[ Castiel follows silently, as he is wont to do. It allows him to keep a careful eye on Dean, ultimately determining that Dean doesn't appear drunk enough to be forcefully sobered through Castiel's healing. Unless he makes himself a nuisance that is.
So the angel follows, not questioning Dean's intent in the slightest until he is presented with... gifts.
Castiel blinks owlishly, just the once. Looks from the fish to Dean to the tie to Dean and then the fish again.
He's missing something here. The tie, he thinks he grasps, and... it settles somewhere between his ribs, a sort of warmth that opens just a little, like a flower unsure whether it's spring or not. Dean's always fussed with Castiel's tie. And the pattern... His eyes flick to Dean's own flannel shirt. Back to the tie.
Oh.
Castiel nods slowly, then reaches up and pulls on the knot of his tie, loosening it until he can pull it off easily, letting the cloth slip into his coat pocket after removing the tie clip that is, as is clearly its purpose, clipped to the the.
Just to the tie. What else would one clip it to?
Castiel nods to the fish. ]
Your brother and you... have a strange taste in gifts.
[ And then he reaches out, cups Dean's hand with one of his and curling the fingers of his other hand around the soft fabric Dean is holding out to him. ]
Thank you, Dean.
[ Dean's fooling no one here. Castiel knows what Sam's been involved in here... and who's giving him something that looks like he's cut from the same cloth as the Winchesters.
It's... touching, Castiel things. Unnecessary, but... he doesn't know why he can't just dismiss the gesture, why it sits in his ribcage like I'd rather have you, cursed or not.
He fastens the new tie. Crooked, hopelessly so, despite the sheer look of concentration. The tie clip is added to it. And Castiel looks at Dean, lips slightly quirked, but most of that smile and softness sits in his eyes.
Just this once, Dean... he gets what you're not saying. ]
I have something for you as well. It won't arrive until the next ferry.
( there are quite a few things that dean realizes very suddenly and all at once that his alcohol-muddled brain is still trying to process: they're standing in his room, cas is taking off his tie, and is it just him or is it a little too warm? (he's had a lot to drink, it's definitely the alcohol, right?) he finds his gaze drifts to cas' hands, the ridges of his knuckles, the way his fingers flex as he pulls the tie loose and pockets it. dean's face feels hot, his mouth dry (he wets his lips, involuntarily).
and then he hears cas' voice drift into his head, pulling his attention back to what's happening.
the fish. right. he laughs, but it sounds slightly strange, nervous almost. it doesn't help when their hands touch, warmth rushing through him lightning fast, nearly making him dizzy from sheer contact. )
Yeah. It's, uh, sort of a joke between hunters that those things are cursed, but they're really just — ( words are hard, give him a sec ) — tacky. Ain't a real cabin without one.
( he'd say you're welcome but the sentiment gets stuck in his throat, which feels like his heart is trying to escape through. there's a moment he wonders if it's his heart beating that loud or if it's still michael, ceaselessly pounding against the door in his mind. he wonders if cas can hear it.
he watches cas fiddle with the tie (it suits him, he thinks), shaking his head with a fond sort of sigh when cas is finally done. he steps forward, closing what little distance separates them, reaching for the tie to straighten it. his chest swells with the urge to say something, but he swallows the urge down before it betrays him. there's no reason to waste words when the gesture speaks for itself: you're part of the family, my family.
the curve of his mouth twitches into almost a smile as his hand slips over the tie, smoothing it under his palm, and then it lingers there against cas' chest, maybe a second too long (long enough to feel warmth and muscle and the blink of a pulse).
he pulls back. cas mentions the ferry. back to business. )
[ While Dean fixes the tie, Castiel just looks at him. Recounts the freckles that he years ago dusted back onto skin he was remaking for Dean. Contemplates the grace trapped deep within Dean. Wants to ask more, but cannot press.
Not yet.
He just lets Dean work in a moment of comfortable silence, intense blue eyes never wavering until Dean finally pulls back and the contact fades.
Angels can exist in the same space, grace mingling and entwining like humans hug or hold hands. Castiel can't deny that having Dean, his friend, his charge, his human, in his space is pleasant. There's a magnetic draw between Castiel's grace and Dean's soul, one he's always felt and pursued. It's a pleasant to change of pace to have Dean not push him away, but step closer himself, however briefly. ]
An angel blade. I managed to acquire two spares through the night market. You'll have one. I thought you might enjoy being better armed.
