venatoris | open post.

[ It's a very human thing, to sleep, to wake. Humans spend more than a third of their brief lives in bed asleep, and Castiel always thought it was a curious decision of God's, and a waste. Watching Dean wake beside him now, sweetly vulnerable and made soft with sleep, Castiel believes he understands God's purpose. He'd gladly spend a third of his very long life in bed if it meant sharing intimate moments like this with someone he loves over and over again. His eyes drop to Dean's lips and the request to kiss him is there in the sandpaper-rough back of his throat. Then Dean is sitting up, and Castiel's eyes lift, the request swallowed back, saved for another time. He doesn't sit up himself immediately, stiff with inaction and injury though he feels. He can't imagine moving in any way but towards Dean if he tried. ]

Yes. But I didn't mind. You're welcome to fall asleep on me again any time.

[ That's not an offer he can see Dean accepting, but for how much he enjoyed the intimacy of sleeping with Dean, he feels compelled to offer it, anyway. It's a nice dream.

Castiel frowns at the memory of the dream (if that's what it was; it must have been) of Michael. He doesn't want Dean to leave, but there are far more important things than what he wants. The impending apocalypse, for instance. ]

Where's Sam? Is he alright?

[ If the Winchesters are fighting with each other because of Castiel's incompetence, it's imperative he see them make amends, regardless of the dwindling state of his grace. ]

I appreciate the offer.

[ Dean flashes him a little smile, shifting so he can better face Cas on the bed, look him over, inspect his handiwork from before their impromptu nap.

A nap that lasted longer than he sleeps in a night, oddly enough. Maybe that's what it's like to feel safe, pressed in against someone you care about. He tries not to think too much about that, dig too deep. It'll just...unearth more shit he isn't sure how to handle or deal with. ]

Sam's fine. He's with Rufus, working another job. I talked to him after you passed out last night. How're you feeling, by the way?

[ Because that's important, and Dean is worried.

He peels back the bandage he put on Cas' deepest wound, seeing if it's healed - he doesn't know how fast angels...regenerate or whatever. ]

[ A part of Castiel was expecting Dean to immediately leave the bed upon awaking, so to see Dean linger, even if it's only to check over his wounds, warms him. He nods, distracted by the information about Sam. It's good that Sam isn't alone, and that he and Dean talked, though Castiel is still eager to see them reunited. He doesn't know Rufus, and he doesn't trust Sam not to do something incredibly stupid while Dean isn't around.

He isn't paying attention to Dean's question, but his attention is brought back instantly, and he hisses in pain at the peeling of the bandage away from his skin, sticky with dried blood. Even after hours of regeneration, that wound is still oozing slowly. Castiel frowns and his hands fist in the sheets at his sides. ]

That's... concerning.

[ He almost leaves it at that, but a glance up at Dean tells him that Dean is worried for him, so he explains, reluctantly. ]

My grace isn't regenerating as quickly as it should.

[ It's terrifying. Castiel's grace is the closest thing to a soul he has; it's himself, his very essence of all that he is. As long as some small amount of it remains, it makes more of itself like the limbs of a starfish or human blood, but if that process is stalled... What is he, if not himself?

There is nothing to be done for it, though, and Castiel doesn't want to alarm Dean. He's already taken up more of Dean's time than he should. As life-changing as that night together was a few nights ago, and as desperately as he'd like to keep that promise to Dean, Dean has far more important work to do elsewhere. He should be with Sam, helping the world to survive this apocalypse in whatever way they can. ]

Thank you for staying with me, Dean, but it may take some time for me to fully heal. You should go to Sam.

What do you mean, it's not regenerating as quick as it should?

[ The nuances of angels are beyond him - he barely understands what Cas' Grace is, let alone how it truly functions. ]

How can it not be regenerating? Why can't you get it up?

[ He talks as he moves; the first aid kit is still on the nightstand where Dean left it, resting next to the beer he didn't finish. Dean reaches for it, pops it open, and rummages for a fresh bandage, more antiseptic. ]

I'm not leaving you. Either we stay here, or I haul you into the Impala and we go together.

[ The questions are grating, and Castiel's answer to Dean is terse, because Castiel he doesn't have an answer. ]

I don't know why.

