. his head is throbbing, the inside of his mouth tasting like death and everything aches from the night spent in a too-small bed with another body. how much he might have moved goes ignored as he shifts slightly, groaning as the sensations begin to slam his senses.
fuck hangovers, fuck mornings, fuck whatever bed this is.
[ He would be surprised that Dean slept so quickly had it not been for the lacking bits of conversation and his general unsteadiness due to the alcohol he'd drank. He isn't, which leaves him several minutes to lay there with their hands close and his eyes focused on his face. There's more he probably could have said, more he might have wanted to. Still, he keeps them to himself, and once he's sure Dean isn't going to wake up with the slightest bit of movement, he twists away to text Sam.
It's a long conversation, one he refuses to accept but tries to stay objective to. He wants to trust Sam, that he won't repeat the mistakes of all those years ago, but he can't be certain of it. Even if he's agreed not to pursue whatever it is they're planning, he can't. His instincts are too intact to ignore; something is brewing, and it isn't going to be good once it finally breaks.
Castiel rubs his eyes, the pull of sleep too difficult to ignore much longer after that.
And vaguely, he recalls his dreams. This night they're full of light and oddly soft, not the nightmares he'd have drowned out with pills or booze. He'd been a relatively heavy sleeper at first, when his grace had slowly dwindled to nothing. In fact, he could have slept for days at a time before, but the necessity to be alert had quickly erased that. So, the sudden shift beneath him has tension filtering in and consciousness surfacing rather fast.
The disoriented feeling is still there though, blinking and trying to determine the time. Nothing gives it away; it couldn't have been more than a few hours later, at least. ]
What is it? [ Castiel's turn to be paranoid, voice low from sleep and tired as if he expects some impending threat. It goes unnoticed that he'd somehow sprawled out across the bed and thus Dean, pressed right up against him. Perhaps he hadn't given it any thought because it wouldn't be the first time he's woken up like this with others and with far less clothes.
If it's not important, he's going to roll over and go back to sleep. ]
[ dean's used to the nightmares. used to waking up with his heart still racing, sweat beading his skin. this time the latter is missing, and soothing his nerves is easier, most likely because upon waking up the after effect of his drinking are much more demanding of his attention than anything.
the question comes to him from nowhere, has him tensing for a moment before he realizes it's cas. if cas is pressed close, dean's face is half buried in his hair and the pillow he's apparently claimed for himself. a breath later, and he relaxes again. moving seems like a bad idea, but clarity where there had been none the previous night is crawling back in, along with the guarded mask he's so known for wearing these days. ]
Get off me.
[ it's a quiet growl, voice rough.
the fact that cas is so close bothers him only slightly. he's not used to waking up with someone so close, but at the same time, there's some comfort still in the way they've all but melted together. still, he has every intention to peel himself away from cas, but only after the other man moves.
that an important enough reason for you, cas? or does he have to kick you off the bed. ]
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indecadence) wrote2013-05-24 08:48 pm
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dean glares at him for a moment, lets the bitter anger wash over him and drive his actions like it's so easy to let. sam would have said the same, would have kept up the lies if dean hadn't found out about them. and cas could be doing the same.
could be, would be, maybe, he doesn't know-- ]
How do I know I can trust you.
[ it's said eventually, with the same weariness that sags cas' body, he feels it weigh him down, too. this is all becoming too much, and he has no idea what to do anymore. he doesn't let up though, just sways there for a moment, the burn of alcohol numbing his mind despite his best efforts to concentrate.
at least the statement gets a huff of a laugh. ]
No, no-- but Sam's another story.
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Are we having this conversation again? [ How many times will they have to suffer through it? ] I have given you everything. Your trust is the least you could give me.
[ The least. It's grit, teeth clenched but voice still relatively even as he speaks, and yet, with the mention of Sam's name, it causes him to pause. To hesitate, to stumble. He'd seen Sam not long ago, and things had been... okay. Yet, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Whatever secrets the Winchesters keep only continues to prove that statement true.
