indecadence | (no subject)

[ He makes a point not to say anything to him.

They've been traveling together for only a few days, and Castiel can already feel the strain of it settling over him. He's exhausted, stretched thin. There is only so much he can do with his former self trailing after him, utterly hopeless in the scheme of things, and there hasn't been much room for conversation either. He doesn't want to know how he'd gotten there or why. He doesn't want to think about anything, trying to numb himself to the obvious fact there's no one else left. Those who had remained at the camp are gone, and Dean is... Dean is dead. With their relationship being nearly nonexistent, it shouldn't have mattered, but there's an ache in his chest that hadn't been there before.

Drugs do not fill it, nor does the liquor he drinks when they rest. It's permanent, and all he really has is something far more pure and clueless than he's ever been in a long time.

Eventually, though, he has to stop.

They find a small house tucked back into the trees somewhere off to the side of the road they've been walking for the last twenty-four hours or so, and Cas is more than willing to use. He's exhausted, nearly dead on his feet, but he forces himself to check the perimeter and every inch of the building before he can call it safe. He doesn't have the luxury of being reckless. A glance at the angel in his almost former glory, and he leaves him where he stands, disappearing into the bedroom. The bed's intact, blankets mostly clean aside from the dust he shakes out of them, and by the time he drops all his gear onto the floor, there's hesitation in falling face-first onto the mattress.

A sigh, and he drags his fingers through his hair, rubbing at his eyes. He peeks around the frame of the door. ]

Come on. I'll take first watch. [ Don't make him say it twice, so take the bed. ]