[ 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. ]
[ There's a moment where everything slips out of focus, close to shutting his eyes and curling up right against the body pressed to his, but Dean's voice jerks him right back to the present. The heat of his breath against the side of his head when he speaks is weird, and Castiel hovers there for a second or two longer before deciding that it's best to follow what's being said rather than persist in remaining stationary. His body feels heavy though, the slight burn of a headache forming from lack of sleep. Still, he shifts and gracelessly flops most of himself off to the side. If their legs still remain tangled together, that's no concern of his. ]
Good morning, Dean.
[ Is it morning? Is it early enough to even wonder that? He keeps his voice purposely quiet, unable to tell whether or not his roommate is with them. Not that it matters. Then again, it might matter to Dean, and Cas huffs out a quiet sound, something between a laugh and a cough to smother it. It doesn't hold though, laughter soft as he drapes an arm across his eyes.
He's incredibly worn out for some reason. ] How are you feeling?
[ As if he could cure his obviously looming hangover. As if this makes it better knowing they'd spent the night tucked around each other fully dressed. He remains unmoving beyond that, and Dean's going to have to earn the rest of his freedom to sit up. ]
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. ]
[ 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. ]
[ 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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
indecadence) wrote2013-05-24 08:48 pm
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
Good morning, Dean.
[ Is it morning? Is it early enough to even wonder that? He keeps his voice purposely quiet, unable to tell whether or not his roommate is with them. Not that it matters. Then again, it might matter to Dean, and Cas huffs out a quiet sound, something between a laugh and a cough to smother it. It doesn't hold though, laughter soft as he drapes an arm across his eyes.
He's incredibly worn out for some reason. ] How are you feeling?
[ As if he could cure his obviously looming hangover. As if this makes it better knowing they'd spent the night tucked around each other fully dressed. He remains unmoving beyond that, and Dean's going to have to earn the rest of his freedom to sit up. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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!!! ]