Some sinking feeling settles in the pit of his stomach, and he hates that he has to ask. ]
What has he done now?
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Has a deal with Lucifer. Hangs out with him, is gettin' friendly with him but that's alright, 'cause he won't say yes, he--
[ he sucks in a breath, sound pained like he's finding out about it all over again. ]
He lied, he said-- it's all going just like last time, Cas, he'll end up right where I lost him.
[ the bottle falls then, shattering on the floor in tiny pieces of glass, the insides staining the floor. but dean doesn't budge, just lingers there without looking at cas anymore, eyes downcast somewhere else as he tries to get the words out. how he could have been so fucking stupid to believe sam, to ever let him out of his sight is beyond dean.
if anything, maybe it means he's meant to lose him no matter what. ]
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All Castiel can think are the words Lucifer had told him before he'd snapped his neck. You will always end up here. They would, they have, and it feels like someone has ripped part of him out of his chest.
Hope. Their hope. He struggles to find the words even as the sound of the bottle breaking jars him back into reality. ]
I-- [ No, no, no. He has to try. He has to say something. ] It's not going to be like last time. We have the advantage, Dean, and nothing can change that. We know.
[ How, when, why. All of it. Their experiences simply do not mean anything, and they can fix this before Sam does something worse than making a deal with the devil. It burns through him, all that anger because he doesn't want what they have sacrificed to mean absolutely nothing or be forgotten. Castiel slides his hand from Dean's arm to his wrist. ]
This is why we're here, and this is why we trust each other. [ God knows they couldn't count on their counterparts to do anything. ] We will make it right this time.
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and dean feels like he has no one else to blame except himself. ]
How--
[ alcohol blinds his mind, makes everything miserable and muddy now that he's letting it. there's no changing anything this time, even if they do know how it can all go down. no, this time it's just them watching it all unfold the same, helplessly losing sam all over again.
dean leans closer then, rests his forehead on cas' shoulder and sucks in another breath, stance unsteady even where he still has cas against the wall. it's about as close to a hug as he's been to the other man in years which is why it only lasts a beat or two-- right until dean's pushing away, taking steps back and turning. ]
Whatever. We're done here.
[ or would be if dean didn't stumble with his next step, whoops. ]
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He lifts his hand, hovering there over the expanse of Dean's back as if he's going to give in and hug him. He doesn't remember the last time they'd been so casual. Drinking isn't the same. Speaking isn't either.
But then Dean is shoving away, making real what he'd been waiting for. The gap only continues to grow, and he's helpless to stop it. Whatever he says is always the wrong thing. Whatever he does doesn't seem to matter anymore. It's why he reaches out and grabs him tight by the arm--maybe to keep him from falling, maybe just because he's a little hurt by everything that's happened. He doesn't need Dean to fuel it, but he doesn't need him to just turn his back on him again. ]
No we're not. [ Still holding him, he turns to the door and gets it open. ] Inside. Now.
[ He's not letting him leave like this. Not until they can sort some things out, and whatever original reason Dean had come to him for can wait. ]
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it's only at the command to go inside that dean starts protesting. ]
Let go of me...
[ he has business to attend to!! like killing lucifer and beating sam and killing himself and looking at ripples.
he does get to about as far as the door, stands there in the frame and just latches a hand onto the side like he's not feeling too hot for a minute. a groan later, and he's looking at cas, eyes unfocused and pained. ]
I don't want to shoot him again.
[ as sam, as lucifer. he doesn't even want to try. ]
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His grip doesn't lessen, fingers curling into the muscle he feels beneath those layers. ]
You're not going to. It won't happen like before.
[ His certainty is astounding, unbreakable, and Castiel pushes him a little, determined to keep wherever this conversation is going as private as possible. What they have to say can be said in his room, away from everyone else. That, and he can get Dean into his bed before he passes out on the floor. He frowns at him, eyes leveling with his and trying to see through all the misery that blatantly stares back. For someone who tries so hard not to feel, it burns deep in him. ]
Come on. [ And there's the gentleness now, taking a step back to urge him inside. He doesn't let go though. If anything, his hold grows firmer. ]
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the certainty in cas' voice is unexpected, a mirror of sam's words from before. he'd believed him, and wants to believe cas now but he can't keep going through this... betrayal that people seem to favor when it comes to him. he might deserve it in some part, but it leaves him tired and hopeless.
even the usual anger doesn't seem to save him this time.
he follows with the urging, eyes on the floor now as he steps inside. ]
You can't stop it. You're just...
