venatoris | ic contact

[ When Cas finally lowers the gun that's when Dean crawls over, reaching for him so Cas doesn't have to, groping to cup the angel's face and smooth his hair back, hands shaking violently. ]

Sam's home, with the other one. I came to get you.

[ I will always come for you.

He told Cas that when the angel had first arrived and Dean ran right out into monster infected mist to bring him back. He'd meant it.

They're starting a trend, it seems, because Dean ran straight into a world where the likelihood that he would die was astronomical to try to bring Cas back. ]

[ The touch of Dean's hands on him is electric, joltingly warm, and it occurs to Cas that "Dean" could still snap his neck, that all of this could be horrible penance for betraying Heaven, and the real Dean could be behind the asylum with Lucifer, dying or dead, but Cas remembers the lighthouse, the billowing storm, Sam as a teenager, Sam from the cage, the wood and earth smells of the home Dean talks about, and if this is torture of some kind, Cas breaks to it entirely too easily. It wouldn't even be worth the effort. He shoves himself deeper into Dean's grip, wraps his arms around Dean's middle, and he can't see the cause of the wetness he feels at Dean's back, but it terrifies him. Cas doesn't let go, just leans into Dean as his shoulders shake and when he whispers against Dean's neck, his voice cracks, startlingly high-pitched. ]

Take me home. How do we get back? Dean...

[ Cas doesn't want to live in reality anymore. He feels a weight against his right wrist and something smoother than a blade slide into palm, and he squeezes it as he hugs Dean, unafraid to bleed from it, or die, or wake up in Hell, as long as wherever he ends up, Dean is there. ]

[ Dean doesn't even think twice; he hauls Cas into his arms, holds him tight, pushes his fingers into sweat soaked hair and presses his lips against Cas' temple. Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ. ]

The antler. [ Dean's voice is trembling, rough and full of emotion, and he struggles to speak clearly, but he's too wrecked and terrified to enunciate properly.

The antler, though, it's how Sam got back, it's how they'll have to get back. Dean has to trust that Deerington even wants them back, because at present, Sam is the only one Dean knows of that has actually made the round trip journey. Dean, meanwhile, threw himself to the wolves and had no idea if he'd be able to return.

He came here ready to die alongside Cas.

There's a weight in the pocket of his jacket, and he shifts Cas against him, fishing it out, fingers tight over the antler as he draws it out. ]

Sam...Sammy said he bled on it. [ And that's easy enough, Dean carries a switchblade, and he's already reaching for it. ]

[ Though he and Dean have found this quiet bubble of shelter, the storm rages on around them. The ceiling shakes with footsteps and gunfire, but the rattling bursts are slower than before. Dean is supposed to be killed by Lucifer, and though Dean is hidden by the warding on his ribs, it won't be long before Lucifer catches on. Whether this is another trap or a nightmare, Cas wants it to be over. Dean offers the antler and blood as a solution, and Cas doesn't have the wherewithal to question it. He feels the weight of what he recognizes now as a piece of antler already in his hand, and when Dean leans back, forces himself to loosen his arms and give Dean space, but he can't fully let go. He can't stay here and he won't leave without him.

He grips his own shard of antler and Dean's jacket both in his hand, and brings his other hand away from Dean's back, bloody, to cover Dean's fingers on the antler he's holding. ]

Wait, you're... already bleeding.

[ Cas says toneless, watery-eyed as he looks at Dean, afraid for how much blood he felt, of how injured Dean is, of what it could mean. As Cas feels a tug on his stomach and behind his eyes, like being turned inside out, he doesn't pray to God; he prays to Julia Sodder, to heal Dean, to save and protect him. He has no idea if she can hear prayers. But regardless, the antlers do their work, and in a flare of heat and light, rainbow-colored and boney, the sanitarium is pulled from around them (or them from it) until Cas and Dean are kneeling in each other's arms, surrounded by a dark storm with only a speckling of lighthouses in the eastern distance, and to the west: Deerington. ]

[ The sound of screams and gunfire is white noise at this point; Cas' fingers are clutching Dean's jacket, they're clung together amidst the chaos and if Lucifer found them and smote them both, maybe it would be okay.