[ He looks down at the wound at his side and presses his fingers to it, as if touch alone might heal it, but of course all it does is leave his fingers bloody. He's never been cut off from Heaven's power before. He's never been stabbed with another angel's blade, either. It could be either of those things, or it might be divine retribution for the number of brothers and sisters he's killed. He has no idea why his grace isn't regenerating or if it will fully recover at all, and it's as frustrating as it is terrifying.

Whether he regains the lion's share of his grace or not, though, there are larger forces at work that still need seeing to. Dean needs to see to them. ]

I'll go with you. ...I'll try not to be a burden.

[ Starting right now. He sits up, and the wound in his side burns painfully, but it isn't so bad that he can't walk on it. He'd made it here, after all. He can go to wherever Dean needs to be. ]

[ It's a lot of questions Dean's firing at him, and, well. You know. The pissiness is fine, he gets it, Cas doesn't know the answers - though he does give the angel kind of a look, like c'mon man I don't know shit about angel physiology, cut me some slack. ]

Don't poke it. Jeeze, you're like a toddler.

[ He swats Cas' fingers away, dabbing at the blood with some gauze before padding the wound and pressing another bandage gently over his skin. ]

You're not a burden. Just relax and stop moving-- [ Honestly, it really is like having a toddler (from what he remembers of Sammy's toddler stage, anyway); ] let me pack and load the car, and we'll go, okay?

[ Castiel isn't any less irritated, though he realizes, as Dean cleans and bandages his wound again with careful, gentle touches, that his anger at Dean's questions is misdirected. He sighs and looks away, resigning himself to his disturbingly human-like state. He is very much a burden to Dean, though Dean is kind enough to suggest otherwise. Still, Dean agrees to move on, and Castiel is grateful for that, too, even if it means a long car ride instead of spending more time alone together in bed with Dean. God is indifferent, and life is unfair. ]

Yes, thank you. That would be best.

[ Relaxing is an impossible request, but Castiel can at least follow Dean's order not to move. Though, he'd prefer to help. ]

Don't forget the holy oil.

[ It's likely an unnecessary reminder, but given that object is the reason he killed more of his kind, was tortured, and now is disturbingly low on grace, he has some attachment to seeing it cared for until its use. ]

[ Life has always been unfair for Dean. In his experience, it's often traumatic and full of rage and pain than it is anything else, so he expects nothing less. A cruel twist of fate they had such an intense night together, only for there to be no time for a repeat, especially not with Cas oozing blood and unable to Doctor Who himself a new body. ]

Just close your eyes and I'll load everything, oil included. I'll come get you when I'm done, okay?

[ And for God's sake, leave your boo boos alone. ]

[ Castiel has lived as an observer of mankind's tragedies for thousands of years, Dean's included. It's much different to experience tragedy himself firsthand. To be human is to suffer, and yet Dean's suffering has made him into the person he is. He's a good man, infinitely strong, and willing to take on the burden that Castiel has become at the moment, even knowing he would be useless to their fight as he is now. Castiel can only hope he endures this trial as well as Dean has and becomes better for it.

He's not sure how closing his eyes will help anything at all, but he's not in a position to argue it. ]

Alright.

[ Still sitting up, he closes his eyes and uses the moment to meditate, to search inside of himself and sideways through space and time, to reflect on his grace. It feels an awful lot like shouting into a void. He stretches his wings, and he can't tell if he feels them unfurl or if what he feels is only a phantom memory of the action. He stretches them out further, sees a destination in his mind, tries to fly. Instead of going to that place, he feels a wave of nausea, like falling, and opens his eyes, startled by the dizziness. This is truly what being human feels like, he realizes: feeling scared, grounded in space and time, and alone.

He looks towards Dean wide-eyed, despite the earlier request, and watches him quietly, for the calming sake of it. ]

[ There's not a whole lot to gather. The Winchester's pack light, damn near everything they own in the back of the Impala - clothes and weapons combined. Dean crams what few clothes he has laying around into his duffle, then picks up the oil and gently, carefully, tucks it into his bag, surrounding it with clothes, padding it, to make sure it doesn't break. Cas sacrificed a lot for this - it's a priceless treasure now.

