[ When Dean's hand is held out expectantly, Castiel's begins tugging open his tie immediately, as if the offer had been a command. There's very little he would refuse, when it comes to Dean, and certainly not a request to lose clothing, when he finds clothing in general to be an uncomfortable inconvenience, originally intended to provide protection from the elements, then taken to a puritanical extreme. ]
If it's alright.
[ It's an extreme Dean seems to have embraced, always covered from head to toe, shying away from nudity generally outside of intimate encounters, which has Castiel eyeing him curiously now as he hands over his tie (why wouldn't it get washed with the rest?), and his coat, and his bloodied and ripped shirt. There's bruising on the skin of his bare chest still that hasn't healed, and the stark white of the bandage at his side is clean, but the wound remains only superficially closed beneath. Though there's an uncomfortable tug each time he stretches his arms to remove his clothing, it's ignored. Castiel's attention is entirely on Dean as he tries to suss out the difference. He hesitates to ask outright, but ultimately gives in to the urge. ]
[ He takes everything Cas gives him and dumps it into the wash - save the tie, that he'll spot clean separately, try to get as much blood out as he can. He turns, gives Cas a little privacy while he turns on the washer and dabs at the tie, though he glances over his shoulder at the question.
It's a good one - and it's one he isn't sure how to answer. Has it changed? Yes, fundamentally, on a molecular level. Dean swears he can feel his blood race when Cas gets close, his heart speeds up, the mark on his shoulder throbs.
But, then again, maybe it hasn't. Maybe all of this has been there all along - the emotions, the stolen glances, the tangible pressure Dean always feels under his skin whenever they get too close to one another.
We're like Chernobyl.
It's easy to blame what he feels on that, now that he knows - it's just his soul reacting to Cas' grace, right? That's what has the blush rising in his cheeks as his eyes skim over Cas' form, that's what has him in lonely motel bathrooms, a hand on his cock, Cas' face in his mind.
That's not the case though, and maybe in the beginning Dean didn't recognize it for what it was, for what he was thinking or feeling, but he thinks he does now.
[ The relationship Castiel shares with Dean was ordained by Heaven, once. He believed he was tasked by God Himself to locate Dean's soul in Hell, to find every flayed piece and join them together with a decayed body made whole. It was his mission to protect and guide Dean through his trials, and to prepare him for occupation by Michael.
He failed at that. God betrayed him, along with humanity, and Castiel betrayed Heaven for them. For Dean. Their relationship was once easy for him to understand, but now it's undeniably human. They're allies, certainly. And they're friends, he believes. But the newly added intimate side of their relationship has him puzzled. He loves Dean, and he believes that Dean loves him, in some way, but he hesitates to put a name to it. Dean doesn't offer any elucidation on the matter, and so Castiel is left to wonder. He watches Dean scrub at his tie by hand, unsure if it's necessity or preference that has him clean it separately from the rest, but he appreciates the metaphor it creates. He feels cared for by Dean. Dean is gentle with him in a way he never was before, and Castiel's admiration and love for Dean have only grown stronger. ]
I was worried that my friendship with you had made me weaker, even before losing my grace. To separate oneself from one's kind is to be alone, and to be alone is to be vulnerable.
[ That's how humans feel when they're stripped naked, isn't it? Castiel is practically human now, and stripped down to his boxers, he's practically naked. Even though he's in Dean's presence, though, he doesn't feel any more vulnerable for it. He feels the opposite. Emboldened by the idea, he steps forward to close the distance between himself and Dean. He rests his hands gently on Dean's hips, and leans in to kiss the little bit of exposed skin he finds of Dean's neck, just above Dean's shirt collars. ]
When I'm with you, though, I don't feel alone. Though I am as weak as I'd feared I'd become, paradoxically, I feel stronger.
now im picturing this thread and s6 repercussions with THIS involved thanks for that brain fuck lol
[ He's carefully, deliberately spot cleaning Cas' tie, like it's the angel himself he's taking care of. It's certainly a metaphor, because he could have just as easily thrown it in the wash (and likely ruined it) with the rest of their stuff, but...no.
Dean turns his gaze back to what he's doing, but he's listening to Cas, hearing to what he's saying because he isn't sure how he feels about any of that. What must it be like, being so cut off, so separated, so alone? It's hard to imagine.
Sam spent six months without Dean when the Trickster was fucking with them, and Sam who spent four months alone while Dean was in hell - he's probably one to talk to about being alone, though Dean thinks maybe knows a thing or two about it, also.
He stiffens a fraction when Cas invades his space, but he doesn't pull away, instead stilling his hands that are sticky from stain remover, tipping his head a fraction, giving permission. ]
So does that mean...I make you weak? [ He's not sure if that's the point Cas is getting at, because the angel didn't really answer the question.
[ Sam has always been rebellious, questioning, eager to separate himself from what's right and ally himself with whomever is stronger, despite knowing there would be repercussions. He's like Castiel in that way, and that's why Castiel would find Sam's opinion hard to value. Choosing the wrong thing is easy. Choosing what's right and having faith in your decisions even when the odds seem insurmountable... That's where Dean's excels and why Castiel admires him so deeply. The idea that Dean could possibly think that Castiel blames him for his weakness is laughable, and Castiel smiles between kisses to Dean's skin. ]
No, not weak. You make me feel human.