He looks down at Cas' blood slick hand covering his, seeing the sight but barely comprehending that the sticky red substance coating the angels fingers is his. It barely hurts anymore, and maybe that's not a good sign, he doesn't know. His body going into shock, maybe, from the metal that's still embedded in his skin. ]

Convenient. [ That's the last word he manages to say before he's yanked inward and outward at the same time, a tug in his belly, yanking just at his navel, twisting him up and spitting him back out into the depths of Deerington.

It worked - Dean can hardly believe it worked.

And, since prayers to a dead god don't do much, he looks at Cas and smiles, dazed, leans in to cup his face with bloody fingers, dragging down his skin until his hand falls limp into his lap. ]

We made it.

[ The smell of gunpowder and the sound of fighting is gone in an instant. Just like that, they're drawn back to silence and the smell of rain. Dean's hands are wet on his face, and when Cas meets Dean's eyes, he sees Dean there in front of him, beautifully alive and smiling, and Cas feels a wash of emotion that chokes him: relief a palpable warmth as he leans in and catches Dean's mouth in a desperate life-affirming kiss, gratitude as he holds Dean's neck and the pulse beneath his skin races, fear as his hands links their fingers and slip wetly with blood.

There is so much blood between them. Neither of them is cleaned and whole, as Cas had hoped Dean at least might be. He's fallen prey to hoping for the help of another cold, indifferent god, though at least this one has the excuse of being dead and not simply gone. Cas's breath shudders against Dean's mouth, and he thinks, maybe if he doesn't say anything, it won't be real, if they just, wash themselves off, maybe they'll be clean, and have no symptoms, and be fucking lucky just this one time— ]

Come on. We just... We'll just get cleaned off. We're almost home.

[ Cas tries to motivate himself with the reminder that the wound in Dean's back is deep and has been bleeding for some time, and Croatoan shit aside, needs attending. He wraps an arm under Dean's shoulders and tugs him up to standing, bitterly aware that he never should've touched Dean to start with; he should have shoved him away back when they collided on that hallway tile. And instead, here Cas is, still selfishly clinging to Dean, even as every drop of blood that seeps from his hands to Dean's back might be killing him.

He hobbles as he and Dean drag each other forward, and Cas is expecting a long, grueling walk followed by an even longer drive once they reach the car. He isn't expecting the headlights that greet him and Dean only a few feet more towards the town where the storm begins to recede. The twin lights cut through the dark fog, illuminating the obscene amount of blood striping both of them, and it's not until Cas shadows his eyes with his hand that he's able to make out the figures sitting on the hood. ]

Sam—

[ Both of them. Fuck. Fuck. How is Cas supposed to explain the danger of this to them...? He holds out a hand, still supporting Dean on his opposite shoulder, and tries to explain— ]

Wait...

[They've been sitting on baby's hood for a while, now, waiting with cold, silent dread. Sam tried to stay at the house and wait, he really did.

Which lasted about an hour before he- they decided that this wasn't going to be the end. Not like that. Not now, not ever.

Sammy, stay in the room. Sammy, stay in the car. Sammy, wait for us to come back. Passed off from babysitter to babysitter, no. Sorry (not that sorry) but no.

If Dean and Cas come back, when they come back (it has to be when), they might need help. And Sam will be damned (ha) if he sits in Dean's cabin clutching his pearls like a war wife. If Sammy can go and make it back then he knows he can, and together they'd have a much better shot at holding back Lucifer while they retrieved the rest of their team.

Because that's what they are. A team. A family. And they're either going to die together or not at all. That's not quite how it went down for him back home but that's how it's gonna be here.