[ A frown flickers across his features as Castiel fastens the tie clip to the new tie. His fingers linger on the fabric, and he glances down, features softening. ]
The answers to all questions lie within the forest, but the forest holds great danger. People can die here, Dean. They don't always come back.
( he appreciates the thought, even if he doesn't say so out loud. overall he'd rate his satisfaction with his state of being armed at a zero out of five. he's never felt more ... naked than here, with only a switchblade on his person. even in purgatory he had his gun. it's a bit of a relief to know he'll have an angel blade at his disposal soon. (though, in his honest opinion, not soon enough. he's been itching to head into the forest and keep going until he can't anymore. but if it's as dangerous as cas says, he'll need to be much better armed.)
especially considering how death works in this place (or doesn't). it's different from purgatory in that regard. no one who died in purgatory ever came back. but here... people do come back, apparently. only it's not a guarantee. )
So I've heard. ( from someone named bruce, at least, and his information seemed to check out pretty well. ) If you're worried about me, don't be. I ain't about to run off into the forest with just a switchblade and a prayer.
[ Good. Castiel nods, eyes softening in relief. He wasn't there for the gruesome removal of faces and subsequent deaths of two party members, but... well.
He never wanted Dean here, for obvious reasons. But Dean is here now, and his and Sam's well-being are imperative. ]
I wouldn't be able to follow your prayer to a location I'm not familiar with.
[ Castiel gives Dean a pointed look - calling him in as last moment back up will not work, much to Castiel's obvious displeasure.
He steps away then - not really to put distance between them or shut down their conversation. On the contrary - his former bedroom has not become Dean's space, and while not yet filled with a sense of the man in question, Castiel can't help but trail through the room, fingers moving along the edges of furniture.
He does this, sometimes. Attention and awareness of the person with him, but eyes and hands wandering. Rifling through Dean's belongings, picking up books to skim through. Not quite a nervous habit, just... habit. ]
I... went to look for a structure within the forest, recently. With a group of good, capable people. Powerful people. My group was fine. The other group lost two. And I realized... I can only protect those I'm with at any given time.
[ Castiel turns back towards Dean, leaning against a small table in the bedroom. He's maneuvered himself further away from Dean,but also further into the room, and seems to be comfortable here. His face is serious. ]
A good man told me not to bleed my grace dry. To think of how it would make those left behind feel. I didn't see the point until you and Sam arrived.
[ His jaw tightens. He thinks of Dean's face breaking under his fist, and has to relax his clenched fingers to shake the memory. ]
Do not go far from me.
[ It's phrased like a command, but sounds like a plea. Castiel meets Dean's eyes.
( he was ... mostly joking about the prayer, but concern crosses his face at this particular revelation. he almost looks offended when cas shoots him that pointed look, because dean obviously wouldn't ever do such a thing (he has, and he probably would have if he hadn't just been told not to). it's becoming clearer that things don't exactly work right in this place. there's something just a little bit off. dean's less convinced they're in the afterlife and more that they're somewhere just sideways of the afterlife. whoever brought them here doesn't want beings like cas at their full power. maybe that's fear. maybe it's just punishment. the jury's still out.
dean follows, moving further into his room, shedding a jacket here, his boots there. he keeps his eyes on cas, watching the path his hands take.
he hasn't let this room feel like his, yet; there's nothing particularly personal about it, but there's something about the way cas moves through the room with an idle sort of reverence, it almost feels like it's become an extension of dean himself just by nature of having cas in it.
they drift away from each other as cas tells dean about his ... outing. about the people that were lost. about his grace.
but then, like a wave to shore, dean returns —
do not go far from me.
(i want to be near you.)
— closes the distance enough to be able to see the deep blue of cas' eyes, the pain of loss creased into the line of his brow. dean understands more than most the burden of guilt, of not being able to protect everyone, no matter how hard you try. he sets a hand on cas' shoulder, firm, reassuring. grounding. )
I'm right here, Cas. Won't get rid of me that easy.