[ He lets his forehead rest against the back of Dean's, and his eyes close as he inhales. There's such a simplicity to human senses. Touching Dean doesn't feel profound, and yet the echoes of that profundity remain in the intimacy they share. Dean's hair and skin smell like shampoo, soap, and the leather of his jacket, and Castiel appreciates the combination for its sense memory of Dean, and how he feels in this moment rather than his chemical composition or the stardust that combined to form those scents. In this moment, Castiel can appreciate Dean, not as Michael's vessel or a perfect work of God, but as Dean, and that's incredibly powerful. More powerful than angels are meant to understand. Dean's hands washing his tie in soapy water and the welcoming tilt of Dean's head are precious gifts. ]
I once thought being human and being weak were one and the same, but time and time again, you've shown me otherwise.
[ To Castiel's question, has their relationship changed? It seems like it, but only to Castiel, because, thanks to Dean, he has changed. He isn't sure whether Dean feels the same, but that Dean allows him into his space like this is reassurance enough. ]
f m l (also wow its good jimmy isn't in that vessel anymore, he got way more than he bargained for)
[ It's understandable, really, why Cas would come to that conclusion - that to be human is to be weak. A being like Cas is too large and infinite for Dean's brain to really comprehend - he's like those videos of earth they show you when you're a kid, the ones that start with the earth, then the moon, then the sun, then the next biggest star, then the next, until earth isn't even visible anymore.
You think it looks pretty cool, but you can't really grasp the vastness of it.
It's easy to associate humans with weakness. They are weak, in the grand scheme of things. They're held back by the constraints of only three dimensions, limited in their range of colors, of sounds, of light.
Dean drops a hand to cover one of Cas', skin wet, his touch light, tentative. ]
Guess that's a good thing, then. [ He lays Cas' tie out on top of the washer, smoothing it with his hands. He'll let it sit like that a while, come back later, rinse it, hang it to dry. In the meantime, he turns in Cas' grip to face him tipping his head a little, just...studying him. The expression on his face, the blue of his eyes, the telltale sparkle that tells him that there's an angel in there, not Jimmy, God rest his soul. ]
You're one of the strongest people - er, angels - I know.
[ Dean's calling it "a good thing" is a vast underestimation to Castiel. That an angel, a being designed to follow the orders they're given explicitly and unerringly, could feel anything at all is remarkable. That he came to question, to doubt, and to rebel against Heaven isn't unique to Castiel, but it is exceptional to angels. The only difference between him and Ana is a selfless desire to help humanity. The only difference between him and Lucifer, from what he can tell, is love. Lucifer loved God. And Castiel, well...
God has become something of a golden idol to him. He prays to God still. He asks for guidance, but the only true guidance he's received has been from Dean. He thinks he may be starting to love Dean more than God, and it scares him. It's freeing, in a way. It's also terrifying. Castiel should feel afraid in Dean's presence, as men first did when they saw the face of God, but he can't bring himself to fear. He only feels warmth when Dean's hand rests over his, even for the wet of it. He feels even warmer when Dean turns to meet his eyes. ]
I take my strength from the strongest human I know.
[ Castiel's eyes drop to Dean's lips, and he remembers lying in the car earlier, how he dared to kiss Dean without asking and how Dean didn't shy from it, but kissed him back harder. He leans in now, voice hushed, and takes strength. He brings the hand not tangled with Dean's up to Dean's jaw, and he kisses Dean's mouth gently. ]
[ His lips twitch towards a smile, their fingers laced, warm skin on skin. This is still new for Dean; the scrape of stubble when Cas leans in, the taste of Cas on his lips, the way his heart flops in his chest.
He remembers what their kiss earned them earlier, though, and that's Cas pulling his wound open and a cry of pain. As much as Dean wants to haul Cas close, set up up on the washing machine and devour every inch, he refrains. Instead, he traces Cas' lips gently with his tongue, tasting what almost feels forbidden, before pulling back, sliding his free hand over Cas' belly and dropping his eyes to where he's bandaged. ]
How're we doin' with that? Want me to take a look at it?
[ Castiel smiles into the kiss, because he does know. In whatever way their relationship may have changed and whatever road it leads him on, Dean is a good man, and strengthening their relationship in this way feels very much like a good thing. Castiel leans into the kiss eagerly without concern for whatever pain might come from it. His skin shivers under Dean's hand and, distracted by the pleasant sensation, he has to look down to realize exactly what Dean is referring to. He frowns. ]
It feels fine, for now.
[ As much as he'd like to have Dean's hands and attention on him, the injury is a poor excuse. He's already wasted enough of Dean's supplies. Inevitably, it will need to be changed again. Humans are sweaty things, and he's beginning to feel the oil and salt of his skin accumulating. Dean should rest first, though. That should be his priority, not Castiel.
That's Castiel's intention, at least, until his stomach gurgles under Dean's hand, and he's forced to admit, reluctantly. ]
I may be hungry... if there's food available nearby.
[ Bodily functions are incredibly awkward, and Castiel is much more embarrassed by the noise his stomach just made (Through his skin? Odd.) than by his nudity. Color rises to his cheeks, and he busies himself with leaning down and opening the duffle Dean had offered him use of earlier, as reluctant as he is to lose the contact of Dean's hands. He doesn't need to be dressed, but he can't imagine that walking around the cabin nearly naked wouldn't act as a distraction, for Dean if not for himself, and given the state of his injury and their attempt at intimacy in the car earlier, any sexual advances made now would end in frustration.