Honestly? What the Hell is the point of hanging around Deerington alone.

So they sit. They sit and wait, primed and ready, armed with weapons just as much as they are aid. Baby's headlights shoot into the storm wall like a lighthouse, a beacon home, and he prays to the off chance that anyone who might be listening will throw him a bone. Just this once. Please.

Finally, at the first sight of movement, Sam nudges his younger self and stands from where he'd been leaning on the hood - taking a half step forward and squinting. The shape, large and awkward, comes closer and soon enough they emerge.

There is a surge of relief before Sam sees the state of them and rushes forward, stopped only by Cas' frantic hand and voice. The blood, the way they're struggling just to stand much less move- Jesus there's so much blood-

It takes all his willpower to dig his heels in.]

Wait-- Why? What happened?!

[Sammy's got a gun, which is carefully tucked into the back of his jeans, under his belt, just like he'd done a number of times when walking into a potential hunt beside his father and brother; not drawn, but always ready to go, always ready to shoot down anything that tries to get to him first. He's up on his feet just as quickly when Dean and Cas' forms appear hobbling through the foggy air around them.

Relief hits Sam first — because if they hadn't come out of that stormy fog, they would've gone in after them. But then wariness and fear, as Sammy stops right beside Sam, his expression pinched with some concern. Something in his eyes shifts; a feeling, a knowing, a memory detached from everything else.

He says numbly, looking at the two-]

The Croatoan virus?

[He shouldn't know that. He wouldn't. Not for many years. But he does.

He has no memory of why, or where, or who.

But it just... bleeds through. Like the blood on them, it bleeds out of him, those words.]

[ Dean smiles again, eyelids briefly shuttering as Cas takes his breath away with a kiss, and he thinks if he faded into oblivion, that would be okay, and he'd be at peace.

But peace isn't in the cards for him, not right now - not yet. Instead, Cas is talking again and Dean is being hauled to his feet, to Dean's great annoyance. If he could just...lay down and sleep, he'd be okay.

Right? ]

We're okay. Let me just--

[ Lay down. It is, of course, is a lie, because they're not okay, and they're never that lucky. For one thing, Cas' leg is a mess, the damned crote that clawed at him had ripped flesh asunder with bloody fingers, tearing into him, smearing necrotic blood all in his wound. Dean personally has lost more blood than he should; the metal has been embedded in his back for a some time now and he slurs his words at Cas, unable to stop the angel from hauling him up. He protests the movement with a wince and groan, leaning heavily against Cas, clutching at his shirt. They'll have to burn everything they're wearing, if they're lucky enough to survive this.

It's not an easy journey. Dean is slowly losing consciousness as he and Cas stumble forward, tripping over his own clumsy feet, vision blurring at the edges, darkness creeping in as each step sends painful vibrations up and down his spine. Blood oozes down his back, soaks his shirt, his jeans. They're both covered in it, there's so much red; it's streaked down Cas' cheeks, down Dean's front and back, on Cas' jeans, trickling down in sticky, contagious rivulets.

At first Dean thinks Sam and Sam are hallucinations; he's seeing double, triple, an assortment of angry Sam's standing where they aren't supposed to be, because he'd said to wait at the cabin, but he is so grateful they didn't listen to him this time. ]

Yeah. [ He mumbles, stopping alongside Cas, clinging to him, barely hanging on to wakefulness. ] Don't--

Don't touch us.

[ He's too spent to wonder how Sam knows. He'll ask later, because they haven't discussed this with Sammy, not yet, but right now Dean is seeing three of him and everything is fractured, distorted, his brain furry and on the verge of sending him into darkness so his body can attempt to heal. ]

[ Whether Sam, and adult and from another timeline, has any awareness of Croatoan or not, Cas has no idea. Maybe he dealt with it himself or maybe his Dean, from the apocalyptic version of their story, told him. But the younger Sam... He didn't even know about Lucifer, or angels at all until Cas told him, so how he identifies it now...