[ you might have stood by him all this time, but you're just...you, cas. either way, dean looks ready to drop, the alcohol burning in his blood and dragging him down all the more, making every part of his grow heavier. he hasn't been this drunk in years, probably not since sam first said yes, when he died and dean lost him forever.
dean twists his arm just a little, hand wrapping around cas'. it's mostly for balance, to make their connection stronger, more firm, but also because... cas grounds him, gives him the proof he needs right now that this is real, at least. that he's there and despite all the bullshit, he won't leave. ]
I hate this place.
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He'd once told Dean that they were family, that they were friends and that he needed him. He does, and he might always, even when the last of what holds them to each other crumbles to dust.
Castiel feels himself giving in, sighing and taking hold of Dean's hand better. Tighter. He leads him through the short space between rooms and into his, arm going around him if he needs it. If he happens to stumble, he's simply there for support. He doesn't make a scene or accuse him of being an idiot--which he is, of that there is no doubt. And once they're inside, shut out from the world, he takes him to his bed and finally speaks. ]
I hate it too. [ If he's being honest. ] But there are some things that make it tolerable.
[ Like him and Evelynn and sometimes Sam. People he would have lost or never knew if it weren't for being here. ]
ugh i hate everything about these two
Could've fooled me.
[ but no, cas is right. sam, despite the pain he's causing dean right now, makes things better too. as does cas. everything else though... he wants to shut them all out. even jo, no matter how glad he is to see her again. she's not his jo, she doesn't understand him or where he comes from.
dean's hand trails from cas', drops down onto the bed next to him. he sways there for a minute, sitting on the bed with slumped shoulders. ]
At least I have you.
[ it's quiet, mumbled and barely audible, almost as if he hadn't meant it to be said out loud. and maybe he doesn't even realize that he does indeed say it. he's still not looking at cas, instead has his eyes fixed on his hand over the bed, flexing his fingers over the fabric of his blanket.
it feels nice and soft now, even if it's not really that great. ]
you love it just as much as i do
For several seconds, he watches him. He's so drunk, and it's almost pathetic, pitying. Yet, he isn't going to give him that or judge him. Besides, what he says after causes him to come up short, thoughts falling away to one simple truth. Castiel hesitates and then presses forward to sit beside him on the bed, impossibly close so that their knees and thighs touch. He's never been overly concerned with personal space, and even now, especially now, it doesn't matter. Resting his forearms on his legs, he idly looks at his hands. ]
You have always had me, Dean.
[ It's equally soft, an intimate whisper that's just as good as a confession. It had been a promise Castiel had made--that he would be there, that he would never leave, that Dean would not suffer alone. ] I can't understand why it's taken you so long to see it.
[ And only then does he risk a glance at him, nerves suddenly drawn tight. Like he's exposed something that should never have been said. ]
no!!!!!
but it definitely is the best time to have it.
dean doesn't move when cas sits next to him, when he presses the length of his leg against dean's, the warmth seeping from his body. it's...comforting, though he doesn't say it, and dean only gives him a short look for it, one that isn't apparently met by cas. right now all physical contact is strangely nice, and the realization hits him as something he seems to have forgotten somewhere along the way...
why has it taken him this long to see it? dean can't find the answer. it's somewhere buried underneath relentless pain over his past failing, under the self-hatred and ever-present anger he can't ever seem to shake completely. the answer is out of his grasp, so he can't offer it to cas.
instead he leans slightly on the other man, shoulder to shoulder, personal space not an issue for him today either. it's getting difficult to stay upright and cas is there, solid and warm. ]
I don't know why.
