qapsiel

[qapsiel]

                                 FACE HIDDEN IN THE CROOK OF DEAN'S NECK, Castiel is unaware of the turmoil his simple question causes. And yes, to him, it had been a simple question; just like asking somebody their favorite color or what they like to eat after a hearty lunch. Sex is sex is sex. Castiel has it a lot, enjoys it a lot, but he's never given it the significance humanity always associated with it. It's a bodily function like burping or urinating or sneezing. It just feels way better than all the others combined. So, Dean's internal struggles? His carefully neutral face? The way he's searching for the best way to answer without sounding like a demanding, jealous boyfriend? It all flies right over Castiel's head.

                                  Well. He, at least, figures out that the response is sort of like chickening out. What's wrong with just saying yes or no? He frowns a little, then turns his head. He can only see Dean's Adam's apple like that, but the way it's bobbing up and down tells him Dean is unhappy with his own words. "Humans like monogamy," he points out. "Well, males prefer their partners to be monogamous because that's the only way for them to know the offspring is really theirs…" 

                                  Castiel feels a bone-deep exhaustion crawl into his body. He didn't do anything too strenuous today (except having sex twice), so it's probably the cocaine withdrawal. "That's not an issue for us, of course. I picked a male vessel all these years ago. But you're wrong, Dean. You did show me a reason not to be with anyone else. You love me." A feverish smile appears on his lips. It's still mind-boggling to know this. "Sex and love aren't the same. But sex with love is different. Better. So I might still guide people through the tantra exercises. But I don't think I'll take part in them. Unless you want to learn about it. Learn with me."

there's a million dollar question. one that makes his heart feel like it's come to a complete stop. one laid out in a room that's already seen the violence that can happen when the depth of what he feels for cas is shared wrong or without the right wording. dean tastes a coppery flavor at the back of his mouth. anxiety. rusty pennies and something cold lodged underneath his tongue that spreads a flavor and sensation directly towards his brain and chest. a ricochet effect in a bitch of a way.

yes. gut instinct had thew word in his mind instantly. thus, the cause of the panic he's keeping contained to a level that he impresses himself. lips press together in a thoughtful pout. he swallows the taste away and, for maybe just this time, he's glad that cas isn't as strong as he used to be. nowhere near it. because dean's pretty sure he can't read his thoughts. can't see the depth of how much he means words he knows his tongue doesn't dare put forth even a meager attempt at expressing. how he's managing to keep his fingers from shaking as he cups cas's cheek and nudges his jawline against his temple once he's buried into his neck--is beyond his fucking comprehension and borderline god damn miraculous.

"i.. uh." tongue snakes out over his lips and he forces a faint smile. doesn't look too fake, he thinks. feels that way, anyway. "whatever makes you happiest, cas. don't wanna tell you what.. or who.. you should or shouldn't do. i," his voice drops when he has a dawning thought in real time--nothing carefully measured before being said. it just happens, "i.. don't really have any right to ask anything like that. s'not like i've ever shown you any reason to be with or not be with anyone you want. i-," his breath buckles into a sigh. i told you i love you. what do you think? makes me the biggest hypocrite in the world. not that i haven't been that before.

[qapsiel]

"Dean, it's a human portal. There's still no proof that an angel can pass." "Stow it, Cas. You're coming. That's final." "I'm just saying… if it doesn't wor … thank you. For everything." "Save the Hallmark. Okay? It's gonna work. Nobody gets left behind."

For a moment, Dean tried to hold on to that stubborn certainty, but Cas’s eyes wouldn’t let him. There was something in them, something too final, like a shadow already written in the future.

The forest was hushed, shafts of pale light breaking through the trees, dust motes drifting like falling ash. Dean felt a knot in his chest, the kind he couldn’t punch his way out of.

“Cas…” he whispered, softer than he meant to.

Cas tilted his head in that familiar way, but the gesture carried a weight now. Like he was memorizing Dean’s face, burning every detail into eternity.

Dean’s throat worked, anger and grief tangling in equal measure. He grabbed Cas by the collar, dragging him closer, pushing a huff out of him.