It doesn't matter, honestly. Dean is heavy on his shoulder, near collapse, and on the slimmest of chances that he isn't already infected, he needs that wound in his back treated before he loses any more blood.

Thankfully, Sam squared has come prepared and there's a first aid kit there on the Impala's hood. Cas keeps them both walking, gritting through the pain arcing up his side from his ripped up shin and the weight of Dean growing heavier against his side, and as they get nearer to the car and both Sams, Cas explains in grunted breaths. ]

It's an incurable bloodborne pathogen that turns infected people into mindless, violent shells of themselves within an hour or so. ...Move.

[ So, like Dean said, "don't touch us," but also Dean's been shot or stabbed somehow and Cas narrows his focus completely to that, combat training overtaking his grander sense of reason, which is nice, in this case, because reason would tell him that no matter what he does, one way or another, Dean is going to die, and that's the last thing he needs to think about. He keeps out of arm's reach of the other two as he guides Dean to rest against the hood of the Impala, then leans his good hip heavily against it as he reaches for the first aid kit left there, to find what there is to work with. ]

[Sam steps out of the way but only because it looks like the two are coming in for a crash landing and it's only for a moment before he's back in their space, hands on to help despite the warnings.]

I know.

[Because of course he does, which is followed by two very important words:]

I'm immune.

[There isn't time to talk it all out but Sam's mind is already clicking into containment mode. If Cas and Dean have brought the virus back with them then they have to do everything in their power to contain and destroy it. Which.. Which is bad. Both Castiel and Dean are bleeding, so saturated now that Sam can't tell what looks like Croat damage and what's something else. But if Castiel is worried they're carrying it then.. well. He just assumes it's all the former.

He isn't about to let them die and cross his fingers they come back, not after all of this, but they have to handle this or the newest, freshest Hell in Deerington won't be the doing of Julia Sodder.

Right- authority voice time. Don't argue with him just follow his orders.

To Castiel and his brother-]

Get in the Lincoln. If you get in Baby we'll have to burn her. I'll come back for it later.

[He gestures to his own car parked about ten feet behind the impala, her jubilee gold paint job glinting through the mist.

To his younger self-]

Sam, take off your jacket and anything else you wanna keep and put it in the trunk, then get in the front with me.

[Castiel can work triage while they drive--

Drive.. where.. actually. Back to the cabin? To a doctor? There isn't one. It's smartest to stay here and not bring the virus any further into town but the isolation is both a blessing and a curse. Most of their supplies are back home and without them Dean, at least, will surely bleed to death.

Ah.. alright. Screw it. That's then plan, then. He's got this. He's got this, it'll be fine.]

Edited 2021-06-11 20:42 (UTC)

[You guys really know how to just completely get yourselves fucked over, huh? So much for a 'mission', and the concept of 'successful' varies here. Sam looks between Cas and Dean for a moment, at a complete loss, and he's pretty sure he'll never forgive himself for this day as long as he lives now; too much damage for his good intentions, and his little fourteen-year-old mind just won't cope with that. But it can wait until later, when Dean and Cas are resting safely somewhere, away from the smoky, strange lighthouse worlds.

He moves to shove his things in the trunk, but makes sure to keep the first aid supplies out where they're needed at Cas' reach. The less blood they lose, the better.]

We're immune. [Sam corrects it quietly, because he just... knows. And then he says, with that same disconcerting awareness he shouldn't have, the kind that makes him sound more like the Sam before the ritual:] ... Our blood can be used to treat it.

It'll — combat the infection. You shouldn't turn.