He'll haul it over his shoulder, meet Cas' eyes that are open now, and lifts a brow. ]

You okay over there? Hanging on?

[ Jesus, Dean doesn't know what he'd do if he actually lost Cas. They've had some scares, but...

He can't even entertain the thought. ]

[ What matters most to Dean aren't material things, an idea seen by some humans as the path towards enlightenment. The care he takes to wrap and carry the jug of holy oil at Castiel's request means that much more for it. Castiel doesn't immediately stand as he takes a moment to appreciate Dean. ]

I was just wondering if the existential dread I feel at the potential loss of my grace is at all comparable to the human condition.

[ In other words, no, he's not okay, but yes, he is "hanging on." Since Dean seems fully packed, Castiel takes it as his cue to stand. He's slow and unsteady, in pain and still dusted in dried blood, but he manages to gather himself enough to walk with relative pride to meet Dean by the door. ]

Um. Yeah. Yeah, I'd say probably.

[ Dean is pretty familiar with that feeling, the impending doom of the universe, the thoughts that nothing he does ruly matter, especially if this is all prophecy, anyway. What difference do his choices make, where is the free will?

He's very, very familiar with existential dread. ]

Careful, man. Lemme help you. [ Lean on him, Cas, on the side that doesn't have the duffle. Use his arm as a crutch. Something.

He glances over at the angel beside him, faces close, his eyes briefly dropping to those pretty lips that had been all over him a few nights ago.

Get it together, Dean. ]

Can you make it to the car?

I don't like it.

[ The existential dread part, that is. Worrying if your life is devoid of meaning, if the person you thought you were was merely a role you played, and once that occupation is stripped, your sense of self is stripped along with it. Of course Dean is familiar with the idea. He's not only human, he's a human who was raised by an absent father whose only instructions involved taking on the roles of hunter and older brother, and all of that came before the roles the angels assigned to him as a seal of Lucifer and Michael's sword. Dean has more reason than anyone to give in to hopelessness.

And yet he lives on, not only dutifully, but with unrelenting kindness. He's already carrying the weight of his life and Castiel's sacrifice in that bag on his shoulder, but he offers his arm for Castiel to lean on, anyway. Castiel takes the offer for help gladly, not because he's without pride, but because it would be an insult to everything he values to turn Dean away. Dean is warm, solid, and thrumming with life at his side, and rather than take care for where he's walking, Castiel looks up at him adoringly. He is grounded, and he is scared, but he isn't alone. ]

I'm alright. Thank you for the help.

[ He owes Dean for so much more than the support of his arm, and he once again mourns the loss of the chance to show him that. Another time. He doesn't need his grace for what he did with Dean a few nights ago, and if Dean allows him, once his wounds are healed, he'll prove it. ]

I'd like to lie down in the backseat, if that's okay.

[ Castiel's free hand is covering the bandage at his side. He isn't sure if it's bleeding again already or not, but standing up isn't doing the wound any favors. It stings sharply now in a way lying down hadn't, and he'd like to lie down again, if there isn't some reason Dean has for why he shouldn't. ]

Nobody does.

[ He gets his free arm around Cas' waist, encouraging him to lean on Dean, let him share the weight of Cas' dread. Above all, despite whatever they are and whatever they did together, Cas is still Dean's friend, and Dean can be loyal, unhealthily so, to the people he cares about. ]

Watch your step, [ Dean says, glancing over at Cas, flashing him a little smirk when he catches the angel looking at him, fingers absently squeezing at his hip. He's got you, Cas. ]

Yeah, that's what I was thinkin'.

[ He kicks the door to the motel shut behind them as he walks Cas to the car, easing him to lean against the cool metal so Dean can open the back door and shove his clothes onto the floorboard, make room for Cas to lay down. ]

Okay, in you go.