"I feel like, Cas, I - Ah fuck it"

Dean kissed him.

Cas pressed back, steady and unyielding, clawing his hands into Dean's jacket.

When they parted, their breaths lingered in the cold air between them. Dean’s hand stayed on Cas’s jaw, trembling. “You’re not leaving me,” he said, almost a prayer. “You hear me? You’re not.”

Cas’s lips quirked in the faintest, sorrowful smile. “Then perhaps… I’ll see you on the other side.”

And before Dean could answer, the light from the portal flared, swallowing the space around them in silence and shadow.

💚💙💚

[my social media links]

[qapsiel]

Thinking about how Mary performed femininity to please John and Dean performed masculinity to please John, about how Mary tried to ignore the itch to hunt and Dean had to smother the urge to nest, about how Mary was everything John wanted Dean to be and Dean was everything John believed Mary was, about how this man who was so important to both of them never really knew either of them at all.

[qapsiel]

Love when Cas is an incomprehensible horror to everyone else and Dean is like hehe okay now try on this hat

[qapsiel]

@impalaas in response to being afraid

                             CASTIEL STRUGGLES WITH DECIPHERING HUMAN EMOTIONS. All those subtle little gestures and facial expressions. Unfortunately, those are the only ones you can really take as gospel truth because humans tend to say the polar opposite of what they feel. What had Dean told him once? If we want something really, really badly, we lie. So: He's not sure if Dean is lying right now to mask an emotion his upbringing taught him was weak: fear. Or if he truly isn't afraid of the spinning rings of light and the 393.5 eyes looking down at him. His heart rate is elevated, at least, which could be a sign of terror. Castiel tries to make it easier for him by morphing the spinning rings into a vaguely humanoid shape instead of their usual ball form.

                              "I won't harm you, Dean. I'm still me. Just… without the vessel. You saw me like this before, you know." Now all of his eyes move into a very familiar squint. "Of course, you probably forgot about it. Raising your soul from Hell was a stressful endeavor for you."

[qapsiel]

                                 "IT'S EDIBLE BECAUSE IT'S MIXED WITH SOME SORT OF ANTIBIOTICS. Bees produce it themselves. Otherwise, the constantly warm, tightly populated hive would be an easy target for bacteria," Castiel feels the need to educate Bern. First and foremost, because it's one of the most interesting topics to ever exist, and secondly, because duh. Of course, you can eat three thousand-year-old honey. It's not a human product like peanut butter. It's bee-made perfection, but mankind tends to underestimate anything involving insects.

                                  "There are better ways to experience the past," Castiel says off-handedly, "like traveling back in time." It's not that easy, not even for an angel, but if you don't want to go too far back (e.g., the Stone Age), and aren't very particular about the exact day, then it gets easier. Of course, Bern wouldn't know that. Castiel doubts Dean told them about that time he got sent back to find out what Mary did with Azazel. "Although Ancient Egypt is impossible in my weakened state. I may be able to send you there, but I would have no way to retrieve you.

"Hey, it's free to dream. I didn't say we'd get there." Bern had expected Cas to shut the idea down immediately, but to their enormous surprise, he turned it over in his head. Contemplated it a little. The smile they gave him was small, but genuine and proud. So much so, Bern didn't even point out that giving the honey away for free would turn it from a business to a charity. The anger in his vessel's face only ramped up the delight in theirs, knowing damn well that offending piece of plastic was sitting in a cabinet in Bobby's kitchen as they spoke, and Bern made a mental note to evict the bear at the earliest opportunity. They hadn't bought it, but supposed they'd have to be in charge of finding a Cas-approved alternative.

"I read once that people found honey in Egyptian tombs, and it was still edible. I can't imagine cracking open an ancient tomb, and finding something you could put in your tea with ZERO detriment to your health and safety — unless it's cursed, but if it's not? You can just have yourself some fucking three thousand year old honey. And it's fine. I'm with you — why are companies messing with that formula, it CLEARLY works." That memory triggered another, and Bern kept going. "I also read about another guy who got his hands on yeast even older than that honey, and he used it to bake bread with the grains they would have had at the time. It was older than wheat, and he still pulled it off and got to eat ancient yeast bread. I mean — for team Frail Little Bodies, that's the closest any of us can get to going back in time."

