[ 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. ]
Being yours doesn't sound too bad, either.
me: i like happy endings. also me: endverse best verse
[ Since meeting Dean, Castiel has felt as if he's missed out on a world of experiences despite his longevity, just by the nature of being an angel instead of a human. Humans were beautiful but distant things, like paintings in a museum to admire and assign value to while hiding them behind glass, ensuring they remained separate and untouched. He likes this thing he has with Dean much better. Humans are so much more than God's works of art. Their passion, their kindness, and their will to endure is astounding.
That's not to say humans are infallible, though. They have wars and prejudices. At least in respect to gender, Castiel prefers the perspective of an angel. They're all siblings, all genderless, and regardless of their preferences towards male, female or nonbinary vessels, there isn't any judgement passed for it. The way Dean struggles with his sexuality isn't something Castiel can understand. All he can do is try to be respectful of Dean's boundaries.
For all of Dean's uncertainty, it means that much more then when he looks beyond Castiel's vessel and kisses him softly, and touches his cheek, and looks at him as if he's seeing the angel beneath the man. Castiel feels a warmth and appreciation for Dean in this moment that he can't describe. He smiles back softly, presses his face into Dean's hand and kisses his palm. ]
I like that sound of that, as well.
[ "My human" sounds too distant for Castiel's liking. The thought of "my Dean," though, stokes something dangerously possessive in him. His fingers squeeze reflexively over Dean's shoulder, and then he leans back, taking his hands and mouth from Dean's before he loses the will to do so. ]
How are you feeling?
[ Castiel looks with concern from the sandwich Dean's barely touched to his eyes. He's certainly seen Dean in worse states, and Dean has never been shy about asking for sleep when he needs it, but Castiel is injured, and he knows Dean often puts the welfare of others over his own, to his own detriment. ]
He likes it, probably too much. It has a lot of connotations he's not ready to voice; he's admitted a lot about himself in the past few days, more than he ever expected. Cas' proposal teased out a lot of truths he wasn't really ready to deal with, so he's trying to do that now, even if it's less to do with 'men' at present and more to do with the fact Dean is friggin' in love with a damn angel of the Lord.
Talk about complicated. ]
You're changing the subject.
[ It's a tactic he's used before, something Sam has definitely noticed, given him a look, then simply moved on because he knows his brother isn't the kind of person to yammer on about their feelings.
And it would be a correct assumption - Dean isn't, not normally. He'll come around, if he needs to - say what needs to be said, have his bro moments, admit when he's wrong and take his foot out of his mouth at the last possible second. Occasionally, it's on the precipice of being too late, but he tries to be honest when he can. ]
[ Being honest with oneself and one's wants isn't easy when they directly contradict what your father, your siblings, and a lifetime of social doctrine have taught you. These feelings Castiel is discovering for Dean are all new and terrifying as well, though there's an important difference between them. Castiel has nothing left to lose. He's defied Heaven. He's died for Dean's cause once already. He's already given up everything he knew. All that's left for him is to rescue humanity from the impending apocalypse... and Dean. He'd very much not like to lose Dean. And so, yes, he is changing the subject before Dean overthinks their relationship, beautifully nebulous as it's becoming, and decides that it isn't worth the risk. ]
You should eat.
[ Castiel points out, then takes another small sip from his beer bottle, successfully this time, before making a slightly more bold suggestion. ]
[ He's well on his way to overthinking it when Cas points out that he should probably consume the sandwich in front of him. As if to prove some celestial point, Dean's stomach rumbles in protest.
Damn traitor.
But Dean's point also stands - Cas changes the subject, and it's fine, because he's distracted enough by the angels next statement that he drops it. ]
That sounds like a good idea. [ He'll take another few bites, enough to quiet the snarling of his stomach, take a swig of beer before offering Cas a bite. ]
[ It's nice of Dean's stomach to be on Castiel's side, and he smiles a bit smugly when he hears it. The smile doesn't fade, but only softens when Dean agrees to lie down with him. Now that he's eaten, the exhaustion he feels is threatening to make itself known again. Honestly, being human itself is exhausting, never mind an injured one. He has no idea how Dean manages it. Likewise, he has no idea if Dean actually needs the rest or if he's only placating Castiel, but a little more time spent in bed can't hurt either of them. Can it? Spending time in bed with Dean has only ever made Castiel feel better, physically and spiritually. He can only hope it has something close to the same effect on Dean.