[ Great, Sam knows about Croatoan, which means Cas won't have to waste any more time explaining. Great, he and the younger Sam are both immune, which means they won't have to worry about spreading the virus to them if they are infected. But also what the fuck because how are they immune, how is anyone who isn't a demon or an angel immune, and if Sam hadn't said yes to Lucifer, if he had been his cognizant self when the virus hit, would his immunity alone have saved the world? It's a fucked up thought, and Cas only looks startled (broken, crushed) for a moment before the reality of Dean slumping against his side sets in and takes his full attention. ]

Dean? ...Dean!

[ With Dean unconscious on his shoulder, Cas checks for a pulse. He's alive, breathing, warm and pulse still strong enough, but that doesn't make Dean's collapse any less terrifying. But there's only so much any of them could do out here with first aid kit instead of crash cart. He presses pads of gauze against the hole in Dean's back under his shirt, and holds it there as he carries Dean the short distance it takes to get them both thrown into the back seat of Sam's car, orders followed. His leg aches like it's on fire, but his concern is fully on Dean as he pushes Dean's back against the car seat and props his feet up against the opposite end, as best he's able in the cramped area. Cas looks up at the older Sam in the rearview, because while the younger has given them valuable information, this isn't something a fourteen year old should be responsible for, not when there's a grown adult with the same blood available. ]

Have you ever given him a transfusion before?

[ Dean needs blood after the amount he's lost, and apparently Sam's blood is a cure. Two birds, if they can manage it. ]

[Sam's head feels like a swivel the way he looks at his younger self and then the rearview mirror as he tears them out of the wasteland and back towards town.]

A transfusion?

[A little breathy, a little what the fuck is happening.]

No, but I.. will that work?

[He looks to Sam next to him, because apparently he knows way more than he should. Like, in theory they could probably jerry rig something together. What do you really need, some needles and a length of hose? Is there a YouTube video on field transfusions? What about bloodtypes?

That isn't the usual way Sam's gone about acquiring the properties in blood and he can't help but wonder if drinking it would be like drinking demon blood is to him. Similar maybe. Which means maybe the concept is transitive and applicable..]

Will that work? Or do they drink it?

[Everyone's voices are a bit tinny, a bit faraway. Sam's pretty sure it's because his blood's rushing so hard in his ears; Cas and Dean are sitting bloody in the back seat, and the words in his head just keep looping over and over, all self-battering and viciously angry: you did this. His hands knead each other, so hard the skin reddens, but Sam's words at least get him to refocus for a moment through his haze of overwhelmed panic.

There are no memories that accompany facts: he just recollects some stream of consciousness, some... other time and place. Maybe it's because he'd went back home for a moment. Maybe it's because the spell isn't quite as strong as they'd all hoped. Either way, he breathes out shakily and looks away, feeling unclean — dirtied by his own body, in a way he's never understood but always felt, deep down.]

... As long as the blood is in the body, it doesn't matter how it gets there.

[ He's only vaguely aware of Cas stuffing him into the backseat, propping his feet up. There's voices around; it's Sam, Sam, and Cas talking, but they're muffled, like they're talking in another room and Dean's head is under a pillow.

There's movement, Dean recognizes he's in a car, but it's not his.

Thank God. ]

What's...this about blood, now?

[ It's sort of slurred, more like wassissboutbludnow, but, you know.

At least he's awake? ]

[ Of all the things the Winchester brothers have suffered through together, it's honestly amazing they've never had to give one another a field transfusion before. The luxury of hospitals isn't something Cas is accustomed to. It doesn't even occur to him as an option. Really, with the potential spread of the virus, taking either of them to a hospital right now isn't an option, anyway.

As for blood types, Cas would happily give his blood to Dean instead, but they're incompatible, unlike the Winchester brothers, which Cas only knows because it's one more way in a list of ways he failed to fill the void Sam left in Dean after Sam was gone. Cas looks up from Dean to stare pointedly at the elder Sam in the rearview. ]

Sam's going to give you a transfusion.

