[ 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. ]
[ He leaves his hand on Cas' back longer than what's probably appropriate between two friends, but they're...past that now, aren't they? The relationship has shifted, and Dean is...
He's in trouble, that's what he is, because he's smoothing a hand down over Cas' flannel clad back, watching him to make sure he doesn't suffocate on beer and gas station deli meat. ]
What?
[ He isn't sure what that means, not initially, because the more pressing issue at hand had been, you know. Cas breathing friggin' beer into his lungs like an eighteen year old dumbass at a frat party.
But Cas reiterates, clarifies, and understanding colors Dean's face, along with a soft red blush as he stammers a reply; ]
I didn't mean--you don't belong to anyone, Cas. [ He's trying to be responsible here, and he takes a very long swig of beer, nearly emptying it, because he very much likes the idea of Cas being his and that's probably pretty problematic on a few different levels. ] You're your own person. Angel.
[ That's what he should say, right? No need to go all Misery on him here. ]
[ The way Dean's cheeks redden beneath his freckles is lovely, and it's difficult for Castiel not to be distracted into kissing him again, especially with how close Dean is, with a soothing hand sliding over his back, over Dean's shirt on his shoulders, and how easy it would be to close what little space is left between them.
Castiel catches himself looking at Dean's lips and lifts his eyes. This is an important conversation, and it deserves his full attention. That blush, flattering as it is, likely isn't a good thing. Dean is embarrassed. It was a flirtation, and Castiel taking it seriously was a mistake. ]
Of course.
[ He walks his statement back as well, his eyes dropping to the table as he defers to Dean's expertise in the subject of human relationships. He knows Dean isn't interested in more than friendship, and sex, with anyone, and Castiel wouldn't know what more than that entailed even if Dean were. It's not as if they could raise a family together, and even if they planned to try, the impending apocalypse would certainly put a damper on those plans. Still... He admits, quietly, that his words hadn't been a mistake, because regardless of how Dean sees things, Castiel believes that he isn't mistaken in this. ]
I only meant to say that I wouldn't mind if I were. Yours.
[ Why only take one step too far when you could take two? Though, Castiel's heart is pounding oddly loudly in his chest, and he wonders if that's a kind of warning signal that he should be taking some action to resolve, though he has no idea what that action would be. ]
Dean can laugh the whole thing off, pretend it didn't happen. Play his comment as a flirtation, like that's what he'd intended - something offhand, nothing serious meant by it. He can brush it off, chuckle at Cas' naivety, blame that.
Or...he can own up to it. He can take responsibility for what he said, what he meant by it, because even in jest, Dean meant it. His angel.
Mine.
Yours.
There is a longing in his bones, wants that spans decades, a possessive streak miles long. He could have this, he knows. He could, if he allowed himself, and that's the internal struggle, isn't it?
Dean is soul achingly lonely, even with Sam around. It's hard to explain, what he feels, the twist in his stomach, the cold, hollow, yawning pit that cannot be filled. He has tried for years to do it to fill that void; meaningless sex, alcohol, hunting and killing. He's coped by throwing himself constantly into the next task, hoping it's enough this time to keep from slipping through the cracks where even Sam cannot reach.
Because the risk is real; Dean can feel himself sliding towards the precipice with every passing day and slash of his knife, with every cutting word that echoes in his dreams.
You are alone.
No one hates you more than you hate yourself, Dean Winchester. This is what you become. A nightmare.
So. A choice, then.
Lash out, be harsh. Ensure Castiel doesn't harbor something Dean can't (or wont) provide.
Or...allow him in, let Cas through the chinks in Dean's armor, allow the warmth that he feels every time he looks at the angel to wash over him. He swallows, looking up at Cas as he drinks the rest of his beer to give him another moment to think. ]
My angel, huh. [ He says the words again, testing them out, tasting them on his lips. ] Sounds nice. I like it.