The offer of the sandwich surprises him, and touched by Dean's generosity, Castiel leans in to take a bite... only to stop himself and lift his eyes to Dean, like eyeing a snake who's just offered him an apple. ]
You've barely eaten. You should finish it.
[ FOOL HIM ONCE, DEAN WINCHESTER. He won't be tricked into eating Dean's food again, at least not so immediately after the first time. ]
[ Dean is absolutely incorrigible, but he has a point. Castiel's mouth begins watering. He's still hungry also, it seems, though he hates to deprive Dean of the nutrients he requires. But... one bite isn't much, and he is curious. He relents. ]
Thank you.
[ Though, he doesn't point out that they're not in Rome, because he's sure Dean is aware of that, and it's some sort of joke he doesn't understand. It's less important than Dean's offer. Castiel bites a delicate corner off of the sandwich Dean is still holding, and leans back as he chews thoughtfully, absorbing the taste. ]
It's good.
[ Castiel decides, though he's beginning to realize that he may just be undiscerning where food is concerned. The bread is just as delicious as the other sandwich, with the same sweet and yeasty flavor that humanity has been enjoying since discovering how to grind grain millennia ago. The ham is less chewy than the roast beef, less of an iron taste and more salt. They're very different, but equally satisfying. Once he's swallowed, he drinks the rest of his beer, also. With a knowing look to Dean, he observes. ]
Beer tastes much better when you can taste.
[ Not that he can't taste when he has it's grace. Rather, he tastes too much to discern the full spectrum of flavor properly. Dean's phrasing isn't accurate, but it's more effective. ]
[ He figures Cas is still pretty hungry; he really hasn't seen Cas eat so to suddenly have an appetite must be strange. Still, Dean doesn't want Cas to overstuff himself and feel uncomfortable, so he fishes in the bag and pulls out an apple he'd picked up, rolls it over to him.
He laughs a little at the irony of giving an angel a shiny red apple. ]
[ If there's anyone Castiel is willing to accept forbidden fruit from, it's Dean. He picks up the apple and wonders briefly if he shouldn't return it to Dean. Surely Dean's hungry, as well. (Eat your sandwich, Mr!!) Ultimately though, Castiel's curiosity wins out. He wants to know where the appeal (pun intended) lies in nature's combination of sugar, water, and fiber, and he may not have another opportunity. He looks over at Dean at the question. ]
I do like it, but water is fine. I don't want to drink all of your alcoholic beverages.
[ He also doesn't want to eat all of Dean's sandwiches and fruit. As kind as Dean is to share, and as warming as it is to be taken care of by Dean, Castiel doesn't want to be a burden, simply because he was foolish enough to be drained of the majority of his grace. He also wants Dean cared for. Dean's health is ultimately more important, and that includes the mental health boost he seems to receive from drinking a substantial amount of beer.
He bites into the apple. It tastes nothing like bread, or roast beef, or ham, or its chains of simple sugars. Its juices flood his mouth, sweet and refreshing with a tartness that hits the back of his throat. The skin is tough but the flesh is crisp. It's delicious, and between the sandwich and this apple, the latter is far more enjoyable to chew. ]
This is delicious.
[ Perhaps not delicious enough to give up his soul, if he were privileged enough to have one, but certainly enough to take a second bite, even before he's swallowed the first. ]
Trust me, there's plenty. I can always run get more, too. I'll need to go get us a few more things to eat, anyway,
[ The store is maybe twenty minutes out; it's not exactly close, but it isn't that far, either. It's just a local, rural place with a well stocked beer section and organic, locally farmed produce. Dean doesn't care as much about that as he does the alcohol section, but as long as there's beer and malt liquor, Dean doesn't care. He'd just been in such a hurry to get Cas somewhere stable, he hadn't bothered to get much.
He picks up sandwich again and takes another bite, his stomach rumbling happily as it's finally getting what it wants.
It's true, that Dean tends to worry about others before himself. He folds to the desires of people he loves be it Sam or Cas, some instinct to protect taking over. It's something that's been jammed down his throat since he was a little boy, scooping up his baby brother and running out of a flaming house, holding him to his chest as he watches their home burn in the night like a dying star.
From then on, it was simply keep Sammy safe - a mantra his father had ingrained deep in Dean's soul, and one he'd repeated to himself throughout childhood and adolescence and into adulthood. It's one he still repeats to this day - he will do anything to keep his brother alive, even sell his soul.
