theroadpaved | Open PSL

Alright-- [ There's probably some stuff to unpack here. But Dean's been living out of a suitcase since he was four, so there's no guarantee he'll manage it. ]

Let's get this cleared up right now. 'cause I know you feel bad about your angel mojo situation, but this is not the hill to die on, Cas.

[ Look, see, he's walking over properly and everything. ]

One, you didn't fail anything. My head wasn't in the game, I should've known better, I got myself shot. And you know what? Still here. Crap happens, buddy. [ He gestures to their general surroundings. This is just some of the crap. The crap that's happened. ] Two, it's nobody's job to keep me safe. Not yours. Not Sam's. You watch my back, I'll watch yours, that's plenty to go around.

[ And the same is not true for him because it actually is his job to keep the last little scraps of people he cares about safe, and he's the one that keeps fucking up at it. Goes without saying. Thank you. ]

Three-- [ VERY important, three- ] If we don't find a pond when we get a half-mile out, I'm lighting it up anyway.

[ Cas can have one concession because Dean loves him and is so generous and mature. Wow. ]

[Dean swaggers up to him and Castiel digs within the well of affection he has for the man, ever present as it is, to keep himself from automatically ignoring everything coming out of his mouth out of spite.

This is the problem with the two of them. Dean is, without a doubt, the greatest and most loyal friend Castiel has ever had in his entire life, and one of the most loving people to ever exist besides, but they are fundamentally different species. It makes everything from communication to discerning intent a fucking nightmare, to put it plainly, and now is one of those times because Dean looks as if he's explaining extremely simple concepts to a small child and Castiel is trying to derail the train of thought that chugs along to the tune of Why don't you get it, why don't you get it?

"I know you feel bad about your angel mojo situation," like Castiel didn't bring this upon himself by destroying his family and his home and then fleeing from it like a coward. "You didn't fail anything," like Castiel isn't a creature capable of spreading out his senses like water, half-occupying an area with a radius of five hundred feet to pinpoint every movement, hear every breath, catch every scent. Dean's head wasn't in the game? Castiel's entire being had checked out. "It's nobody's job to keep me safe," like Dean isn't all of the best things about humanity that God commanded the angels to love. Four hundred million years of watching and waiting, for these few scant years spent in the bubble of warmth given off by one Dean Winchester, and he thinks that it's not Castiel's job to look after him.

Even more than that, he chose this job, against Heaven's will. Like he's not going to take that gunshot wound personally.

-but Dean caves. Or at least, that's how Castiel's going to choose to see it. He'll walk with Cas to look for a better spot, possibly because between the two of them, despite all outward appearances, Dean is actually the more reasonable person here and Castiel is the fucking insane lunatic creature who will go to truly unhinged lengths to get what he wants. Which, given what he wants is Dean alive and well, he doesn't find to be too unreasonable after all.]

Fine.

[All of that, summed up to 'fine.' Don't worry, there's a chaser.] But if you die in this forest fire, I will kill the Reaper that comes for you and will pour out my Grace into the ground to raise you back up. [So be prepared for THAT, bucko.

And since that's not up for debate, Cas will whirl dramatically and start stalking his way upstream.]

Edited 2025-11-12 04:41 (UTC)

[ Dean reminds himself, not for the first time or for the last, that there's only so long and so many times you can say "you have no idea how much I missed this" once you get someone back. Like, before it's just weird to say anything. Every morning he wakes up and puts the sentiment in a professional sleeper hold, because that's what he does with most of his sentiments. It's part of the gig.

Damn, he did, though. He missed this. He lets himself have this surge of weirdly-timed affection about it while no one's actively trying to murder them again. Before his brain can sour it somehow. ]

Well if it's that easy, [ he says to basically nothing because Cas is already whirling off like a drama queen and Dean has to very coolly stumble into following him. (If a man tries to clap back in a forest and no one hears it, does it really make a sound?)