[qapsiel]

                            OF COURSE, DEAN WOULDN'T GO BACK TO THE DAMN CAR. Castiel clenches his jaw as he keeps his hand firmly plunged into the other angel's mind, satisfied to hear the submissive agreement, but also taken aback when their connection makes him dip into the young angel's mind. Unlike Castiel, who spent the majority of his younger years in the middle of a dying star to soak up its energy and light, this version of him seemed to have been a victim of some sort of experiment. He can feel the secondhand fear pulsate through him, and it makes him almost pity the creature—almost, since he still doesn't know what, exactly, is going on here and if this young version is of any harm to Dean (or the rest of the world).

                             This is giving him a serious headache. Castiel uses his other hand now, too, to keep the angel from getting closer to Dean, because despite its agreement, he can feel it shifting a little, wanting to check out this new, strange being. Castiel doubts it has seen a human before.

                             "Dean," he manages through clenched teeth, "shut up." Then he focuses on the young angel. One hand releases the body just to grab onto a ring and tug at it — not violently, just to get its attention and make it stop talking in case Dean's eardrums would shatter. "I will not bind you unless you misbehave. Follow my orders, and you'll be free. Understood?" he asks in Enochian, then figures that it will be easier for everyone involved to use just one language. Since it will take way longer for Dean to learn the tongue of angels, they'll have to resort to other means.

                             "This angel is young. It shares my name. I don't know what's going on, so let me — let me talk to it, alright, and for the love of everything holy, just stay there," he orders Dean, automatically putting long-learned authority into his voice before his attention slips back to the creature in front of him. "I will share the knowledge of a language called English with you. This other creature over there is a human. It's frail and breakable. You must talk with utmost care and caution, do you understand?"

@bloodsalted

stay in the car. stay put! don't follow?? gotta be god damn KIDDING him if cas thought that shit would work. proof positive in the fact that there's cold, gleaming metal in his fist and the soles of his boots are planted firmly in the ground. muscles lining his jaw tighten as back teeth grind together. green eyes narrow in the dark as he hauls ass after cas. slowing down as he nears the glow and what he saw truly comes into view, confusion rounds his eyes. steps slow to a stop. jesus christ! transfixed damn near instantly, he takes in the scene with a shake of his head as if he can't compute what he's seeing (up close, not distant, not in his head as an image conjured from paper). dean watches the exchange with a scrutinizing glare. taking in and processing every moment between cas and the biblical horror walked straight out of the pages of john winchester's journal and about half a dozen freaky weird texts he's had to plough through thanks to wars and battles thrown their way.

dean doesn't look away from the angel. wary, cautious gaze barely blinks. he never seen one in the flesh... or did he? something eerie settles in the pit of his stomach. a distant, dislocated memory that part of his brain connects to. disjointed. strange. like remembering a dream but not in the right details. just enough to know you were there.. taken in, processed. if he has to fight? he's got no idea what the hell to do to a being made of pure light and holiness. would this blade even work? push comes to shove? he'll figure it out. castiel's expression and movements under heavy observation--he'll react according to the being speaking so firmly to the entity. ignore the quickness of his pulse. ignore a hint of underlying fear in his gaze. who in their right mind wouldn't have at least some? regardless of the things you've seen and done. or, perhaps, because of the things you've seen and done have created some primal response in your brain that even years doesn't quite erase.

brow burrows as it paws at and touches cas. as if to remind himself that he isn't unarmed and helpless, the hunter clutches his weapon tighter. his whole frame jerks when the being's attention is tossed his way. cas's immediate response (a hand shoved into the angel's fucking soul) parts his lips immediately, a stuttered word that doesn't quite make it. then circles back, "cas," comes in the form of a question. barely audible but firm. some of that fear dissipates. where it would increase with any other person? the earns the opposite from dean. is he warning it to stay away from him? YES. a solid glare and a purse of his lips are directed at the back of a tan trenchcoat. you really think he's going back to the car, cas? c'mon!