It seems the list has expanded a little to include Cas. Dean isn't sure when that happened, and it's something he's currently wondering to himself as he watches the angel eat the apple, smile quick as he reaches out to brush juice off Cas' chin. ]
[ Of course Dean knows where to obtain more food (and beer), so Castiel nods as he chews his apple. He'd still prefer that Dean rest and eat before needing to obtain more beer or sandwiches, though. And of course, he always prefers Dean's company, though he doubts Dean would allow him to accompany him on the venture. Castiel will certainly volunteer anyway, once the moment arrives. For now, he's content to sit beside Dean as they eat together, enjoying the simple human happiness that comes with fresh food and friendly companionship.
In fact, Castiel is so busy enjoying his apple and Dean's company that he doesn't realize that he's made a mess of his face, so the touch of Dean's hand comes as a surprise, albeit an entirely welcome one. His heart flutters, and he isn't at all sure what is an appropriate way to respond to that gesture, other than to lick the excess of juice from his lips while staring at Dean's and thinking about kissing him for what must be the hundredth time since last night. He's beginning to think he might be addicted, and not to alcohol. ]
I am still hungry.
[ Castiel confirms. The metaphor is unintentional but valid. It's not just a lack of food that seems to have made him ravenous since his recent first bite. He lifts his eyes to Dean's again and asks, his brow creased with concern. ]
Does the feeling hunger ever go away?
[ He's eaten an entire half-sandwich, drank a full bottle of beer, and eaten half an apple, and somehow his stomach doesn't feel anywhere near full. Still, he offers the remainder of his apple to Dean, because if he's this hungry, he imagines Dean, fully human that he is, must be as well. ]
Edited (i just hate word repetition ) 2021-05-03 22:12 (UTC)
[ Dean is briefly distracted from the conversation by juice from the apple dripping down Cas' chin; sticky and sweet and wet, Dean's fingertips brushing over stubble, the rough scrape of it under his touch. Equally mesmerizing is Cas' tongue swiping over his lower lip, and Dean's eyes drop down to focus on the motion, utterly captivated. The question gives him pause, though he doesn't move his hand, not yet. Instead Dean keeps his fingertips on Cas' cheek and lets them trace over his jawline, drag down his neck to smooth over the softest part, where a heartbeat would pulse in a human.
Does the feeling of hunger ever go away?
That's a damn good question, because Dean isn't really sure he knows the answer. Hunger isn't just physical, that much he knows; people long for things beyond food. They crave passion, sex, drugs, alcohol - all kinds of vices. Love, physical touch, too. They yearn for adventure, for a life that isn't theirs. They want to make a difference, to leave more than a footprint on a sandy beach, destined to be washed away by the incoming tide.
Everyone is searching for something to fill the void; that yawning, empty hole in their soul in the shape of something undefinable. Humans crave connection - demons and angels, too, maybe.
Dean convinced himself, long ago, that he doesn't require these basic, human needs. That he doesn't deserve them - happiness, the touch of someone who loves him, genuine affection, soft kisses under moonlight. Dean has hardened himself to it for so, so long that he hardly feels anything anymore, a residual numbness settling deep in his bones.
How very starved he has been, indeed.
The hunger for more can be so deep it's soul aching. Dean knows this intimately, what it's like to crave affection and love, to be so starved you feel like you might die.
No, he eventually decides. No, it doesn't go away. He swallows, looks up at Cas, and forces a little smile. ]
Foodwise, sure. Gotta let your stomach settle, and you'll feel better.
[ Skin and soul hunger, though...that's a completely different story entirely. It can be argued Dean satisfies that with all of his casual encounters, but it's different when someone you genuinely cares about reaches for you, brushes fingers, a simple kiss, the squeeze of a hip as they pass.
That's what he's hungry for, what he hasn't let himself have. ]
Here. [ He drops his hand from Cas' jaw momentarily in favor of getting up to get them both another beer, popping the tops off and sliding one in front of Cas. ] A toast to you being alive.
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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.
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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
That's not to say humans are infallible, though. They have wars and prejudices. At least in respect to gender, Castiel prefers the perspective of an angel. They're all siblings, all genderless, and regardless of their preferences towards male, female or nonbinary vessels, there isn't any judgement passed for it. The way Dean struggles with his sexuality isn't something Castiel can understand. All he can do is try to be respectful of Dean's boundaries.