Also, Castiel has never worn anything besides the one outfit before. He'd like to see if different clothes feel differently. There must be some appeal to flannel, or else Dean and Sam wouldn't wear it so often. ]
I appreciate it.
[ The food and the offer of clothing, though he wishes there was more he could do for Dean, and himself, to feel like less of a burden. He pulls the first t-shirt he finds over his head, unconcerned by the meaning of the words on the front. Next, he finds a pair of jeans to pull on, though he's even more awkward in pulling them on that the shirt, completely unaccustomed to dressing himself this way. He very nearly loses his balance in the process, but recovers quickly. The fly is closed. He's mastered the art now, after his earlier attempts with Dean. And he pulls a flannel shirt over his shoulders, though he's not entirely sure what its purpose is. It does make him feel warmer. He leaves it unbuttoned, as Dean wears them, and looks at Dean expectantly. Is he dressed properly? ]
[ Cas leans down to pull something clean out and Dean can't help but study him; the curve of his spine as he bends, his hips, his ass.
Dean clears his throat and moves to rinse his hands off in the sink, using a little cold water to splash on his face. Calm down, Winchester. Jesus. Deep breaths, get it together. You can't be wanting to jump his bones every time you see him now - that's not gonna work. They'll constantly be distracted, Sam will figure it out, and it'll just..
End in tears, probably.
He turns back to find Cas dressed, looking at him like he deserves a prize, and Dean has to admit - Cas looks good in Dean's shit. Like, really good. Something about his stuff wrapping the angel up has him twitching in his pants and he shifts closer, chewing on his lower lip as he reaches out to smooth imaginary wrinkles out from the flannel. ]
[ While the clothes don't feel altogether strange from his own, only different, it's well worth having changed into them for Dean's reaction. Dean bites his lip in a way that very much makes Castiel want to kiss him, and Dean's words, however underserving Castiel feels, has him smiling like a flower warmed by the sun. ]
It can't possibly suit me better than its owner. But I appreciate the compliment.
[ Dean is close, touching him, and Castiel tries and fails to resist temptation. He covers Dean's hands with his own, leans in slowly enough not to tear open his injury, and kisses Dean again warmly.
He's still hungry (apparently) in a way that aches, but these clothes are obviously important to Dean, and so Castiel lets his curiosity win out. He leans back from Dean to look down at his own chest and make sure he'd read the words correctly. Yes, it's "led" not "lead." He's baffled. ]
What is a "Led Zeppelin" ?
[ Castiel looks back up at Dean for clarification. The words both make sense to him, but who's leading the zeppelin, where to, and why? Obviously there's a reference he isn't understanding. ]
[ It's laughable how easily Dean can fold when it comes to people he cares about. Cas leans in and kisses him again, and despite the vow he'd made just moments prior to get his shit together, he kisses him back, soft and sweet, sliding his hands lightly down Cas' arms.
The question pulls him out of it, thank God, and he glances down at the shirt and he laughs a little, glad for the distraction, and slings and arm around Cas' shoulders to walk him to the kitchen. There's some gas station sandwiches with their names on 'em in the bags he brought in. ]
[ If Dean's affection were all it took to recharge his grace, Castiel's grace would be overflowing by now. In a way, he's glad that isn't the case. As much as this weakened state scares him, the injury he's received and his inability to heal it have resulted in more of Dean's company that he'd expected to be allowed. Selfishly, he hopes his grace continues to heal slowly, if only to savor more of the same.
He has no idea where Dean is leading them when he throws an arm over Castiel's shoulders, but Castiel smiles at him and walks in step, all the same, blithely indifferent to whether there's food where they're headed as long as Dean will be there. He wonders if this lack of self-preservation is held over from his lifetime spent as an angel, or if it's a quirk of humans to value affection over sustenance. He doesn't ask Dean, unwilling to chance bringing attention to it and making Dean uncomfortable. ]
I see. Was that the music playing in your car?
[ Regardless of whether or not Castiel's heard the music before, now that he knows it's a favorite of Dean's, he'd like to hear it again sometime. ]
Some of it, yeah. This place has a wicked stereo, I'll play you something. [ In a bit, anyway. Currently, Dean has an angel to feed. ]
Here -- sit. I'll get you something to eat.
[ He's led Cas straight to the kitchen area, where there's a decent sized table right in the dining room. Don't worry, Cas - he's gonna feed you. Sit down at the table for six and relax.
Dean rummages through the plastic bag of goodies, producing two sandwiches. He'll have to go into town later and get some actual food since he doesn't know how long they're gonna be here, but this will get them through for now.
[ The music, Castiel means. Food, though, he would also enjoy as his stomach feels as if it's trying to digest straight through to his spine at this point. Being a human is so tedious. Castiel has barely gone a day without eating and he feels as if he's starving. He pulls out a chair from the spacious table and sits where he's directed, then watches Dean with rapt attention. He isn't expecting a choice, and it momentarily confounds him. How should he know which one to choose? Free will is a thing as new and strange to him as eating food. ]
I'm... not sure. I've never had either.
[ Ultimately, he wouldn't want to deprive Dean of something he enjoys for his sake. It's as good a reason as any for his decision. ]
[ Funny how free will comes in the form of ham or roast beef, the smallest of choices. It's in the things people take for granted - what people choose to wear, what they do that day, how they consume their poison of choice. Caffeine, alcohol, work, vicodin, oxy, beauty, nicotine, food, love, heroin. Beauty and wonder, the bottom of a gutter. Life, death. Masterpieces of art they are, beautiful works of shattered dreams and delusions, lacking the knowledge of predestination, of fate, humans do as they choose. They live in ignorance (or pure absence of, they don't know the difference), in the moment; they are impressionist paintings, a splotched mess up close, but brilliant and beautiful pieces of art from a distance.