( it sounds like a promise. he'll do his best to keep it. )
[ Castiel always carries himself with a certain kind of tension, a certain weight on his shoulders. The instances in which his guard drops and he allows himself the luxury of... not quite relaxation, but of softening, are few and far between. This is one such instance. With the weight of Dean's hand on his shoulder and more importantly the weight of what passes as an agreement, as a promise, some of the tension bleeds out of Castiel's shoulders.
He holds Dean's gaze, then nods. ]
You can call on me anywhere but the forest, and I will come to you. Prayer from a known location is enough to guide my flight.
[ And ignoring Dean is his prerogative. Prayers aren't compulsion. But they are valuable here, means of travelling with otherwise clipped wings.
After a moment of looking up at Dean, burden shared for the time being, Castiel begins frowning again. ]
( it's a moment, for sure, one dean actually lets happen for longer than he might under different circumstances and ... well, less inebriation.
he nods back, the completion of this silent pact. promises are worth a lot to dean, and he doesn't make them lightly. he doesn't break them lightly, either. unless it's completely out of his hands (or sam's life is on the line), a promise is his word of god. so it is written, so it shall be done.
and then, just like that, the moment's gone.
he takes his hand from cas' shoulder and scrubs at his nose, his face pinching with irritation. )
Yeah, buddy, sure is. Damn spirits tried to paint my face like a fuckin' Lisa Frank notebook.
( he got. most of it off. minus what went up his nose, obviously. )
[ Castiel admits this almost sheepishly. He reaches up, rubs at the back of his neck. Now this is for sure a nervous gestures. Employed frequently around Dean - when being questioned about his virginity by someone who places stock in such concepts, for instance. ]
Apparently the option is frowned upon as it risks a reset.
[ Which... about that. ]
I'm not sure you've realized that yet. A very young, juvenile woman in the light house can eradicate us all at will.
( dean's instinct is still on kill mode, so it's been a rough couple weeks, especially given his lack of weapons. he can't blame cas for having the same instinct at first; spend enough time around dean, you eventually learn to shoot first, ask questions later.
he's about to say as much when — well. cas goes and drops that little bomb on him and his brain comes screeching to a halt. )
I'm sorry, eradicate us at will?
( he's done exactly None of the reading so pray tell. )
Yes. Resets, they call them. Should this community of people fall apart, or should the World Eaters descend upon us, the Lighthouse Keeper will reset us. We would perish. A new group would be brought in.
[ Castiel reaches up, briefly pinches the bridge of his nose. ]
( lord, he's had so much to drink and yet he could really go for another right about now. how can one still not be drunk enough to deal with this kind of information after drinking practically all day.
he scrubs a hand over his face. )
Yeah, tell me about it.
( it's been two weeks in this hell hole with every instinct on high alert, and yet everyone telling him the spirits are his friends and maybe he shouldn't stab everyone he meets. sticking a hunter in a forest full of monsters and telling him not to hunt is a lot like dumping a fish in the ocean and telling it not to swim. and with michael? he's barely been sleeping, too paranoid michael might get out if he closes his eyes too long. because if michael were to escape? this place would be well and truly fucked. )
I'm gonna — lie down now. If you don't mind.
( he's exhausted, the alcohol swimming in his veins making him drowsy. he's been holding onto consciousness for well longer than is healthy, and now his body is finally fighting back. he pats cas' arm on his way toward the bed. )
[ There's an expression that ghosts across Castiel's features, there. Surprise, perhaps, though muted - he's not as expressive yet as Dean knows him to become. Still, if you know to look for it, it's there. More at the out loud admission than the nature of it - he knows to have him here gives Dean much needed and quite powerful backup, despite the limitations of his existence here.
Rather than dwell on it, Castiel nods. ]
I... wish you didn't have to be here. But now that you are...