"...the hell's going on? what does it WANT?"

[qapsiel]

                               CASTIEL BLINKS ONCE, TWICE, BRIEFLY SURPRISED AT THE HAND IN HIS OWN. This is not what he meant. He merely thought to emphasize his offer with an open palm because humans identify this as a non-threatening gesture, and he needs his vessel's hand to dip into Dean's mind to delete the nightmare-inducing memories. But Dean saw the hand and deciphered the gesture as an offer to… hold it. This is a strange response. Isn't hand-holding usually tied to the idea of romance? Well, Castiel supposes small children also hold the hands of their parents, but this is just as unlikely. Since he doesn't know what to do, he just sits there, accepting Dean's hand and looking at him even though the hunter doesn't look back.

                                "Well, then," he says, relieved to hear that Dean agrees to the dreamless sleep. Now he can do something except be confused about their handholding. Two fingers of his unoccupied hand come up. "I'll watch over you," he solemnly swears, and before Dean can say anything dumb (like no, don't watch me sleeping), Castiel touches his forehead and sends him into a deep, restful slumber. Dean's head falls back hard against the headboard; the angel winces in sympathy, glad that the hunter is too deep down to notice any pain, and then he carefully manhandles Dean into a better sleeping position than slouching against the wall. He even tugs the ugly blanket tight around his frame to ensure maximum warmth. And then, after a brief moment of hesitation, he slips his hand back beneath Dean's palm, his eyes glued to a freckled face.

"yeah," dean answers cas's observation even though it didn't require one. under his breath and muttered. barely given voice but the reply lingers on damp lips that hang partially open as he draws a shaken breath through them. a scowl mars his pallid expression. thoughts a million miles below the grave. still creepign up to haunt him in the worst kind of ways. ones he keeps hidden.. ya know? until he can't. like when someone appears out of nowhere to rouse you from the prison of your own sleeping mind. that'll open you up for observation. won't it? no matter how deeply you try to hide. learning that lesson bit by bit. the longer cas circles around him, the more he's picked up throughout the years. he's never truly alone. and yet? even in that knowledge? his brain likes to fuck with him. tell him he is. and it's all he deserves to be.

blue eyes that hold infinite shades that can barely be described (cause nothing in the hunter's vocabulary--made up words or not--could ever give them proper justice) as all the colors of the sea meeting the richest of skies on the horizon hold him in their caring, cautious gaze. freckled nose twitches as he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. offer made. hesitant gaze moves from the angel's down to his hand. does he want him to take it? dean isn't sure. the idea rests in his belly. knots it up in ways he doesn't put words to because that'd give it more meaning than he's ready for.

head shakes in the negative. no, he doesn't want his memories messed with. coward's way out of the consequences of what he did there? not his style. bury him if it ever is. eye contact isn't reclaimed--however? a hand slips into cas's. long fingers with their blunt nails and calloused tips curl around the offered palm, give it a grateful squeeze. sticks around after, too. "m'not gonna let myself forget. got my reasons. more than what most people'd think. more than some fucked up masochistic bullshit." maybe one day? he'll share. that said? "...uh. but okay on the sleep. just.. this time.."

[qapsiel]

I've fulfilled my obsession.

[qapsiel]

                            "THEY'RE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HOUSE." Sporting some burns as well, though neither has a broken bone. Dean worries about the Impala's upholstery absorbing the smell of the fire when Castiel checks on them in the time it takes Bern to take a breath. His wings stoke the flames even further, though it's not like the house can be saved, so Castiel does not care; instead of folding them back up, though, he keeps them spread. Bern can't see them, but the intense blaze is now a little less severe, the heat shielded and endurable.

                             Castiel gives them a look of utter bafflement, like he can't understand why someone with a broken leg would a) not want to see a medical professional, and b) try to distract from the issue by pointing out a burn hole in a coat. "I am well. This is just fabric," he points out like a kindergarten teacher talking to an especially daft child. "I do not advise asking Sam or Dean or Bobby. They're not medical professionals. If you worry about the idiotic capitalistic social system you're living in, I can just make the doctor forget they treated you. Or that you've been to the hospital in the first place. That way, you won't get a bill."