Humans have so many options in which they can choose to destroy themselves, too - so few have the thought or care it's predestined or ordained. They live in delirium, the fabrication of choice, false pretenses. There is perfection in this - in destruction, in the fall; the loss of will and desire and hope, when dreams shatter and crash on the floor like fragile glass. Perfection and beauty come in many forms, and not always in ways humans perceive.
Where is Atropos then? Is there really such a thing as Fate? Is she there, looking for them, writing in her book, tying threads across the universe?
If she is, do humans care?
The answer seems to be no, because no matter how destructive they can be, humans continue on, living their lives in sin and love and lust and, most importantly, hope.
They are hope driven, belief in the good, faith in the fallen. There are good things; music and art and love, things humanity has produced that cannot be replicated - not by angels, not by demons, not by those who lack the imagination and creativity. They're self sacrificing, willing to let the things they love go, push aside petty differences in favor of the greater good - or, its in the every day.
It's in the way they smile and hand over their favorite with a dismissive laugh, give it up in favor of seeing a smile on the face of the person they love.
Dean is giving Cas a mild look at first, but as he realizes that Cas probably hasn't had either of these things before, because he's an angel and he doesn't eat, Dean pushes him the roast beef over because that's the better choice, in his opinion. ]
Here.
[ He smiles as he hands it over, rummages in the battered green cooler he keeps beer in. Dean opens a couple with his ring on his hand like a college douchebag before sliding one to Cas, to match his dinner. Lunch. Whatever.
It's growing dark at this point, stars peeking through the twilight, eager to glow in the night sky, waiting for the sun to set for their time to shine. ]
Hope you don't hate it.
Edited 2021-04-29 04:19 (UTC)
how dare you write me poetry over gas station sandwiches???
[ There is a lot about Dean Winchester than Castiel knows. He knows how kind Dean is, how selfless, and giving. He knows Dean enjoys life's hedonistic pleasures of good food, drink, sex, and entertainment to an unhealthy extreme, that Dean loves life but that he also lives recklessly. For all Castiel knows Dean down to the extradimensional energy particles that comprise his soul, he has no idea whether Dean prefers roast beef or ham. Would he offer his favorite out of compassion and generosity? Or would his appreciation for his favorite food and his transient way of life win out, and he'd offer the lesser option that Castiel had requested? Dean Winchester is a constant quandary.
And then he smiles, and Castiel feels a blooming warmth in his chest to have that smile directed at him, and nothing else matters. The setting sun and the impatient stars have nothing on Dean Winchester's smile. Castiel accepts the sandwich, and the beer, with quiet thanks. He peels the plastic back further around the bread to be sure he doesn't bite into it accidentally, and then takes an overly-large mouthful, a dedicated student of Dean's eating habits.
He looks up at Dean with wide eyes as the taste hits his tongue. It's a symphony of flavor. There's no other way to describe it. The bread is sweet and yeasty; the roast beef tastes tender but sharp with iron and salt. There are other flavors as well, buried and complex, juices soaked into the bread that Castiel can't identify because he only tastes their flavor, not their chemical composition. ]
This is incredible.
[ He says, the words muffled around a second large mouthful. He feels as if he understands now why Dean is so often eating, generally more than should be physically required to keep his body energized. When Castiel swallows another bite down, he doesn't feel any more sated, and so he keeps eating ravenously, only pausing as he chews to marvel once again at the taste. ]
LMFAO i got carried away and at the end was like ok, dial back Cat, its a sammich, its not that srs
[ The expression on Cas' face is worth sacrificing the one Dean prefers, Cas' enthusiasm makes the butterflies in Dean's belly turn to full on roller coasters doing loops.
It was a good call.
He settles in a chair beside Cas, peeling back the wrapper on his ham and cheese, though he doesn't dive in right away, content to watch Cas, though he will reach out and squeeze his upper arm. ]
Slow down, Furious Pete. You'll give yourself a stomach ache.
no it was beautiful. also very IC for mr. "hey i read" and what he reads is tolstoy
[ Dean sits beside him, and Castiel appreciates the sense of closeness his company brings. There's a vulnerability in allowing yourself to eat beside someone else that he's watches humans defy and celebrate in each other's company for millennia, but this is his first time participating in it. The constant excuses for feasts around human-invented holidays make more sense now. ]
It's very good.
[ Castiel reiterates, because the sandwich manages not to lose its flavor despite the saturation of it on his tongue. He doesn't take Dean's warning to heart because his stomach already aches from being without food; how could food possibly exacerbate the condition caused by its lack? Though, he does slow down as he nears the final bite, finally realizing that Dean hasn't been eating his own. ]
Is the ham that unsatisfactory?
[ If Dean finds it that distasteful, maybe Castiel should have insisted on it after all. He finally takes the time to pick up the beer bottle Dean has placed by his wrist, and he drinks from it. Malty, and bitter in a way that's refreshing after the sweetness of the bread. The carbonation surprises him, but it's not unpleasant. This isn't the first beer Dean's given him, but it is the first one he tastes. Dean's fondness makes much more sense, beyond the obvious addiction to ethanol. There's an earthiness and a sort of palate-cleansing sensation that hard liquor must lack, based on its chemical composition. ]
[ He looks down at what he's holding, realizing he hasn't dug in with his usual gusto - he's been to interested in watching Cas, in his pleasure, the simple human act of eating and enjoying it.