[ There, Cas decided for Sam. No take-backsies. The younger Sam says work, and that's Dean's best chance of coming through both the wound in his back and Croatoan, if Sammy is right, if Lucifer isn't lying. Cas doesn't let himself think about it. He pushes Dean's chest firmly down, in case he got it in his head that he'd like to move at all, and redirects his attention to Dean again. ]

We're almost there. Stay awake.

[Sam is going to give you a blood transfusion.

It is not a question.

Okay, Sam thinks. I'll just. Figure that out, then. Can't be hard, right? They did it in Mad Max. And in theory he knows how to do it, but it needs specialist equipment..

Shit, okay man, get it together and figure it out.

His thoughts are racing, foot on the gas, roaring back towards Dean's cabin. It isn't a long journey but it's longer than he'd like. They'll screech onto the property and he pulls right up to the front door before turning to Sammy and gripping his shoulder.]

Sam listen to me, go into the house but leave your clothes at the door. Get dressed as fast as you can and then get the big medical box, understand? We can't bring anything with blood inside.

[It will be hard not to cross contaminate but everything they've got is in that big box and they have to try to contain this. It's a little cruel to work triage out here in the yard but what other choice do they have? ]

And Cas--he needs help too.

[ Dean groans, because he's not the only one with problems, here. He might be bleeding out but Dean is pretty 100% they both got infected, they weren't...

They weren't thinking. But it's the end, isn't it? Dean knows his future back home, he'd not only experienced but but he'd gotten the distinct pleasure of seeing it, too, and it's...simple fact that Lucifer wins. That's it, Game Over. No consolation prize, no riding off into the sunset.

He'd do it again, go after Cas, bring him back.

The car stops and Dean is wavering on a precipice between sleep and wakefulness, though Cas' hand on his chest is something that tethers him to the present, because Dean is Dean and of course he's trying to sit up.

He vaguely registers little Sammy running off, and he grops to cover Cas' hand, fingers stiff with dried blood. ]

We made a helluva mess, [ he slurs, then laughs, coughing mid chuckle. Don't mind the blood on his lips or the way his eyes are red rimmed. Move quick, Sam One and Two. ]

[ It wasn't only the end of the world back home; they all know this world's creator is dead and her creation is winding down. The precautions Sam is taking are meaningless in the long run. But still, there's hope. Still humanity in the form of Sam Winchester perseveres, and Cas can't argue with Sam's optimism; not if it gives all of them just a little more time to enjoy their final days or weeks together.

He doesn't argue with Dean's assessment, only watches through the car window as Sam barks orders and his younger self rushes to comply, both too well-practiced at the roles of following and leading through a crisis. He feels Dean's hand cover his and it brings his attention back down to where Dean is smiling, and coughing blood, and it strikes Cas cold, like ice injected through him. It may already be too late for Dean, and what is he supposed to do then, without him? Try to take care of his brothers when he can hardly manage himself, all while the world falls around them? The hopeless sensation is crushing, and Cas wishes, desperately that there were anyone left to pray to. He squeezes Dean's fingers. ]

I'm sorry.

[ He doesn't know what else to say other than to blame himself for ruining this and leading Dean right back to the slaughter their world always intended for him. When Sam arrives back at the side of the car, Cas looks up at him, eyes red-rimmed and hollow, without any more frantic orders to give. ]

You don't need to apologize.

[Sammy says it firmly, walking the medical box to Sam before he turns to look at Cas, his gaze downcast and shaded with guilt. He looks more like his older, defeated self more than ever, stepping back in some invisible soldier's line, waiting for the next order. His voice quivers, but he forces himself to say:]

It's my fault this happened.

[If the two of them die, their deaths on on Sam's hands, just like all the people who must have perished because of him in the future.]

[ Cas looks up at Sammy, and it's crushing to see the darkness in his eyes there, the guilt, as Dean's blood covers Cas's hands. ]

It's not your fault, Sam.

