generic inbox;

[venatoris]

text, calls, voicemails, etc.

Comments

[messenger]

[ oh my god?????? ]

Dean! Why didn't you say something? Where are you?

[ castiel is still of course dealing with his failing grace but who gives a fuck about that right now ]

[venatoris]

it’s no big deal, cas. and I’m in the hospital, it’s fine

[messenger]

What hospital? What state?

[venatoris]

don’t worry about it cas, don’t waste your grace on me. doc says im doing good. just a little rehab and I’ll be right as rain

[messenger]

That means it's going to take months for you to recover.

[venatoris]

only like two

[messenger]

I'm coming. I can help.

[venatoris]

don’t waste your juice on me you gotta save your strength

[messenger]

I'll be fine.

I'll see you soon.

[venatoris]

you don’t know where I am

[messenger]

You don't think I can find out?

[venatoris]

cas

[messenger]

You may as well just tell me.

[venatoris]

I’ll make you a deal

I’ll tell you what hospital and let you do your thing, if you let me recharge your battery with the whole soul touchy thing

[messenger]

Dean, that's incredibly dangerous.

[ if it wasn't, he obviously would have brought it up by now—

but he's already wavering. bending to the selfish, subconscious thing that wants, more than all else, for an excuse to touch dean's soul. ]

[venatoris]

you won’t kill me :) I trust you

[messenger]

Manipulative.




But I agree to your terms.

[venatoris]

:)

Baton Rouge memorial

[messenger]

Thank you.

[ and that'll be the last thing he sends before he's on his way, driving his battered little lincoln continental two states over. it'll be more than a day to get there, but he does in fact arrive.

it's early in the morning, before the sun has even risen that he parks and heads inside.

marching straight up to the front desk and telling the receptionist who he's here for hoping that dean has used his real name for once— assuring her that yes, he's family, with a strange twist of something unidentifiable in his stomach. dean is still asleep in the room when he finally makes it, sam most likely at the nearest motel to sleep.

castiel, naturally, stands and watches him for a while. just because, for a moment, he knows he can get away with it. ]

[venatoris]

[ not much more to be said; cas stops texting and Dean sets his phone aside and leans back. “Broken ankle” sounds better than crushing injury, and while he’s gonna be okay, there’s, uh. A lot of reconstructive surgery that went on.

At least the pain meds are good, especially since the nurses aren’t hot.

He’d have escaped days ago except he can’t walk and he moved too slow on crutches. He’d get caught instantly. That and Sam’s had people keep as sharp eye on him when he isn’t here, warning them Dean would absolutely try and give them the slip.

Asshole.

The morphine kicks in and he’s out for twelve hours, a nurse coming in sometime in the night to give him another dose they’ll make him sleep through until morning. He’s out like the dead, and when Cas shows up, he doesn’t budge. He’s got the blanket pulled up to his chin, flowers on the side table from Charlie, a stuffed bear holding a rainbow with a puffy cloud at one end tucked in the bed with him.

Stare away. ]

[messenger]

[ it's not until he's actually present that castiel realizes how bad it is— after his own stint in the emergency room, back when he was human with a sprained wrist, he knows certain things about how hospitals work. for dean to be here at all is a shock, because dean and sam don't go to hospitals in the first place. for dean to be here for an extended amount of time means that it was serious.

and immediately, he's glad he came. because serious damage may not be repairable. dean said two months, but frankly, dean can't be trusted with his own health.

the question is, does he heal him now, while he's still asleep, or wait until he wakes? he comes around the bed to adjust the stuffed bear so it's snug in the bed with dean. ]

Dean...? Are you awake?

[ ... no, it doesn't seem like he is. he peers at the IV, and there's his answer. morphine. ]

You probably won't be awake for a while. I'd like to ask your permission before I heal you. [ he frowns. ] But I also don't want to make you wait.

[venatoris]

[ He’ll wake up eventually, but right now isn’t going to be the moment it happens. The morphine cocktail is strong, and he’s breathing long and deep, cuddling his bear.

He can hear Cas, but it just seeps into his subconscious, Cas appearing in his dream just by way of his voice.

It’s a nice dream. Calm, on the dock in front of the cabin he always dreams about. He’s teaching Cas to fish, showing him how to bait a hook, throw the line properly, fasten sinker and bobber.

He grips his bear tighter. ]

[messenger]

[ he can tell that dean is dreaming, but he doesn't know what he's dreaming of. he could step into his dream, but that would take a lot of power he doesn't have— he frowns at the thought of the deal that dean offered (rather, demanded) and then tries not to think too much about it. his first thought was to find some way to weasel out of it, but a part of him knows he probably won't be able to.

so best to put it from his mind.

instead, he watches dean, and lets the sight bring him some peace. at least right now, dean isn't in any pain. ]

I'm sorry you got hurt. I wish I had been there.

[ he looks around, then moves away to pull a chair up. this is what people do when they come to keep vigil over their loved ones, yes? he perches with a sigh. ]

Remember when I told you I wasn't here to perch?

[ isn't that funny to think about now, all these years later? funny, and a little sad. ]

[venatoris]

[ The dream is a little odd, Cas’ voice permeating his haze of sleep, but not so much that it actually wakes him up.

He shifts, but not much. A shuffle of sheets; the medication has him immobile, limbs heavy as lead. Probably half the attempt to keep him in the hospital where he should be.

His sigh is audible, a long exhale, expressing peaceful, relaxed. ]

[messenger]

I'm not sure I've ever seen you look so peaceful.

[ can dean hear him, wherever he is? sleep is a strange thing, a semi-permeable state with less clear delineation than the average person may assume. his first dreams had been terrifying, because of his own difficulty telling dream from reality, though he eventually grew used to it— the fear, the sense of unreality.

and now he doesn't dream. his grace seems to block of that avenue of humanity, even though he's still gets so tired he needs to sleep more often than not. ]

I... missed you, you know.