[ Rebellion means breaking free of what's safe, and known, and easy. There's always a chance with rebellion then, a very likely one, that you'll fail horribly and end up a splatter of flesh and teeth on some unfortunate prophet. That's a risk Castiel is willing to take. He knows Dean intimately in the ways only an extradimensional creature can. He knows Dean's soul, and he knows that if Dean were to reject him, it would be out of fear, not hatred. They would remain friends (because he knows a love confession is not so damning to Dean Winchester as a betrayal of his trust), possibly even continue to have sex, and Castiel would be content with that. He takes a risk. In his experience, those don't often end well, but he's learned from Dean that even risks that end in catastrophe are still worth taking.
Castiel is calm, he thinks, though the flutter of his heart and his suddenly sweaty palms suggest otherwise, as he waits for his answer from Dean. Dean stalls and drinks, and gives a level of thought to Castiel's offer that he greatly appreciates, and Castiel drinks from his beer also, because having lived for a very, very long time, he doesn't mind waiting a bit longer to hear what Dean has to say.
The answer surprises him, and his eyebrows raise. It elates him, and he finds himself smiling and a bit light-headed with emotion. There aren't any promises being made, nothing deeper than an affectionate nickname with a connotation of ownership that is wholly one-sided, but it's significant to Dean, and for that reason, it's significant to Castiel. A step closer. If Castiel could feel his feather, he's sure they would be lifting, puffing up from the skin with embarrassed excitement. His skin pricks instead, and his heart continues racing in a way Castiel thinks may never stop. ]
So do I.
[ He's surprised to find his answer comes out breathless when he can't remember having held his breath. Two steps forward: successful. Another step, another precipice, but Castiel walks to the edge brazenly, lays a hand on Dean's arm, fingers falling backwards across where the scar lies hidden beneath Dean's shirt sleeve, and he leans in to kiss the corner of Dean's mouth. ]
[ Dean's looking at Cas, his dinner forgotten and put down, studying the lines and curves of the angels features. Objectively, Jimmy Novak's body is physically appealing, but it's the creature currently inhabiting it that has Dean's attention and his affection. There's a difference, Dean thinks, in being attracted to a man and to an angel, but he'd be lying to himself if he said he hasn't looked at other men before.
Then again, lying to himself is not a new concept, so it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for him to try to do that now.
He doesn't, though. Dean lets go, just a little bit, of that internal struggle, and tips his face to meet Cas' lips in a full kiss, warm and soft, tasting mustard and beer. The touch to his arm feels healing, the scar throbbing a little under Cas' fingers, blood roaring in his ears.
When he pulls back, Dean cups his jaw, runs his thumb over kiss damp lips. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.
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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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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?
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[ 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.
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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.
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He's in trouble, that's what he is, because he's smoothing a hand down over Cas' flannel clad back, watching him to make sure he doesn't suffocate on beer and gas station deli meat. ]
What?
[ He isn't sure what that means, not initially, because the more pressing issue at hand had been, you know. Cas breathing friggin' beer into his lungs like an eighteen year old dumbass at a frat party.
But Cas reiterates, clarifies, and understanding colors Dean's face, along with a soft red blush as he stammers a reply; ]
I didn't mean--you don't belong to anyone, Cas. [ He's trying to be responsible here, and he takes a very long swig of beer, nearly emptying it, because he very much likes the idea of Cas being his and that's probably pretty problematic on a few different levels. ] You're your own person. Angel.
[ That's what he should say, right? No need to go all Misery on him here. ]
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Castiel catches himself looking at Dean's lips and lifts his eyes. This is an important conversation, and it deserves his full attention. That blush, flattering as it is, likely isn't a good thing. Dean is embarrassed. It was a flirtation, and Castiel taking it seriously was a mistake. ]
Of course.
[ He walks his statement back as well, his eyes dropping to the table as he defers to Dean's expertise in the subject of human relationships. He knows Dean isn't interested in more than friendship, and sex, with anyone, and Castiel wouldn't know what more than that entailed even if Dean were. It's not as if they could raise a family together, and even if they planned to try, the impending apocalypse would certainly put a damper on those plans. Still... He admits, quietly, that his words hadn't been a mistake, because regardless of how Dean sees things, Castiel believes that he isn't mistaken in this. ]
I only meant to say that I wouldn't mind if I were. Yours.