[ It's Castiel's fault, all of this, in so many ways, but he's not going to make things more strained than he already has. Lying to the youngest Winchester is the least Cas can do for him, and it's a terrible thought, and Cas pushes a little harder down against Dean's chest, squeezing his fingers, keeping his back firmly pinned to the bandages and the backseat. ]

It's your blood that will stop this virus.

[ At least they can do that much, if it works like Sammy said it would. Cas looks down at Dean again to make sure he's still conscious and lets Sam handle... however they're going to do that. ]

[It's all like a bad car crash running in slow motion.

Sam gets out of the car and opens the passenger side door to get a good look. He doesn't want to move them too much but also.. they're in the back of a car and it's tight quarters.

So work with him, here, and they might all get lucky. When Sammy gets back with the heavy, hulking box of supplies he'll come and help bring it down into the yard to tear through it looking for anything that can help. He pulls more bandages and tosses them to Cas before spreading all their stuff out to get a good look. He needs syringes or a transfusion kit or.. fuck just something sharp and sterile and some hosepipe at this point but there's nothing.

Absolutely fucking nothing.

They're running out of time and all he's got is a small decanting of holy oil and a and a knife and-

-and the words as long as the blood is in the body, it doesn't matter how it gets there.

Sam grimaces as he thinks before shaking himself and willing his numb hands into action. The bottle is half full of holy oil, siphoned off of Dean's supply. About 300ml (A coke can's worth) in a 1000ml bottle. He pulls the knife from his belt and clenches his fist several times before cutting his wrist and placing it to the mouth of the container. It's a disgusting cocktail but it's gonna work. It has to.]

Okay new plan.

[With his back to his brother and friend (friend? friend)]

Holy oil is purifying, right? It can heal.. mix it with my blood and you've basically got a holy vaccine.

[He wants to (is going to) fill the rest of the bottle which is.. mmm a lot of blood. But he's a big guy, he can take it, and leaves just enough room to cap and shake the two ingredients together before forcing the tincture on the wounded. Bottom's up, guys.]

It's nobody's fault. Playing the blame game is a waste of time. [ And it's exhausting, Dean and Cas both are running on fumes, there's blood on his chin, and Dean is losing all of his goddamn sense. ]

Cas... [ He croaks, flashing a crooked smile, patting the angel's blood crusted fingers. ]

This is kinky, but I can't move.

[ Dean is pretty immobile under Cas' hand, and while he doesn't make a move to knock it away (no, he's gripping it tight like it's his path to salvation), he does shift under it a little, like he does mean to sit up, only to be kept in place by an insistent angel.

Kinkyyyy.

It makes him laugh, causing little pink, blood tinged bubbles to pop on his lips. That should be alarming, but he's lost too much blood to care, and he just licks it off, closing and opening his eyes slowly, steadily, like he's trying to focus. Dean feels lightheaded and giddy, like he's smoked some of Cas' good kush. ]

Holy vaccine. [ he echoes, tracing his fingers over Cas', light, playful, eyes too bright and wide. ] Sounds like a rock band. We should form a rock band.

[Sam very nearly speaks out, objects to what Cas says. But the comment about his blood leaves him quieted. The truth is, he has no idea why his blood is important. He doesn't know the details — has no memory of Yellow Eyes, or the horrific tale the demon had weaved for him, all proven horribly true. Okay. Guilt and blame later, then.

Making a face at Dean holds priority, even if Sam's terrified his brother's about to die any minute; you're grievously hurt, and that's gonna be your potential last words? He's honestly not even surprised; it may be the very least surprising thing, and as he crouches down next to his brother and Cas, he hushes Dean.]

Talk when you're not hurt and covered in blood, jerk.

[He looks back at Sam, anxious.]

I can give you some of mine, too. If you need it. I can do it.

[He doesn't mind bleeding for family, whether it's his fault or not. Whatever's wrong with his blood, it's useful right now. Just give the word, and he'll cut his skin, too. Bleed a cure. Be something better for a second.]

ic contact

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)