For all of Dean's uncertainty, it means that much more then when he looks beyond Castiel's vessel and kisses him softly, and touches his cheek, and looks at him as if he's seeing the angel beneath the man. Castiel feels a warmth and appreciation for Dean in this moment that he can't describe. He smiles back softly, presses his face into Dean's hand and kisses his palm. ]
I like that sound of that, as well.
[ "My human" sounds too distant for Castiel's liking. The thought of "my Dean," though, stokes something dangerously possessive in him. His fingers squeeze reflexively over Dean's shoulder, and then he leans back, taking his hands and mouth from Dean's before he loses the will to do so. ]
How are you feeling?
[ Castiel looks with concern from the sandwich Dean's barely touched to his eyes. He's certainly seen Dean in worse states, and Dean has never been shy about asking for sleep when he needs it, but Castiel is injured, and he knows Dean often puts the welfare of others over his own, to his own detriment. ]
That was a long drive.
i mean i see the logic here
Your Dean.
He likes it, probably too much. It has a lot of connotations he's not ready to voice; he's admitted a lot about himself in the past few days, more than he ever expected. Cas' proposal teased out a lot of truths he wasn't really ready to deal with, so he's trying to do that now, even if it's less to do with 'men' at present and more to do with the fact Dean is friggin' in love with a damn angel of the Lord.
Talk about complicated. ]
You're changing the subject.
[ It's a tactic he's used before, something Sam has definitely noticed, given him a look, then simply moved on because he knows his brother isn't the kind of person to yammer on about their feelings.
And it would be a correct assumption - Dean isn't, not normally. He'll come around, if he needs to - say what needs to be said, have his bro moments, admit when he's wrong and take his foot out of his mouth at the last possible second. Occasionally, it's on the precipice of being too late, but he tries to be honest when he can. ]
I'm fine.
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You should eat.
[ Castiel points out, then takes another small sip from his beer bottle, successfully this time, before making a slightly more bold suggestion. ]
If you're tired, we could lie down together.
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Damn traitor.
But Dean's point also stands - Cas changes the subject, and it's fine, because he's distracted enough by the angels next statement that he drops it. ]
That sounds like a good idea. [ He'll take another few bites, enough to quiet the snarling of his stomach, take a swig of beer before offering Cas a bite. ]
Wanna try this one?
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The offer of the sandwich surprises him, and touched by Dean's generosity, Castiel leans in to take a bite... only to stop himself and lift his eyes to Dean, like eyeing a snake who's just offered him an apple. ]
You've barely eaten. You should finish it.
[ FOOL HIM ONCE, DEAN WINCHESTER. He won't be tricked into eating Dean's food again, at least not so immediately after the first time. ]
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I will, I promise. But while you can taste, I figured...you know. When in Rome. Right?
[ Go on, Cas. You know you want to give it a whirl. ]
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Thank you.
[ Though, he doesn't point out that they're not in Rome, because he's sure Dean is aware of that, and it's some sort of joke he doesn't understand. It's less important than Dean's offer. Castiel bites a delicate corner off of the sandwich Dean is still holding, and leans back as he chews thoughtfully, absorbing the taste. ]
It's good.
[ Castiel decides, though he's beginning to realize that he may just be undiscerning where food is concerned. The bread is just as delicious as the other sandwich, with the same sweet and yeasty flavor that humanity has been enjoying since discovering how to grind grain millennia ago. The ham is less chewy than the roast beef, less of an iron taste and more salt. They're very different, but equally satisfying. Once he's swallowed, he drinks the rest of his beer, also. With a knowing look to Dean, he observes. ]
Beer tastes much better when you can taste.
[ Not that he can't taste when he has it's grace. Rather, he tastes too much to discern the full spectrum of flavor properly. Dean's phrasing isn't accurate, but it's more effective. ]
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[ He figures Cas is still pretty hungry; he really hasn't seen Cas eat so to suddenly have an appetite must be strange. Still, Dean doesn't want Cas to overstuff himself and feel uncomfortable, so he fishes in the bag and pulls out an apple he'd picked up, rolls it over to him.
He laughs a little at the irony of giving an angel a shiny red apple. ]
Yeah, I bet it does. You like it? I've got more.
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I do like it, but water is fine. I don't want to drink all of your alcoholic beverages.
[ He also doesn't want to eat all of Dean's sandwiches and fruit. As kind as Dean is to share, and as warming as it is to be taken care of by Dean, Castiel doesn't want to be a burden, simply because he was foolish enough to be drained of the majority of his grace. He also wants Dean cared for. Dean's health is ultimately more important, and that includes the mental health boost he seems to receive from drinking a substantial amount of beer.