[ He takes a seat in an armchair next to the bed, without commenting on the fact that he intends to guard Dean's sleep tonight. He knows of the nightmares that so often plague the man. What's a little grace to soothe them. ]
( a soft, sleepy sort of smile pulls at his face in way of response, which ultimately says more than dean's capable of at the moment (don't go, i need you here). he crashes onto the mattress, unsurprised that cas hasn't left him to his privacy. dean wouldn't exactly ask him to; he's too stubborn for that, even now, after everything they've been through — or, a version of them, anyway.
maybe this cas won't have the chance to catch up (not that dean's giving up on finding a way out of here), but it doesn't change the warm thing that sits in his chest, burrowed behind his ribcage, lighting him up from the inside in a way alcohol never has. he's acutely aware of it even in this state, when he looks over to cas sitting by the bed and feels safe. )
You ain't gonna sit there all night, are ya?
( it's always the opposite thing that comes out of his mouth. but he can only hope cas knows him well enough to understand that. )
[ He does know him well enough. Castiel has already relaxed into the chair as much as he can ever relax. He intends to send Sam a message once Dean is fast asleep and Castiel has seen to it his sleep will be deep and without nightmares. ]
( at this point, honestly, he's too exhausted to protest. if he were a handful of years younger and still worried about personal space or things being weird, maybe. or maybe it has to do more with the fact that sam and his judging eyes are in another room, so dean feels less like he needs to overperform the ritual of masculinity. )
Yeah, yeah, alright Edward.
( regardless, he curls up with a pillow and mumbles something else, almost indistinct, his eyelids falling heavy over weary eyes. )
This is where you say "good night, sleep tight, don't let the archangels bite."
( but any response will fall on sleeping ears. )
I think this is a good place for a wrap but I needed to get this in for Reasons
[ Castiel squints at the line of Dean's shoulders as he settles in for sleep. Edward...? It baffles him as much as Clarence, and the thought, for a moment, brings an ache to Castiel's chest, as he remembers things that could have been and will never be.
He doesn't understand the reference, and will not ask.
He does, however, allow his lips to tug into a fond smile. And as he feels Dean drift off to sleep and draps his grace over Dean's dreams like a weighted blanket, he murmurs: ]
Good night, Dean. Sleep tight. I won't let any archangels bite.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
So the angel follows, not questioning Dean's intent in the slightest until he is presented with... gifts.
Castiel blinks owlishly, just the once. Looks from the fish to Dean to the tie to Dean and then the fish again.
He's missing something here. The tie, he thinks he grasps, and... it settles somewhere between his ribs, a sort of warmth that opens just a little, like a flower unsure whether it's spring or not. Dean's always fussed with Castiel's tie. And the pattern... His eyes flick to Dean's own flannel shirt. Back to the tie.
Oh.
Castiel nods slowly, then reaches up and pulls on the knot of his tie, loosening it until he can pull it off easily, letting the cloth slip into his coat pocket after removing the tie clip that is, as is clearly its purpose, clipped to the the.
Just to the tie. What else would one clip it to?
Castiel nods to the fish. ]
Your brother and you... have a strange taste in gifts.
[ And then he reaches out, cups Dean's hand with one of his and curling the fingers of his other hand around the soft fabric Dean is holding out to him. ]
Thank you, Dean.
[ Dean's fooling no one here. Castiel knows what Sam's been involved in here... and who's giving him something that looks like he's cut from the same cloth as the Winchesters.
It's... touching, Castiel things. Unnecessary, but... he doesn't know why he can't just dismiss the gesture, why it sits in his ribcage like I'd rather have you, cursed or not.
He fastens the new tie. Crooked, hopelessly so, despite the sheer look of concentration. The tie clip is added to it. And Castiel looks at Dean, lips slightly quirked, but most of that smile and softness sits in his eyes.
Just this once, Dean... he gets what you're not saying. ]
I have something for you as well. It won't arrive until the next ferry.
no subject
and then he hears cas' voice drift into his head, pulling his attention back to what's happening.
the fish. right. he laughs, but it sounds slightly strange, nervous almost. it doesn't help when their hands touch, warmth rushing through him lightning fast, nearly making him dizzy from sheer contact. )
Yeah. It's, uh, sort of a joke between hunters that those things are cursed, but they're really just — ( words are hard, give him a sec ) — tacky. Ain't a real cabin without one.