He wont like what it produces later, but for now, Dean is happy to watch the angel enjoy simple human pleasures. ]
No, it's fine.
[ He takes a bite to prove his point, then takes a swig of his beer, savoring the flavor. ]
I mean, roast beef is superior in this form, but hey - my angel deserves the best. [ wink ]
okay ig, but only if you play 1,225 pages of rp with me instead
[ As much as Castiel would prefer Dean have his favorite deli meat and nothing less, he appreciates the gesture for what it is and is satisfied enough when Dean bites into his own sandwich. Castiel does the same, finishing off the last large bite of his roast beef and chasing it with another quarter bottle of beer, which he almost chokes on when Dean couples a wink with "my angel," of all things.
Castiel coughs around his beer and just barely manages not to choke on it, which is a far less pleasant sensation than taste. For a moment, he struggles to breathe, and strangely just a moment deprived of breath has his body reacting with coughing, and gasping, and blood rushing to his face as if he might be dying. Castiel isn't entirely sure how much of that is from the beer he's choked on as opposed to Dean's wink and nickname, though. ]
[ He told you to slow down, Cas. Dean watches Cas choke and reaches out, pats him on the back, concerned that he's maybe just killed his angel. Whoops. ]
Damn, you okay? You're supposed to chew then swallow, you know.
[ He thinks maybe it was his comment that caused it, but just to save face in case it wasn't, he's blaming it on Cas gobbling it down like a starving orphan. ]
[ Luckily for them both, Castiel isn't actually choking, though inhaling beer into his lungs certainly feels that way. Dean's patting on the back must help, or the coughing serves it purpose, because moments later, Castiel manages to catch his breath again and isn't, in fact, dead.
How he managed to survive all of that without dying of embarrassment in the process is the real question. Even after he's back to breathing normally, save for the occasional urge to clear his throat, his face remains red and Dean's flirtation remains tied up in complex knots like unwound string in Castiel's head. ]
I suppose I am.
[ After a matter of seconds that feels much longer for his confusion, Castiel finally arrives at his answer. He is Dean's. He was a servant of Heaven, and now he is, in every way he can define, Dean's. It should be demeaning, but it doesn't feel that way. It feels warming. Bubbly. Uplifting. He turns slightly towards Dean, enough to meet his eyes, and reiterates. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
If it's alright.
[ It's an extreme Dean seems to have embraced, always covered from head to toe, shying away from nudity generally outside of intimate encounters, which has Castiel eyeing him curiously now as he hands over his tie (why wouldn't it get washed with the rest?), and his coat, and his bloodied and ripped shirt. There's bruising on the skin of his bare chest still that hasn't healed, and the stark white of the bandage at his side is clean, but the wound remains only superficially closed beneath. Though there's an uncomfortable tug each time he stretches his arms to remove his clothing, it's ignored. Castiel's attention is entirely on Dean as he tries to suss out the difference. He hesitates to ask outright, but ultimately gives in to the urge. ]
Dean, has our relationship changed?
no subject
It's a good one - and it's one he isn't sure how to answer. Has it changed? Yes, fundamentally, on a molecular level. Dean swears he can feel his blood race when Cas gets close, his heart speeds up, the mark on his shoulder throbs.
But, then again, maybe it hasn't. Maybe all of this has been there all along - the emotions, the stolen glances, the tangible pressure Dean always feels under his skin whenever they get too close to one another.
We're like Chernobyl.
It's easy to blame what he feels on that, now that he knows - it's just his soul reacting to Cas' grace, right? That's what has the blush rising in his cheeks as his eyes skim over Cas' form, that's what has him in lonely motel bathrooms, a hand on his cock, Cas' face in his mind.
That's not the case though, and maybe in the beginning Dean didn't recognize it for what it was, for what he was thinking or feeling, but he thinks he does now.
And that scares the hell out of him. ]
I dunno. Has it, Cas?
no subject
He failed at that. God betrayed him, along with humanity, and Castiel betrayed Heaven for them. For Dean. Their relationship was once easy for him to understand, but now it's undeniably human. They're allies, certainly. And they're friends, he believes. But the newly added intimate side of their relationship has him puzzled. He loves Dean, and he believes that Dean loves him, in some way, but he hesitates to put a name to it. Dean doesn't offer any elucidation on the matter, and so Castiel is left to wonder. He watches Dean scrub at his tie by hand, unsure if it's necessity or preference that has him clean it separately from the rest, but he appreciates the metaphor it creates. He feels cared for by Dean. Dean is gentle with him in a way he never was before, and Castiel's admiration and love for Dean have only grown stronger. ]
I was worried that my friendship with you had made me weaker, even before losing my grace. To separate oneself from one's kind is to be alone, and to be alone is to be vulnerable.