[ Why only take one step too far when you could take two? Though, Castiel's heart is pounding oddly loudly in his chest, and he wonders if that's a kind of warning signal that he should be taking some action to resolve, though he has no idea what that action would be. ]
I'd enjoy it if you were mine, as well.
i just. couldn't bring myself to be cruel
Dean can laugh the whole thing off, pretend it didn't happen. Play his comment as a flirtation, like that's what he'd intended - something offhand, nothing serious meant by it. He can brush it off, chuckle at Cas' naivety, blame that.
Or...he can own up to it. He can take responsibility for what he said, what he meant by it, because even in jest, Dean meant it. His angel.
Mine.
Yours.
There is a longing in his bones, wants that spans decades, a possessive streak miles long. He could have this, he knows. He could, if he allowed himself, and that's the internal struggle, isn't it?
Dean is soul achingly lonely, even with Sam around. It's hard to explain, what he feels, the twist in his stomach, the cold, hollow, yawning pit that cannot be filled. He has tried for years to do it to fill that void; meaningless sex, alcohol, hunting and killing. He's coped by throwing himself constantly into the next task, hoping it's enough this time to keep from slipping through the cracks where even Sam cannot reach.
Because the risk is real; Dean can feel himself sliding towards the precipice with every passing day and slash of his knife, with every cutting word that echoes in his dreams.
You are alone.
No one hates you more than you hate yourself, Dean Winchester. This is what you become. A nightmare.
So. A choice, then.
Lash out, be harsh. Ensure Castiel doesn't harbor something Dean can't (or wont) provide.
Or...allow him in, let Cas through the chinks in Dean's armor, allow the warmth that he feels every time he looks at the angel to wash over him. He swallows, looking up at Cas as he drinks the rest of his beer to give him another moment to think. ]
My angel, huh. [ He says the words again, testing them out, tasting them on his lips. ] Sounds nice. I like it.
oh good. save all that for endversedean. :,)
Castiel is calm, he thinks, though the flutter of his heart and his suddenly sweaty palms suggest otherwise, as he waits for his answer from Dean. Dean stalls and drinks, and gives a level of thought to Castiel's offer that he greatly appreciates, and Castiel drinks from his beer also, because having lived for a very, very long time, he doesn't mind waiting a bit longer to hear what Dean has to say.
The answer surprises him, and his eyebrows raise. It elates him, and he finds himself smiling and a bit light-headed with emotion. There aren't any promises being made, nothing deeper than an affectionate nickname with a connotation of ownership that is wholly one-sided, but it's significant to Dean, and for that reason, it's significant to Castiel. A step closer. If Castiel could feel his feather, he's sure they would be lifting, puffing up from the skin with embarrassed excitement. His skin pricks instead, and his heart continues racing in a way Castiel thinks may never stop. ]
So do I.
[ He's surprised to find his answer comes out breathless when he can't remember having held his breath. Two steps forward: successful. Another step, another precipice, but Castiel walks to the edge brazenly, lays a hand on Dean's arm, fingers falling backwards across where the scar lies hidden beneath Dean's shirt sleeve, and he leans in to kiss the corner of Dean's mouth. ]
ffff sob he's such a broken baby
Then again, lying to himself is not a new concept, so it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for him to try to do that now.
He doesn't, though. Dean lets go, just a little bit, of that internal struggle, and tips his face to meet Cas' lips in a full kiss, warm and soft, tasting mustard and beer. The touch to his arm feels healing, the scar throbbing a little under Cas' fingers, blood roaring in his ears.
When he pulls back, Dean cups his jaw, runs his thumb over kiss damp lips. ]
Being yours doesn't sound too bad, either.
me: i like happy endings. also me: endverse best verse
i mean i see the logic here
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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 :,)
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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
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