[ he almost sounds apologetic about it. and it prompts him to look at cas closer, turn his head and really look at him; no half-glances or such. ]
I should've seen it sooner.
stop being difficult!!!
He just isn't sure what.
Castiel sucks in a breath when Dean leans against him, clasping his fingers together and loosening them just as quick. Maybe he means to get a grip on his arm and ease him back upright, but it's not as if this has ever bothered him. Contact he generally likes anyway, now, and it's reminiscent of things before, when they could rely on each other and not think twice about it. Yet, Castiel has grown incredibly selfish through the years, and he can't stop himself from looking back or resting a hand on Dean's arm. His lips press thin before the words fall out. ]
Would it have changed things between us if you had?
[ Would they have still become like this? Ended up here? Would they be sitting here like this without an inch of space between them? Castiel doesn't blink, afraid he might miss the answer when it comes. ]
never!!!!
dean doesn't know. he pretends to, but honestly in this place, this city, he doesn't know much. everything's been turned on its head, and it's left him lost for the most part. ]
Probably.
[ maybe he would have tried to find another way, but then again, maybe not. if anything, he'd like to think he wouldn't have sacrificed cas for a shot at the devil, but at the same time, he'd been so blinded by that need to kill lucifer it might have still killed their friendship. it's a lot of ifs and buts and maybes, all things cas has a right to ask even if dean wishes he wouldn't.
he sighs some then, another wave of fatigue hitting him. this is nice though, them like this, it leaves dean feeling like he can't move-- doesn't even want to. he could just about fall asleep like this for once, the normal paranoia and wariness that keeps him awake at nights dulled right then.
still, he ends up asking quietly; ]
Would you be happier if we were still like the other two?
fine then!!!!
Instead, he tries to focus on what he's asked and what the truth of it is. Sometimes he fools himself into thinking that erasing what has been done would make him happier. That if he woke up an angel again, filled to the brim with grace and knowing, it would change his outlook. Yet, there's so much he's traded for his place at Dean's side, and it's too much to decide whether or not he would have thrown it away to keep what he'd lost. ]
Maybe. [ It's the definite he settles on, just as quiet as he looks around the room and finally back at him. ] But we're not them. He isn't you, and I'm-- I like this.
[ Whatever this co-existence happens to be, whatever sort of place they've found themselves in. Besides, he hardly wants anything to do with his other self, and past Dean is this strange conundrum he hasn't decided whether to really like or hate. At least his Dean is familiar. At least he can guess what would happen if he were to press certain issues. ]
Nothing is ever going to be perfect - I think we've managed so far. [ Being not so perfect, the two of them. ] Is that what you would want? If you could change things, would you want to be like them?
[ It makes him nervous to ask, and unconsciously, his fingers dig just a fraction harder into Dean's arm. ]
HUFFFSSSS
i like this.
nobody is supposed to like this. nobody. not cas, not him-- neither of them, not even sam and the other dean, they're just reminders of how shit things can get, what they could all turn into down the road. dean hates it, what they've turned into, who he is now. he hates himself more than he ever thought capable, it oozes out of him with everything he does, every time he challenges an archangel, every time he puts his life on the line. he hates himself, and honestly, he hates what he's turned cas into.
but hearing that leaves him speechless, a little more rigid as he leans against cas... right until dean snorts, the sound faintly amused and relaxes again. ]
To this day I still don't really get you.
[ always full of surprises, cas. always saying and doing the unexpected, giving him reasons that he doesn't know how to deal with. in the uncertainty that is cas though, in the tight squeeze of his fingers, dean finds comfort, even now. ]
No. Maybe I did before, but... I don't know anymore.
[ he doesn't like himself, not then or now, so what point would there be in wanting one over the other. he wants things to be alright for once, with sam, with cas, but that seems to be asking for too much. the thought hurts, still, but the pain isn't quite as sharp some when dean had first found cas in the hallway, dulled by the other man's presence and the alcohol that's now slowly putting him to sleep. ]
BREATHES ON
Yet, he has to say something to ease him. Whatever it is, even if it's mindless-- But his words are always spoken with purpose when he means them, and now, more than anything, he wishes for Dean to see him. As Castiel, as Cas. His friend and whatever else, not the burnt out shell of an angel who had traded Heaven for him. ]
I wouldn't want you to change. [ He offers it softly, coaxing him like he knows he won't believe it. ] And I don't blame you for any of this either.