[ That's how humans feel when they're stripped naked, isn't it? Castiel is practically human now, and stripped down to his boxers, he's practically naked. Even though he's in Dean's presence, though, he doesn't feel any more vulnerable for it. He feels the opposite. Emboldened by the idea, he steps forward to close the distance between himself and Dean. He rests his hands gently on Dean's hips, and leans in to kiss the little bit of exposed skin he finds of Dean's neck, just above Dean's shirt collars. ]
When I'm with you, though, I don't feel alone. Though I am as weak as I'd feared I'd become, paradoxically, I feel stronger.
now im picturing this thread and s6 repercussions with THIS involved thanks for that brain fuck lol
Dean turns his gaze back to what he's doing, but he's listening to Cas, hearing to what he's saying because he isn't sure how he feels about any of that. What must it be like, being so cut off, so separated, so alone? It's hard to imagine.
Sam spent six months without Dean when the Trickster was fucking with them, and Sam who spent four months alone while Dean was in hell - he's probably one to talk to about being alone, though Dean thinks maybe knows a thing or two about it, also.
He stiffens a fraction when Cas invades his space, but he doesn't pull away, instead stilling his hands that are sticky from stain remover, tipping his head a fraction, giving permission. ]
So does that mean...I make you weak? [ He's not sure if that's the point Cas is getting at, because the angel didn't really answer the question.
Then again, neither did Dean. ]
:,) i'm glad and you're welcome for this pain
No, not weak. You make me feel human.
[ He lets his forehead rest against the back of Dean's, and his eyes close as he inhales. There's such a simplicity to human senses. Touching Dean doesn't feel profound, and yet the echoes of that profundity remain in the intimacy they share. Dean's hair and skin smell like shampoo, soap, and the leather of his jacket, and Castiel appreciates the combination for its sense memory of Dean, and how he feels in this moment rather than his chemical composition or the stardust that combined to form those scents. In this moment, Castiel can appreciate Dean, not as Michael's vessel or a perfect work of God, but as Dean, and that's incredibly powerful. More powerful than angels are meant to understand. Dean's hands washing his tie in soapy water and the welcoming tilt of Dean's head are precious gifts. ]
I once thought being human and being weak were one and the same, but time and time again, you've shown me otherwise.
[ To Castiel's question, has their relationship changed? It seems like it, but only to Castiel, because, thanks to Dean, he has changed. He isn't sure whether Dean feels the same, but that Dean allows him into his space like this is reassurance enough. ]
f m l (also wow its good jimmy isn't in that vessel anymore, he got way more than he bargained for)
You think it looks pretty cool, but you can't really grasp the vastness of it.
It's easy to associate humans with weakness. They are weak, in the grand scheme of things. They're held back by the constraints of only three dimensions, limited in their range of colors, of sounds, of light.
Dean drops a hand to cover one of Cas', skin wet, his touch light, tentative. ]
Guess that's a good thing, then. [ He lays Cas' tie out on top of the washer, smoothing it with his hands. He'll let it sit like that a while, come back later, rinse it, hang it to dry. In the meantime, he turns in Cas' grip to face him tipping his head a little, just...studying him. The expression on his face, the blue of his eyes, the telltale sparkle that tells him that there's an angel in there, not Jimmy, God rest his soul. ]
You're one of the strongest people - er, angels - I know.
no subject
God has become something of a golden idol to him. He prays to God still. He asks for guidance, but the only true guidance he's received has been from Dean. He thinks he may be starting to love Dean more than God, and it scares him. It's freeing, in a way. It's also terrifying. Castiel should feel afraid in Dean's presence, as men first did when they saw the face of God, but he can't bring himself to fear. He only feels warmth when Dean's hand rests over his, even for the wet of it. He feels even warmer when Dean turns to meet his eyes. ]
I take my strength from the strongest human I know.
[ Castiel's eyes drop to Dean's lips, and he remembers lying in the car earlier, how he dared to kiss Dean without asking and how Dean didn't shy from it, but kissed him back harder. He leans in now, voice hushed, and takes strength. He brings the hand not tangled with Dean's up to Dean's jaw, and he kisses Dean's mouth gently. ]
It's a very good thing.
no subject
[ His lips twitch towards a smile, their fingers laced, warm skin on skin. This is still new for Dean; the scrape of stubble when Cas leans in, the taste of Cas on his lips, the way his heart flops in his chest.
He remembers what their kiss earned them earlier, though, and that's Cas pulling his wound open and a cry of pain. As much as Dean wants to haul Cas close, set up up on the washing machine and devour every inch, he refrains. Instead, he traces Cas' lips gently with his tongue, tasting what almost feels forbidden, before pulling back, sliding his free hand over Cas' belly and dropping his eyes to where he's bandaged. ]
How're we doin' with that? Want me to take a look at it?
no subject
It feels fine, for now.
[ As much as he'd like to have Dean's hands and attention on him, the injury is a poor excuse. He's already wasted enough of Dean's supplies. Inevitably, it will need to be changed again. Humans are sweaty things, and he's beginning to feel the oil and salt of his skin accumulating. Dean should rest first, though. That should be his priority, not Castiel.
That's Castiel's intention, at least, until his stomach gurgles under Dean's hand, and he's forced to admit, reluctantly. ]
I may be hungry... if there's food available nearby.
no subject
Yeah, I'll get you something to eat. You wanna put something on or are you cozy in your unders?
[ Dean doesn't mind having a half naked Cas lay around, to be honest. Not at all, it's a very nice sight to see.
Then again, seeing Cas wearing Dean's clothes would be kinda hot, too. ]
no subject
Also, Castiel has never worn anything besides the one outfit before. He'd like to see if different clothes feel differently. There must be some appeal to flannel, or else Dean and Sam wouldn't wear it so often. ]
I appreciate it.