He bites into the apple. It tastes nothing like bread, or roast beef, or ham, or its chains of simple sugars. Its juices flood his mouth, sweet and refreshing with a tartness that hits the back of his throat. The skin is tough but the flesh is crisp. It's delicious, and between the sandwich and this apple, the latter is far more enjoyable to chew. ]
This is delicious.
[ Perhaps not delicious enough to give up his soul, if he were privileged enough to have one, but certainly enough to take a second bite, even before he's swallowed the first. ]
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[ The store is maybe twenty minutes out; it's not exactly close, but it isn't that far, either. It's just a local, rural place with a well stocked beer section and organic, locally farmed produce. Dean doesn't care as much about that as he does the alcohol section, but as long as there's beer and malt liquor, Dean doesn't care. He'd just been in such a hurry to get Cas somewhere stable, he hadn't bothered to get much.
He picks up sandwich again and takes another bite, his stomach rumbling happily as it's finally getting what it wants.
It's true, that Dean tends to worry about others before himself. He folds to the desires of people he loves be it Sam or Cas, some instinct to protect taking over. It's something that's been jammed down his throat since he was a little boy, scooping up his baby brother and running out of a flaming house, holding him to his chest as he watches their home burn in the night like a dying star.
From then on, it was simply keep Sammy safe - a mantra his father had ingrained deep in Dean's soul, and one he'd repeated to himself throughout childhood and adolescence and into adulthood. It's one he still repeats to this day - he will do anything to keep his brother alive, even sell his soul.
It seems the list has expanded a little to include Cas. Dean isn't sure when that happened, and it's something he's currently wondering to himself as he watches the angel eat the apple, smile quick as he reaches out to brush juice off Cas' chin. ]
I figured you were probably still hungry.
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In fact, Castiel is so busy enjoying his apple and Dean's company that he doesn't realize that he's made a mess of his face, so the touch of Dean's hand comes as a surprise, albeit an entirely welcome one. His heart flutters, and he isn't at all sure what is an appropriate way to respond to that gesture, other than to lick the excess of juice from his lips while staring at Dean's and thinking about kissing him for what must be the hundredth time since last night. He's beginning to think he might be addicted, and not to alcohol. ]
I am still hungry.
[ Castiel confirms. The metaphor is unintentional but valid. It's not just a lack of food that seems to have made him ravenous since his recent first bite. He lifts his eyes to Dean's again and asks, his brow creased with concern. ]
Does the feeling hunger ever go away?
[ He's eaten an entire half-sandwich, drank a full bottle of beer, and eaten half an apple, and somehow his stomach doesn't feel anywhere near full. Still, he offers the remainder of his apple to Dean, because if he's this hungry, he imagines Dean, fully human that he is, must be as well. ]
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Does the feeling of hunger ever go away?
That's a damn good question, because Dean isn't really sure he knows the answer. Hunger isn't just physical, that much he knows; people long for things beyond food. They crave passion, sex, drugs, alcohol - all kinds of vices. Love, physical touch, too. They yearn for adventure, for a life that isn't theirs. They want to make a difference, to leave more than a footprint on a sandy beach, destined to be washed away by the incoming tide.
Everyone is searching for something to fill the void; that yawning, empty hole in their soul in the shape of something undefinable. Humans crave connection - demons and angels, too, maybe.
Dean convinced himself, long ago, that he doesn't require these basic, human needs. That he doesn't deserve them - happiness, the touch of someone who loves him, genuine affection, soft kisses under moonlight. Dean has hardened himself to it for so, so long that he hardly feels anything anymore, a residual numbness settling deep in his bones.
How very starved he has been, indeed.
The hunger for more can be so deep it's soul aching. Dean knows this intimately, what it's like to crave affection and love, to be so starved you feel like you might die.
No, he eventually decides. No, it doesn't go away. He swallows, looks up at Cas, and forces a little smile. ]
Foodwise, sure. Gotta let your stomach settle, and you'll feel better.
[ Skin and soul hunger, though...that's a completely different story entirely. It can be argued Dean satisfies that with all of his casual encounters, but it's different when someone you genuinely cares about reaches for you, brushes fingers, a simple kiss, the squeeze of a hip as they pass.
That's what he's hungry for, what he hasn't let himself have. ]
Here. [ He drops his hand from Cas' jaw momentarily in favor of getting up to get them both another beer, popping the tops off and sliding one in front of Cas. ] A toast to you being alive.
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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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