[ He never could. He'd be angry or annoyed or find his ideas incredibly stupid, but the intention of good is still there, buried beneath all that frustration and anger that still pours from Dean. Castiel would fix it if he could, but even that might be too much. Eventually, he looks away again and settles his gaze on the far wall. ]
You can stay here if you need to.
WIGGLES
but he doesn't say anything to it, just looks at cas for a long beat...
and then huffs, moving on. ]
Good. Don't think I can get up even if I wanted to.
[ at least he's being honest, right? with that dean just... sort of falls to his other side, right until he's lying on the bed, leg still partly against cas'. the blanket is soft under his face, leaving him to sigh a quiet, pleased sound. he does crack open an eye a beat later though, looking at cas.
normally he wouldn't dare let himself be this vulnerable, but nothing's been normal today, none of this, and he can't find the normal worry and paranoia that someone might attack. instead, he just watches cas quietly for a moment, twisting onto his back, still fully clothed, the fabric of his shirt and jacket twisting unevenly with his body. he watches, like he's trying to figure him out just by staring.
and apparently the fact that he's effectively taking over cas' bed isn't a thought that's passing through his head right now. ]
ROLLS OFF A CLIFF
Maybe it's a little strange though, watching him relax and trying to figure out the last time either of them had really had this opportunity--to be this close and talk about something so... important. Castiel hasn't forgotten what's driven Dean to him, why he's still drunk and why there's a broken bottle of alcohol covering the floor outside his dorm room. He's already made plans to speak with Sam and Lucifer, though he will put one off far more than the other until he can't any longer. That is what he's going to do, but later. Now is this, and he has to decide whether or not he's going to pursue half the thoughts in his head.
Eventually, he settles on one, nudging him with his leg as he shifts to peel himself out of the thin jacket he wears over the faded blue one he still has from home. ]
I hope you don't mind sharing.
[ Because as generous as he's been, he's still selfish. Castiel likes his bed, though it's hardly what he'd had before being dragged here, and he's not selfless enough to sleep on the floor. That, and he finds it amusing in some context should his roommate return and find them there together.
He rests a hand on the bed and leans, hovering as if he's about to crawl over him before he moves and pushes whatever part of Dean out of the way he needs to. His leg, his hip, his arm. The bed is small, and it's far too cramped for two grown men. Yet, that doesn't stop him from stretching out right beside him. Back to him at first, he finds that more uncomfortable than the proximity and turns to look at him, almost a dare for the other to say something about it. ]
youre gonna run out of cliffs someday also i dont know what i'm writing anymore
dean doesn't seem bothered when cas crawls next to him, watching though his focus is slipping into something less sharp. the warmth of his body is nice, actually, and dean turns to look at him slowly, breathing out a long breath. ]
...You do this with everyone who stumbles to your door?
[ it might be a little unfair, though the words are light, not intended to hurt. cas' activities have long since quit bothering him as much as they used to, and he wouldn't be surprised if the answer was yes. and as if to prove as much, dean's not really waiting for cas to answer, instead letting his eyes slide shut even if sleep is still some ways off. he does press slightly forward too, forehead inches from cas' in the end, hands resting in between them.
and once he's comfortable, he just stays like that, not offering more conversation. ]
you and me both. i think we need to find more cliffs together
So, the question he asks goes dead between them for a long while. He opens his eyes to stare at him, tracing the outline of his face in the dim light and wondering why this barrier would always remain between them. Hardly inches of space, and Castiel feels worlds apart anyhow, standing off in the distance and waiting. He's not the angel he'd been anymore, and that should even the odds. Shouldn't it? They should be equals in everything now. ]
No. I-- [ Short syllables, and they're gruff, too lost in uncertainties and possibilities he'd never really considered before. ] There is no one else.