[ The food and the offer of clothing, though he wishes there was more he could do for Dean, and himself, to feel like less of a burden. He pulls the first t-shirt he finds over his head, unconcerned by the meaning of the words on the front. Next, he finds a pair of jeans to pull on, though he's even more awkward in pulling them on that the shirt, completely unaccustomed to dressing himself this way. He very nearly loses his balance in the process, but recovers quickly. The fly is closed. He's mastered the art now, after his earlier attempts with Dean. And he pulls a flannel shirt over his shoulders, though he's not entirely sure what its purpose is. It does make him feel warmer. He leaves it unbuttoned, as Dean wears them, and looks at Dean expectantly. Is he dressed properly? ]
no subject
Dean clears his throat and moves to rinse his hands off in the sink, using a little cold water to splash on his face. Calm down, Winchester. Jesus. Deep breaths, get it together. You can't be wanting to jump his bones every time you see him now - that's not gonna work. They'll constantly be distracted, Sam will figure it out, and it'll just..
End in tears, probably.
He turns back to find Cas dressed, looking at him like he deserves a prize, and Dean has to admit - Cas looks good in Dean's shit. Like, really good. Something about his stuff wrapping the angel up has him twitching in his pants and he shifts closer, chewing on his lower lip as he reaches out to smooth imaginary wrinkles out from the flannel. ]
You look good. Zeppelin and plaid suits you.
no subject
It can't possibly suit me better than its owner. But I appreciate the compliment.
[ Dean is close, touching him, and Castiel tries and fails to resist temptation. He covers Dean's hands with his own, leans in slowly enough not to tear open his injury, and kisses Dean again warmly.
He's still hungry (apparently) in a way that aches, but these clothes are obviously important to Dean, and so Castiel lets his curiosity win out. He leans back from Dean to look down at his own chest and make sure he'd read the words correctly. Yes, it's "led" not "lead." He's baffled. ]
What is a "Led Zeppelin" ?
[ Castiel looks back up at Dean for clarification. The words both make sense to him, but who's leading the zeppelin, where to, and why? Obviously there's a reference he isn't understanding. ]
no subject
The question pulls him out of it, thank God, and he glances down at the shirt and he laughs a little, glad for the distraction, and slings and arm around Cas' shoulders to walk him to the kitchen. There's some gas station sandwiches with their names on 'em in the bags he brought in. ]
Only one of the best bands of all time.
no subject
He has no idea where Dean is leading them when he throws an arm over Castiel's shoulders, but Castiel smiles at him and walks in step, all the same, blithely indifferent to whether there's food where they're headed as long as Dean will be there. He wonders if this lack of self-preservation is held over from his lifetime spent as an angel, or if it's a quirk of humans to value affection over sustenance. He doesn't ask Dean, unwilling to chance bringing attention to it and making Dean uncomfortable. ]
I see. Was that the music playing in your car?
[ Regardless of whether or not Castiel's heard the music before, now that he knows it's a favorite of Dean's, he'd like to hear it again sometime. ]
no subject
Here -- sit. I'll get you something to eat.
[ He's led Cas straight to the kitchen area, where there's a decent sized table right in the dining room. Don't worry, Cas - he's gonna feed you. Sit down at the table for six and relax.
Dean rummages through the plastic bag of goodies, producing two sandwiches. He'll have to go into town later and get some actual food since he doesn't know how long they're gonna be here, but this will get them through for now.
He holds them up, flashing Cas a grin. ]
Your choice - ham or roast beef?
no subject
[ The music, Castiel means. Food, though, he would also enjoy as his stomach feels as if it's trying to digest straight through to his spine at this point. Being a human is so tedious. Castiel has barely gone a day without eating and he feels as if he's starving. He pulls out a chair from the spacious table and sits where he's directed, then watches Dean with rapt attention. He isn't expecting a choice, and it momentarily confounds him. How should he know which one to choose? Free will is a thing as new and strange to him as eating food. ]
I'm... not sure. I've never had either.
[ Ultimately, he wouldn't want to deprive Dean of something he enjoys for his sake. It's as good a reason as any for his decision. ]
I'll have whichever you least prefer.
no subject
Humans have so many options in which they can choose to destroy themselves, too - so few have the thought or care it's predestined or ordained. They live in delirium, the fabrication of choice, false pretenses. There is perfection in this - in destruction, in the fall; the loss of will and desire and hope, when dreams shatter and crash on the floor like fragile glass. Perfection and beauty come in many forms, and not always in ways humans perceive.
Where is Atropos then? Is there really such a thing as Fate? Is she there, looking for them, writing in her book, tying threads across the universe?
If she is, do humans care?
The answer seems to be no, because no matter how destructive they can be, humans continue on, living their lives in sin and love and lust and, most importantly, hope.
They are hope driven, belief in the good, faith in the fallen. There are good things; music and art and love, things humanity has produced that cannot be replicated - not by angels, not by demons, not by those who lack the imagination and creativity. They're self sacrificing, willing to let the things they love go, push aside petty differences in favor of the greater good - or, its in the every day.
It's in the way they smile and hand over their favorite with a dismissive laugh, give it up in favor of seeing a smile on the face of the person they love.
Dean is giving Cas a mild look at first, but as he realizes that Cas probably hasn't had either of these things before, because he's an angel and he doesn't eat, Dean pushes him the roast beef over because that's the better choice, in his opinion. ]
Here.