As undignified as it probably looked, and as much as it hurt, being held in place still hit some dumb pathetic part of their brain that went wow — human contact. Fast and loose with the human aspect, but hey, he was wearing one. Brown eyes lifted to the fireball where the house used to be, and the coughing resumed like it remembered being inside. Bern had to wonder just how close they came to becoming toasted queer if they hadn't jumped when they did.

"Where's Sam and Dean?"

The boys couldn't still be inside, they refused to believe that, but worry still reached into their chest and squeezed. Cas stopped and Bern knew nothing that followed would be gentle, and they were not disappointed. Their ass hit the dirt and the broken leg rebounded off the ground with a jolt of pain Bern couldn't even vocalize. Instead, their skin went three shades paler, and lungs didn't seem to breathe until it all settled. As for more than just Bobby? Well. The boys would probably have a melancholy few days, but get over it. Maybe even Cas, in his own way. But that internal debate scattered the moment he spoke the dreaded word, and Bern's eyes snapped up with true fear.

"Wait, no, can you set it? Or we'll see if the boys can set it, and maybe Bobby can rig me a cast? I can't afford a hospital, Cas, it'd cost more than my fucking car." They knew the Winchesters had dealt with their fair share of broken limbs, if Bern wasn't dying, they wanted a second opinion. The burn on his coat caught their eye, and they gestured to it. "What about you, are you okay?"

[qapsiel]

                                 CASTIEL LETS DEAN CHEW ON HIS COMPARISON TO SAM, though he's unprepared when Dean turns the tables and uses Castiel's own past against him. Funny, isn't it, how they both manage to put the finger in the wound that will hurt most. He squares his jaw and turns around, so Dean can't see his face for a moment as he busies himself with finding the correct recipe in the Thermomix app.

                                  Dean isn't wrong. Castiel thought he did the right thing when he made a deal with Crowley to find Purgatory's souls and defeat Raphael, or when he trusted Metatron to lock the angels in Heaven. Castiel wonders when he turned from a tactical leader of his own garrison into this, and then almost immediately knows the answer. 

                                  "I know you think I'm naive," he mutters. "I can't blame you. My past decisions speak against me. But if becoming human has taught me one thing, then it's hope." Castiel turns around again, his gaze intense. "I believe he's innocent. He has done nothing in the last 14 months to suggest otherwise. And until he proves me wrong, I think he deserves to live. What would be worse? Raising a potentially evil child and killing it if it truly becomes evil? Or killing a baby that might be innocent? Could you live with that?" It's a rhetorical question; even Dean doesn't see the world in black and white anymore. He became friends with a vampire and a werewolf, for crying out loud. "You're welcome to stay and get to know him. But I won't let you harm him, Dean."

Nobody likes a skeptic. Dean stays one, anyway.

"That's not the same thing at all." Except for the parts where it sort of is. He doesn't need the cue to picture the albatross of Sam's dark-side potential: beginning, middle, or what they can even quantify as an end. It's seared into his skull with every other mistake they -- Dean -- has made. And how many times has he argued from the other side, to Sam, against Sam, for Sam? Cas lands every hit below the belt and then some. Dean's head swims with deja vu and gut deep foreboding. He can't fold.

"He gave you an ego boost and a vision." Simplify the appeal. "Now you're all in? Sold American? Come on, use your head." That tapers off closer to a plea than a reprimand, which may be for the best. Dredging up the past is nasty work, but if the angel insists: "How many times are you gonna fall for that schtick?"

Twice, at least, when he considers. Crowley and the Leviathan. Metatron's bullshit. Same colossally stupid song, same abhorrently selfish verse. Worse yet, he can't even really blame him for it, not when he's this removed from the sales pitch. "Look. I get you're trying to do the right thing. I do. But this?" Helpless, Dean's gaze flits over the pottery barn fueled nightmare Castiel has appropriated. He's not even angry. Not really. "Tell me how it's different. 'Cause none of this ... none of this seems new."