And look, Dean will maintain it's no one's job to keep him safe or take care of him for the rest of his life probably. Them's the breaks. As close as he gets to making peace with anything, he did that a long while back.

But it's not like it's not nice to hear it from Sam or from Cas or-- anyone. Once in a while. It's nice to hear. It's nice that they... try or whatever. That sentiment just has to get escalated from a sleeper hold to a bare-handed crushing for the purposes of living in reality, is all. ]

You're one stubborn sonofabitch, you know that?

[ Normal things to sound all fond and like you're gonna write about in your diary with glitter gel pens later. Girl..... get UP. ]

I've been told. [Tone flatter than the flattest object on Earth. The irritatingly obvious affection in Dean's voice does not go unnoticed and it makes him feel conflicting things. One emotion at a time is confusing enough.

Dean stumbles again and Cas turns, holds out a palm towards the ground and- yes. Uses his grace like a flashlight. Like Dean probably doesn't have one in his pocket like usual. Shut up, leave him alone, let him be helpful.]

[ Even when he's in a snit he turns to help Dean out. You get up too Cas. But don't actually. Dean doesn't deserve it, but he's selfish enough to keep on enjoying that special Castiel quality while it lasts.

And if it might help Cas out with that all-too-familiar "if I can't do anything that feels useful I will die" feeling... fine, that's a bonus. Because getting the usefulness thing outta Cas's thick-ass angelic skull is gonna take a lot more time and work than they have right now.

Grace lights it up a little sharper anyway. Dean's starting to wonder if he even is the weirdo loyal knight right now. Dammit. ]

What can I say, I call 'em like I see 'em. [ Anger issues mcgee. ] I should probably shuffle "Backdraft" down the movie night list after this, huh?

[ Even though it's awesome. Like really awesome. ]

[Gives him the most exhausted look] ...I don't know, [because he has no idea what that's about. He has seen 3 Looney Toons, a pornography about pizza, and that's it.]

[ Dean counters with: his least exhausted, most annoying look. ]

Well, it's about badass firefighters, so. [ Wiggles lighter in the air for emphasis. ] We might need to plant some trees before we earn that one back.

[ A little joke. As a treat. ]

[Once again reminded that one of Dean's favorite activities is to just park Cas, Sam, and himself in front of a television set or Sam's laptop for an hour or two. He still doesn't get it.]

Hopefully we won't need to burn much for the druid to show itself. [Because it really is a pity. If it wasn't a matter of survival, Cas wouldn't have suggested it. Humans so rarely rally to protect the pieces of the Earth that don't directly benefit them, it feels almost cruel to destroy one.

Unfortunately for them, half a mile isn't very far and the creek doesn't open up into a pool of any significance. Cas still tries to get Dean to walk further by distracting him, asking about what other movies have firefighters, but that's not going to work for long if it does at all.]

[ Well maybe one day he will get it. Or he won't. He's a movie night hostage regardless. ]

Yeah, hopefully. No one wants to eighty-six Chip and Dale for some psycho druid. [ Psycho because they are one, or like just psycho in general? Why not both?

For whatever it's worth to Cas, the distraction tactic does in fact work for a bit. Not as well as, say, old cowboy movies or Die Hard would've worked. But it works some. ]

-- I mean c'mon, man, Steve McQueen, Faye Dunaway, star power for days. Great movie. Awesome movie. It's a ten. Sam tries to say it's trashy 'cause Sam's got bad taste and he likes to piss me off, alright? And he's wrong!

[ It's formative. The Towering Inferno is formative! Possibly just to Dean Winchester and his distant dreams of being a firefighter once upon a time. ]

It was '74, Sammy, of course the effects were gonna-- [ verbal keysmash. ] I'm not even gonna talk about it. Not even worth arguing about, that's how wrong that little geek is.

[ HUFFS. HUFFS!!!!!

...

........ ]

Cas.