( he'd say you're welcome but the sentiment gets stuck in his throat, which feels like his heart is trying to escape through. there's a moment he wonders if it's his heart beating that loud or if it's still michael, ceaselessly pounding against the door in his mind. he wonders if cas can hear it.
he watches cas fiddle with the tie (it suits him, he thinks), shaking his head with a fond sort of sigh when cas is finally done. he steps forward, closing what little distance separates them, reaching for the tie to straighten it. his chest swells with the urge to say something, but he swallows the urge down before it betrays him. there's no reason to waste words when the gesture speaks for itself: you're part of the family, my family.
the curve of his mouth twitches into almost a smile as his hand slips over the tie, smoothing it under his palm, and then it lingers there against cas' chest, maybe a second too long (long enough to feel warmth and muscle and the blink of a pulse).
he pulls back. cas mentions the ferry. back to business. )
You gonna tell me what it is or is it a surprise?
no subject
Not yet.
He just lets Dean work in a moment of comfortable silence, intense blue eyes never wavering until Dean finally pulls back and the contact fades.
Angels can exist in the same space, grace mingling and entwining like humans hug or hold hands. Castiel can't deny that having Dean, his friend, his charge, his human, in his space is pleasant. There's a magnetic draw between Castiel's grace and Dean's soul, one he's always felt and pursued. It's a pleasant to change of pace to have Dean not push him away, but step closer himself, however briefly. ]
An angel blade. I managed to acquire two spares through the night market. You'll have one. I thought you might enjoy being better armed.
[ A frown flickers across his features as Castiel fastens the tie clip to the new tie. His fingers linger on the fabric, and he glances down, features softening. ]
The answers to all questions lie within the forest, but the forest holds great danger. People can die here, Dean. They don't always come back.
no subject
especially considering how death works in this place (or doesn't). it's different from purgatory in that regard. no one who died in purgatory ever came back. but here... people do come back, apparently. only it's not a guarantee. )
So I've heard. ( from someone named bruce, at least, and his information seemed to check out pretty well. ) If you're worried about me, don't be. I ain't about to run off into the forest with just a switchblade and a prayer.
no subject
He never wanted Dean here, for obvious reasons. But Dean is here now, and his and Sam's well-being are imperative. ]
I wouldn't be able to follow your prayer to a location I'm not familiar with.
[ Castiel gives Dean a pointed look - calling him in as last moment back up will not work, much to Castiel's obvious displeasure.
He steps away then - not really to put distance between them or shut down their conversation. On the contrary - his former bedroom has not become Dean's space, and while not yet filled with a sense of the man in question, Castiel can't help but trail through the room, fingers moving along the edges of furniture.
He does this, sometimes. Attention and awareness of the person with him, but eyes and hands wandering. Rifling through Dean's belongings, picking up books to skim through. Not quite a nervous habit, just... habit. ]
I... went to look for a structure within the forest, recently. With a group of good, capable people. Powerful people. My group was fine. The other group lost two. And I realized... I can only protect those I'm with at any given time.
[ Castiel turns back towards Dean, leaning against a small table in the bedroom. He's maneuvered himself further away from Dean,but also further into the room, and seems to be comfortable here. His face is serious. ]
A good man told me not to bleed my grace dry. To think of how it would make those left behind feel. I didn't see the point until you and Sam arrived.
[ His jaw tightens. He thinks of Dean's face breaking under his fist, and has to relax his clenched fingers to shake the memory. ]
Do not go far from me.
[ It's phrased like a command, but sounds like a plea. Castiel meets Dean's eyes.
He can't lose them, now that they're here. ]
no subject
dean follows, moving further into his room, shedding a jacket here, his boots there. he keeps his eyes on cas, watching the path his hands take.
he hasn't let this room feel like his, yet; there's nothing particularly personal about it, but there's something about the way cas moves through the room with an idle sort of reverence, it almost feels like it's become an extension of dean himself just by nature of having cas in it.
they drift away from each other as cas tells dean about his ... outing. about the people that were lost. about his grace.
but then, like a wave to shore, dean returns —
do not go far from me.
(i want to be near you.)
— closes the distance enough to be able to see the deep blue of cas' eyes, the pain of loss creased into the line of his brow. dean understands more than most the burden of guilt, of not being able to protect everyone, no matter how hard you try. he sets a hand on cas' shoulder, firm, reassuring. grounding. )
I'm right here, Cas. Won't get rid of me that easy.