[ The weakness Castiel feels, not only in his abilities but in his physical capabilities at the moment, is infinitely frustrating, but it's not entirely without its benefits. As he leans on Dean with a hand on Dean's shoulder for support, Dean wraps an arm around him, holds him close, and smiles, and Castiel is used feeling a soft warmth when Dean looks at him like that, but there's no glass between his senses and his grace right now, and that warmth he's used to feels more like an arcing, crackling flame. One smile and the press of Dean's fingers into his hip has numbed the pain and energized him. The walk to the car feels instant, like flying, and all too soon, it's time to separate.

Castiel leans against the car and watches Dean with quiet wonder, unsure if these feelings are human or his own, if it's a purely physical reaction to being held with such care. If that's the case, it's no wonder Dean's so promiscuous. Castiel can't imagine how anyone could resist him.

Dean holds open the car door, but Castiel's attention is still on Dean, unwavering. He doesn't make a move to get in. Soon they'll reunite with Sam and Rufus, and he'll have to share Dean's attention once more. As much as that is the right thing, for both Dean and humanity as a whole, Castiel resists it. His time alone with Dean is precious, sacred, and even debilitated as he is, he doesn't want to lose it. ]

Dean...

[ He shouldn't ask. After how terribly he performed his mission, he doesn't deserve the reward of Dean's time. He asks anyway, selfish and jealous for the intimacy Dean had offered him. ]

I know I wasn't able to return on time, as we'd agreed, but I'd still like to keep that promise to you, if you'll allow it.

[ He pulls himself out of the backseat of the car where he'd been rustling around, lost in thoughts of how to make the ride as comfortable as possible. Steal some hotel pillows and blankets, maybe. The impala's backseat isn't awful, Dean's slept in it (and done other...things in it) often enough while on the road, so he figures Cas will probably be okay to nap off and on, provided Dean doesn't blast music or hit any big bumps. ]

Yeah, Cas? [ He rests on the door, tipping his head, flicking his gaze over Cas' face, glancing over his lips and down his neck before he forces himself to look Cas in the eye when the question is posed.

It makes a flush crawl over his face, freckles standing out, blush down his neck. ]

Promise is a promise, Cas. I'm definitely gonna honor my end, if you want. [ It's intimidating, a little, but he said it and he meant it and he wants to. ]

[ Even if the ride isn't smooth or Dean's music is very loud, it's likely that Castiel will be able to sleep just fine through the trip. He feels drained in a way that's uncomfortable. His muscles ache. The sharp pain under his ribs throbs. There's a heavy sort of feeling to his entire body, except for his stomach, which feels like an empty balloon. His body is all but insisting on unconsciousness, and as much as Castiel would rather be awake to talk with (or listen to, or simply watch) Dean, sleep feels as inevitable as breathing, and bleeding, and other similarly human inconveniences. It's an especially inconvenient feeling right now when what he really wants is to push Dean into the back seat and fulfil that promise Dean is still miraculously agreeing to honor. ]

I do want to.

[ Castiel answers emphatically, because regardless of the state of his body, or grace, he will always be willing, where Dean is concerned. It's important Dean know that, how deeply he's wanted and appreciated, loved and admired, though saying as much seems out of the question, and showing it feels restricted to certain moments of solitude and privacy. They have something of that now, and Castiel is tempted. Dean is always lovely, but Castiel is finding he enjoys when Dean's cheeks flush pink like they are now, and there isn't all that much space between them. It would be easy to kiss his mouth. Ultimately, he decides not to take the risk of being dismissed for over-stepping, or making Dean uncomfortable in the moments before a long car ride. ]

When we're both able, then. It's a date.

[ There's no actual date set, but it's an expression he's picked up somewhere, possibly from Dean, and there's something that feels apt about it. He rests a hand on Dean's shoulder, both for the connection and for the support as he maneuvers himself as gingerly as possible into the back seat. ]

A date.

[ Dean nods, confirming it, embedding the moment in his mind; the way Cas looks, the tone of his low voice, the way the hopefulness lifts it, just a little. It's melodious to Dean's ears, which may sound strange, but a promise is a beautiful thing, full of love and want and wishes thrown like pennies into a fountain.

Love is an unfathomable, untouchable thing that others are blessed with, but never Dean; he cannot imagine a life where anyone loves him, because he is undeserving, unworthy.