[qapsiel]

cas stripping down from his usual trench coat getup to just the dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows during a case and sam has to consistently check dean back into the conversation because hes too busy ogling at cas's forearms like a starved man at a steak dinner

[qapsiel]

                               CASTIEL EXPECTED MANY THINGS BUT NOT THIS. She asks for help on a hunt? The angel knows he just offered his assistance mere seconds ago, but he never believed she'd actually accept. Usually, she's too I can get by on my own, which he respects. "Of course," he says immediately, trying and failing to hide his joy. "Werewolves require a silver bullet." It's not said to educate her, to mansplain—it's more that Castiel wants to show Claire he's not an idiot and knows a thing or two about monsters.

okay,  he  caught  on  to  the  fact  that  she  was  hunting.  no  getting  past  him  is  there?  just  when  she  thought  she  was  about  to  get  away  with  it,  she  thought  wrong.  as  much  as  she  was  ready  to  take  on  this  hunt  alone…  like  she  usually  did…  maybe  having  him  by  her  side  wouldn't  be  too  bad.  “i'm  hunting  this  wolf  pack  if  you  wanted  to  come? could use the help...”

[qapsiel]

idk how anyone hates dean i get shown a man who has done the laundry for his family since he was like 7 and i have to love him sorry

[qapsiel]

                                CASTIEL IS NOT SUBTLE WHEN HIS GAZE DIPS DOWN TO LOOK AT DEAN'S HAND. Heat seeps through the rough fabric of his jeans and into his skin. It's just an inch from being indecent; a little higher, and Castiel could think Dean would want to start something right here, right now. Of course, before all this, he wouldn't have known about the subtle yet important differences of a hand placed on a thigh, but the orgies have been rather educational over the months. That and Castiel's habit not to mince his words.

                                 "We did that far more often back then," he points out as he looks up again, examining the part of Dean's face he can see. "Going from one stop to the next. Every week, a different hunt for you. You went across the country all the time. Motel after motel after motel. Thousands of miles in a couple of days. Compared to that, now is strange." Not only for Dean; without his wings, Castiel can't just visit, say, Norway anymore. Can't find solitude at the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro or dip his toes into the hot springs of Hakone. They're both bound to Camp Chiquita these days. "You need to take the next right," Castiel advises, changing the subject. After a short moment, his hand lands on top of Dean's, keeping it trapped on his thigh.

lot of if whats in their lives nowadays, isn't there? if is a word dean's intimately familiar with. if he fought harder to save sammy, would they have made it? if he just had the ability to pull his balls together and go finish this fight no matter what the outcome was, they'd at least either all be dead or the world might be on its last hinges, swinging like a rusted metal door--but even those have some sorta use and can be fixed. maybe not back to their original glory but close. with enough patchwork to make them function again. if he was able to protect cas from his fate, cas wouldn't feel so fucking lost day in and day out that he hates what he's become to the point that, sometimes, dean feels (knows?) the angel struggles to meet his eye. and if it's in his head? good luck convincing the hunter the opposite. if. if. IF.

if's a fucked up word. one of the worst. see, cas? you're feeling that now.

"little too close to town. didn't wanna risk it," dean murmurs--his mind circling back to a handful of thoughts that he didn't squash into bits yet. if they could just get away.. might think he doesn't dream of the idea. that he's lost the ability to hold onto any sorta fantasy where an escape route for two would lead them somewhere that reality couldn't touch. or that if he could save the world--or at least rummage what was left out of the disease and rot--yeah okay. letting his brain dilly-dally's not getting them anywhere near shelter for the night and that's what's important. cas suggests a farm he vaguely remembers passing by. mind too many places at once. "sounds perfect. you're stuck with me another night then." in a bold move? perhaps echoing some other events that've unfolded around them lately? dean's hand swings over--seeming without thought and natural as can be--rests upon cas's upper thigh. gives it a thankful squeeze.

"gettin' tired of it yet," his voice lifts. there's a small attempt at humor. almost like he's testing it out on his tongue. "y'know? being dragged from one stop to the next?"

[qapsiel]