( it sounds like a promise. he'll do his best to keep it. )
no subject
He holds Dean's gaze, then nods. ]
You can call on me anywhere but the forest, and I will come to you. Prayer from a known location is enough to guide my flight.
[ And ignoring Dean is his prerogative. Prayers aren't compulsion. But they are valuable here, means of travelling with otherwise clipped wings.
After a moment of looking up at Dean, burden shared for the time being, Castiel begins frowning again. ]
There's glitter in your nostril.
no subject
he nods back, the completion of this silent pact. promises are worth a lot to dean, and he doesn't make them lightly. he doesn't break them lightly, either. unless it's completely out of his hands (or sam's life is on the line), a promise is his word of god. so it is written, so it shall be done.
and then, just like that, the moment's gone.
he takes his hand from cas' shoulder and scrubs at his nose, his face pinching with irritation. )
Yeah, buddy, sure is. Damn spirits tried to paint my face like a fuckin' Lisa Frank notebook.
( he got. most of it off. minus what went up his nose, obviously. )
no subject
[ Castiel admits this almost sheepishly. He reaches up, rubs at the back of his neck. Now this is for sure a nervous gestures. Employed frequently around Dean - when being questioned about his virginity by someone who places stock in such concepts, for instance. ]
Apparently the option is frowned upon as it risks a reset.
[ Which... about that. ]
I'm not sure you've realized that yet. A very young, juvenile woman in the light house can eradicate us all at will.
no subject
he's about to say as much when — well. cas goes and drops that little bomb on him and his brain comes screeching to a halt. )
I'm sorry, eradicate us at will?
( he's done exactly None of the reading so pray tell. )
no subject
[ Castiel reaches up, briefly pinches the bridge of his nose. ]
Dean, I dislike this place.
no subject
he scrubs a hand over his face. )
Yeah, tell me about it.
( it's been two weeks in this hell hole with every instinct on high alert, and yet everyone telling him the spirits are his friends and maybe he shouldn't stab everyone he meets. sticking a hunter in a forest full of monsters and telling him not to hunt is a lot like dumping a fish in the ocean and telling it not to swim. and with michael? he's barely been sleeping, too paranoid michael might get out if he closes his eyes too long. because if michael were to escape? this place would be well and truly fucked. )
I'm gonna — lie down now. If you don't mind.
( he's exhausted, the alcohol swimming in his veins making him drowsy. he's been holding onto consciousness for well longer than is healthy, and now his body is finally fighting back. he pats cas' arm on his way toward the bed. )
Glad you're here, Cas.
( because he never said it before. )
no subject
Rather than dwell on it, Castiel nods. ]
I... wish you didn't have to be here. But now that you are...
[ He takes a seat in an armchair next to the bed, without commenting on the fact that he intends to guard Dean's sleep tonight. He knows of the nightmares that so often plague the man. What's a little grace to soothe them. ]
It's good to see you again, Dean.
[ I missed you. ]
no subject
maybe this cas won't have the chance to catch up (not that dean's giving up on finding a way out of here), but it doesn't change the warm thing that sits in his chest, burrowed behind his ribcage, lighting him up from the inside in a way alcohol never has. he's acutely aware of it even in this state, when he looks over to cas sitting by the bed and feels safe. )
You ain't gonna sit there all night, are ya?
( it's always the opposite thing that comes out of his mouth. but he can only hope cas knows him well enough to understand that. )
no subject
[ He does know him well enough. Castiel has already relaxed into the chair as much as he can ever relax. He intends to send Sam a message once Dean is fast asleep and Castiel has seen to it his sleep will be deep and without nightmares. ]
I'll watch over you.
no subject
Yeah, yeah, alright Edward.
( regardless, he curls up with a pillow and mumbles something else, almost indistinct, his eyelids falling heavy over weary eyes. )
This is where you say "good night, sleep tight, don't let the archangels bite."
( but any response will fall on sleeping ears. )
I think this is a good place for a wrap but I needed to get this in for Reasons
He doesn't understand the reference, and will not ask.
He does, however, allow his lips to tug into a fond smile. And as he feels Dean drift off to sleep and draps his grace over Dean's dreams like a weighted blanket, he murmurs: ]
Good night, Dean. Sleep tight. I won't let any archangels bite.