But oh to have an angel love; this unfathomable being, this creature of pure wonder, interdimensional, wondrous, immeasurable. Cas is unimaginable beauty. Dean cannot even pretend to understand - which is infinitely frustrating, but nothing he can change at the present moment.

Dean sees Cas in the body of Jimmy Novak, a kind man with pretty lips and a lovely body, but there's so much more than that inside - so much more that is unable to break through. He is gentle with Cas, lets him rest, steals the aforementioned blankets and pillows, carefully covers him and props his head, tucking him in, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him, Dean leaned over like he is, eyes fixed on Cas', a hand on his hip from where he'd been tucking him in. ]

[ Castiel's wings may be as distant as phantom limbs at the moment, but when Dean confirms his assertion and agrees, unbelievably, to more intimacy at some future time, Castiel feels the same weightlessness and invisible tug of his grace that he feels when flying. If only his body weren't so very heavy and his wings so very far away, he would have vanished on the spot, hoping only to reappear in Dean periphery at that later point with no time gone by for him at all. Wouldn't that be nice? It's a lovely thought that Castiel continues to entertain while he lays back against the seat.

He's expecting the car to jostle, the motor to start. He's startled instead when Dean leaves his vision from the backseat only to return a few moments later with an armful of bedding. Castiel tries to protest, but the pillow is already shoved behind his head, the blankets wrapped around him, and it reminds him that he stole that bottle of lubricant from the pharmacy days ago and never returned it, a memory that his him flushing warmer even as Dean leans over him, so he doesn't have the strength of will to complain.

It's a nice feeling, anyway, being cared for and made comfortable by Dean. The holy oil was its own reward; there's no reason for this kindness other than Dean's caring nature, and Castiel feels both unworthy and blessed by Dean's radiance. Dean pauses to look at him then, and their eyes meet, and Castiel gives in to his earlier temptation, brings his hands to Dean's jaw and pulls him down low enough to kiss his mouth sweetly and devoutly, like sipping wine from the chalice as he receives the Eucharist. ]

Thank you, Dean.

[ For millennia, Castiel has followed the orders of his superiors in the service of the Lord. He's spoken to prophets and listened to holy men preach about God's love in dozens of languages, but he's never felt God's presence so profoundly as he does in moments like these, bathed in the warmth of Dean's affection. ]

[ Dean had been going back and forth on if he should kiss Cas after everything they did together - their relationship is now, at this point, sort of an undefinable thing, and he isn't sure where they stand with one another. Dean isn't stupid enough to think any of them will survive the apocalypse, there is no happily ever after for them. He's battling decades worth of internalized homophobia with the want to simply say fuck it, I deserve this, if this is the end, why not take this one thing?

It's a hard line for Dean to smudge, and step over. He's been lying to himself for years about things he wants, and not just sexually. He's told himself since he was young that this was his life, he doesn't deserve anything else, this is what he's good at, what he does. He's told himself he doesn't want that apple-pie life, that he doesn't need a house in the suburbs or a cabin on a lake.

Dean doesn't deserve serenity or peace.

But the kiss, the way Cas' hands are so reverent on his skin, the brush of lips, the promise and meaning behind it, all the unspoken things loud and clear in his head... it makes his heart twist with longing. Dean can't help but lean in, press his palm against the seat so he doesn't crush Cas and hurt him more. He wants deeper kisses, to devour Cas and breathe him in, consume his soul. ]

[ Dean and Sam have led difficult lives. They've been manipulated by angels and demons since before they were born, and Castiel always believed that it was for a purpose, that Dean was destined to be a martyr for a holy cause, and that such a life was the noblest kind of existence a human could hope for.

He was wrong. Dean is so much more than a vessel of heavenly design. He defies expectation at every turn. He is quintessentially human; he suffers, he struggles, and he continues to live, not for himself, but for others. He's a leader of men. An inspiration to those wise enough to follow. Dean doesn't deserve peace in Heaven. He deserves peace now, on Earth.

Castiel only wishes he could give that to him. Even with his grace, all he can do is aid Dean in this war for the preservation of humankind, and hope that better days lie ahead, after it's ended. It's likely he won't survive it, but Dean and Sam will. If they don't, then humanity truly is lost, and Castiel won't allow all of humankind to be destroyed after only having just discovered the wonder of it. He lives now, not as a servant of God, but of mankind. Of Dean. If the only reward he gets for it is a painful death (again), and Dean's affection, then it will have been worth it.