[ Which isn't entirely a lie. He doesn't bring people back here or lay with them or whatever else Dean might think. It's something they don't talk about, his habits inconsequential in the scheme of things. Of course, there are countless others he's attracted to, but he highly doubts Dean is asking him that. Even if he is, Castiel would blame his drunken state on the choice of topic and try to steer clear of it as best he could. Yet, there's something lingering in his voice, an unspoken only you that sits in the back of his throat and lodges itself tight. He would never admit that to anyone; he hardly believes it himself.
The breath he gives is slow and oddly unsteady, and before he can catch himself, he lifts his hand to gently press two fingers to Dean's forehead in a motion that's both familiar and useless now.
sleep ]
yup
they're here, like this, there's no need to ruin it.
dean faintly feels the pressure of fingers over his forehead, a phantom reminder of what had once been. not that he needs any angel mojo to guide sleep to him tonight, the darkness is quick to devour his thoughts either way, and soon enough he's slipping away into sleep, breath evening out without problem, the night for once embraced without tension or paranoia. it's good like this, the surface of the bed soft, cas' body warm-- it's easy for once, falling asleep.
he dreams of what he always does; sam standing over his, perfectly white shoe pressing down onto his neck, pressure building, building, building... the difference this time is the location -- zelien -- and some feet away is another body; twisted in an awkward, unnatural angle, broken and bleeding-- dead. he doesn't need details to know it's cas.
it'll all happen again because your brother wants it to.
he doesn't know what the tremendous pressure in his chest is, or how he keeps the scream that he feels clogging up his throat from coming out--
when the first urge to wake up tugs at his consciousness, dean doesn't attempt to sleep longer. his head is throbbing, the inside of his mouth tasting like death and everything aches from the night spent in a too-small bed with another body. how much he might have moved goes ignored as he shifts slightly, groaning as the sensations begin to slam his senses.
fuck hangovers, fuck mornings, fuck whatever bed this is.
and fuck last night. ]
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It's a long conversation, one he refuses to accept but tries to stay objective to. He wants to trust Sam, that he won't repeat the mistakes of all those years ago, but he can't be certain of it. Even if he's agreed not to pursue whatever it is they're planning, he can't. His instincts are too intact to ignore; something is brewing, and it isn't going to be good once it finally breaks.
Castiel rubs his eyes, the pull of sleep too difficult to ignore much longer after that.
And vaguely, he recalls his dreams. This night they're full of light and oddly soft, not the nightmares he'd have drowned out with pills or booze. He'd been a relatively heavy sleeper at first, when his grace had slowly dwindled to nothing. In fact, he could have slept for days at a time before, but the necessity to be alert had quickly erased that. So, the sudden shift beneath him has tension filtering in and consciousness surfacing rather fast.
The disoriented feeling is still there though, blinking and trying to determine the time. Nothing gives it away; it couldn't have been more than a few hours later, at least. ]
What is it? [ Castiel's turn to be paranoid, voice low from sleep and tired as if he expects some impending threat. It goes unnoticed that he'd somehow sprawled out across the bed and thus Dean, pressed right up against him. Perhaps he hadn't given it any thought because it wouldn't be the first time he's woken up like this with others and with far less clothes.
If it's not important, he's going to roll over and go back to sleep. ]
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the question comes to him from nowhere, has him tensing for a moment before he realizes it's cas. if cas is pressed close, dean's face is half buried in his hair and the pillow he's apparently claimed for himself. a breath later, and he relaxes again. moving seems like a bad idea, but clarity where there had been none the previous night is crawling back in, along with the guarded mask he's so known for wearing these days. ]
Get off me.
[ it's a quiet growl, voice rough.
the fact that cas is so close bothers him only slightly. he's not used to waking up with someone so close, but at the same time, there's some comfort still in the way they've all but melted together. still, he has every intention to peel himself away from cas, but only after the other man moves.
that an important enough reason for you, cas? or does he have to kick you off the bed. ]
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