[ He smiles as he hands it over, rummages in the battered green cooler he keeps beer in. Dean opens a couple with his ring on his hand like a college douchebag before sliding one to Cas, to match his dinner. Lunch. Whatever.
It's growing dark at this point, stars peeking through the twilight, eager to glow in the night sky, waiting for the sun to set for their time to shine. ]
Hope you don't hate it.
how dare you write me poetry over gas station sandwiches???
And then he smiles, and Castiel feels a blooming warmth in his chest to have that smile directed at him, and nothing else matters. The setting sun and the impatient stars have nothing on Dean Winchester's smile. Castiel accepts the sandwich, and the beer, with quiet thanks. He peels the plastic back further around the bread to be sure he doesn't bite into it accidentally, and then takes an overly-large mouthful, a dedicated student of Dean's eating habits.
He looks up at Dean with wide eyes as the taste hits his tongue. It's a symphony of flavor. There's no other way to describe it. The bread is sweet and yeasty; the roast beef tastes tender but sharp with iron and salt. There are other flavors as well, buried and complex, juices soaked into the bread that Castiel can't identify because he only tastes their flavor, not their chemical composition. ]
This is incredible.
[ He says, the words muffled around a second large mouthful. He feels as if he understands now why Dean is so often eating, generally more than should be physically required to keep his body energized. When Castiel swallows another bite down, he doesn't feel any more sated, and so he keeps eating ravenously, only pausing as he chews to marvel once again at the taste. ]
LMFAO i got carried away and at the end was like ok, dial back Cat, its a sammich, its not that srs
[ The expression on Cas' face is worth sacrificing the one Dean prefers, Cas' enthusiasm makes the butterflies in Dean's belly turn to full on roller coasters doing loops.
It was a good call.
He settles in a chair beside Cas, peeling back the wrapper on his ham and cheese, though he doesn't dive in right away, content to watch Cas, though he will reach out and squeeze his upper arm. ]
Slow down, Furious Pete. You'll give yourself a stomach ache.
no it was beautiful. also very IC for mr. "hey i read" and what he reads is tolstoy
It's very good.
[ Castiel reiterates, because the sandwich manages not to lose its flavor despite the saturation of it on his tongue. He doesn't take Dean's warning to heart because his stomach already aches from being without food; how could food possibly exacerbate the condition caused by its lack? Though, he does slow down as he nears the final bite, finally realizing that Dean hasn't been eating his own. ]
Is the ham that unsatisfactory?
[ If Dean finds it that distasteful, maybe Castiel should have insisted on it after all. He finally takes the time to pick up the beer bottle Dean has placed by his wrist, and he drinks from it. Malty, and bitter in a way that's refreshing after the sweetness of the bread. The carbonation surprises him, but it's not unpleasant. This isn't the first beer Dean's given him, but it is the first one he tastes. Dean's fondness makes much more sense, beyond the obvious addiction to ethanol. There's an earthiness and a sort of palate-cleansing sensation that hard liquor must lack, based on its chemical composition. ]
i am NOT reading tolstoy lmfao
[ He looks down at what he's holding, realizing he hasn't dug in with his usual gusto - he's been to interested in watching Cas, in his pleasure, the simple human act of eating and enjoying it.
He wont like what it produces later, but for now, Dean is happy to watch the angel enjoy simple human pleasures. ]
No, it's fine.
[ He takes a bite to prove his point, then takes a swig of his beer, savoring the flavor. ]
I mean, roast beef is superior in this form, but hey - my angel deserves the best. [ wink ]
okay ig, but only if you play 1,225 pages of rp with me instead
Castiel coughs around his beer and just barely manages not to choke on it, which is a far less pleasant sensation than taste. For a moment, he struggles to breathe, and strangely just a moment deprived of breath has his body reacting with coughing, and gasping, and blood rushing to his face as if he might be dying. Castiel isn't entirely sure how much of that is from the beer he's choked on as opposed to Dean's wink and nickname, though. ]
okay that seems fair
Damn, you okay? You're supposed to chew then swallow, you know.
[ He thinks maybe it was his comment that caused it, but just to save face in case it wasn't, he's blaming it on Cas gobbling it down like a starving orphan. ]
8) nice
How he managed to survive all of that without dying of embarrassment in the process is the real question. Even after he's back to breathing normally, save for the occasional urge to clear his throat, his face remains red and Dean's flirtation remains tied up in complex knots like unwound string in Castiel's head. ]
I suppose I am.
[ After a matter of seconds that feels much longer for his confusion, Castiel finally arrives at his answer. He is Dean's. He was a servant of Heaven, and now he is, in every way he can define, Dean's. It should be demeaning, but it doesn't feel that way. It feels warming. Bubbly. Uplifting. He turns slightly towards Dean, enough to meet his eyes, and reiterates. ]
Yours.
(no subject)
(no subject)
i just. couldn't bring myself to be cruel
oh good. save all that for endversedean. :,)
ffff sob he's such a broken baby
me: i like happy endings. also me: endverse best verse
i mean i see the logic here
(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)
wait was this my tag THE WHOLE TIME askghahjka i hecked up
lmfao me over here refreshing my inbox on repeat like mO_Om
SAME THO i played myself :,)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
gently covers the date of this tag with my hand
i am no better apparently; what the fuck dw
i can't believe dw hates destiel
im genuinely mad about it
(no subject)
(no subject)