Dean kisses him back with longing, and Castiel can't breathe. His chest aches. It's wonderful. He tilts his head and opens his mouth to inhale, just for a moment, before he presses his mouth to Dean's and slides his tongue against his lip, depending the kiss. It's even better than the first time. There's no distracting separation between body and grace, only the warmth of Dean's skin under his hands and the wet of Dean's mouth against his tongue. Castiel moans and leans into it, arching up towards Dean for more contact, more of Dean.

Something beneath his ribs that had knit together rips back open, and Castiel immediately regrets the action as his vision whites and he makes a startled, pained sound in the back of his throat. He falls back against the pillow, shivering, and his hands drop from Dean's cheeks to clutch at his shoulders. This painful interruption feels like karma for his abandonment of Heaven and all his misdeeds. He hates it. ]

[ Cas gives Dean more peace than he realizes - friendship, camaraderie. Someone to talk to outside of his brother, that he's working to trust again. Sam is currently...difficult for Dean to be around. He's working on it, he is, but it's tough to look at him and know that he picked a demon over his own blood.

It's a process.

Dean is not thinking about his brother right now, though. He's thinking about pink lips, Cas' sweet tongue, the taste of him on Dean's mouth, the pretty moan he makes, how he moves under Dean--

And consequently rips his wound open, sending Dean yanking himself back, horrified by what he's done. ]

Shit, I'm sorry! Sorry, Cas, fuck! Hold on, lemme go get the kit, you're oozing again--

[ Dammit, Dean! ]

[ This is not at all what Castiel was hoping for when he'd decided to kiss Dean just now. The pain is, well, painful. It sharp and intense for the lack of his grace, but worse is the guilt he feels for ruining what was meant to be a peaceful moment for Dean. Hearing Dean blame himself only twists the knife, and Castiel attempts to protest. ]

No, I... It's alright.

[ It's not actually alright. It's incredibly painful, as much as it had been when the wound was fresh, but it won't kill him, or it would have already done it. ]

I'll be alright.

[ There, that's more accurate, though it doesn't help his hands to stop shaking. He presses them both to cover the bandage, put pressure on it as he'd seen humans do for centuries, and lets his head fall back to the pillow again. "And we indeed are suffering justly, for we are receiving due requital for what we have done." ]

Are you sure? This looks bad, man.

[ He's seen Cas come back from the dead, he's seen the angel get knocked around but this...

This scares Dean. This seems serious. It's got his heart rate up, worry gnawing at his belly. ]

Just wait here. Let me go get that kit outta the trunk.

[ Without waiting for Cas to stop him, he pulls himself from hovering over the angel and goes to rummage around in the trunk. There's a few more bandages, but they'll definitely need to restock pretty soon, especially if this wound doesn't start behaving itself - and if Dean doesn't start behaving himself.

It was just a kiss. That's all he'd wanted. An indulgence, some sweetness.

But it's back to damnation and hellfire raining down, isn't it. ]

[ What Castiel would prefer is to pass out and for Dean to drive them to wherever Sam is, so that they can continue doing what they need to in order to prevent the fall of mankind. Caring for his superficial wounds is a waste of time when his grace will regenerate and his body will heal without wasting human supplies. ...Hopefully. Castiel isn't entirely sure that will happen, but he's also not sure what he would do if his grace doesn't return. He's avoiding thinking about it for now. It's much easier to focus on the very real threat of the apocalypse, and on helping Dean rather than helping himself.

Dean is gone too quickly for him to argue, though. With a sigh that hurts more than it helps, Castiel closes his eyes while Dean is gone and tries to feel for his residual grace. He concentrates on that essence of himself, at the familiar electric crackle of it, however dim, and he thinks of building it back up like fanning a flame. It's impossible for him to say if it's truly working or not, but it distracts from the pain while he waits for Dean to arrive with a fresh bandage for the leaking wound in his side, still throbbing beneath the hard press of his hands. ]

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