There's a pond about a hundred feet up ahead, [Cas says in what he thinks is a very unassuming and sneaky manner, like he just so happened to notice and isn't trying to fend off some accusations of trickery]

Edited 2025-11-12 17:16 (UTC)

[ The audacity. The nerve. Dean bets Cas is soooo proud of himself, too.

Dean's been had. He's been bamboozled. He's been manipulated. ]

What's with this nefarious bullcrap? [ Nefariously wanting to have more resources to keep Dean from dying if things go bad!

Okay fine the reasons weren't actually nefarious. But if Dean says that, he loses. Good intent. Nefarious practices! ] Were you even listening or are you just into using my movie reviews to get what you want now? 'cause I don't have to put up with that.

[ "Don't ramble to Cas about your favorite little pop cultures at slightest provocation (challenge level: impossible but we're not gonna admit that)." ]

[Oh no did the middle aged human get taken in by the spanner-in-the-works master strategist who has been running enemy diversionary tactics for longer than some stars have been alive]

San Francisco, the Glass Tower, electrical fire. Critically acclaimed for its time.

[And, because he wants Dean placated these last fifty feet but also -and more importantly- because he means it, with every particle of his being:] I'm always listening when you speak to me, Dean.

[ Tricked like a common doofus. It's just plain shameful.

If Dean feels a way about that. The I'm always listening when you speak to me. All easy and sincere. Some combination of feeling, good and bad and soft and ugly and fond and bitter and writhing around behind his ribcage-- why but also do you, though? really? I can think of a few times you clearly weren't and it got me a front-row seat to living nightmare territory--

If he feels any kind of way about that, no he doesn't. There's too much of it to go around and he doesn't wanna deal with any of it because they're still having fun out here. For a given definition of fun. So he works his jaw, and he grinds it down with the heel of his metaphorical boot, and he makes himself have fun while they can. ]

Likely story. Tell it to the pop quiz later. [ Gottem. He regards the stupid pond as he strolls past it. ] Ten bucks says I get salmonella if I gotta end up in there.

[ And that would be the dumbest possible way to go.

It's fine. No one can stop him from making his little tinder piles now! He refuses. They're on a tight timeline. ]

[And that would be where the inter-species communication starts to breaks down. The conflict shows at the corners of Dean's mouth and Castiel is reminded of a dark night in Bobby's house with incorrect angel-proofing on the windows, when that why doesn't he get it train had been screaming down its tracks, when Dean looked both like a savior and his own personal hell telling Cas trust me, just trust me, and all Castiel could think about was just days ago, Crowley's men, two punches away from caving in all their skulls. The difference between I'm an angel and you're just a man and they'll have to go through me to get to you so miniscule in his own mind, but the gap between he and Dean large enough for the wind to whistle through, cold. Dean, with his ever burning faith in himself and his brother and Bobby and humanity and then Cas, with the fragility of men everyone considered immortal, dying choked on their own blood. Neither of them able to say what they mean.

Maybe they'll figure it out someday.

Not today, though. Which is smart of Dean, given the amount of other shit they're currently dealing with. Castiel, satisfied with more water nearby, stands aside and sharply watchful, blade sliding from his sleeve with the barest hint of noise while Dean stoops to tend to the embers. It's a little damp here by the pond, but it hasn't rained in days and it's mid-fall with leaf litter. The flames will catch quickly.

It isn't until some nearby underbrush has also caught fire that there's that sharp glass-strike ping of magic, and a heavily bearded man with wild, horrified eyes steps out from between some trees, looking as if he's dressed in a ghillie suit with a crossbow trained on Castiel and a gun on Dean.]

[ There is no stronger communication than the unspoken agreement that today, right now, is absolutely not the time to learn communicating.

Fires to start. People to save. Things to kill. Angels to defend to Dean's last scraped-out breath, whenever that may be. Including from, uh. Bargain bin Navy SEAL over there, he guesses. ]

Look who got the invite! You bring those marshmallows?

[ Eyes on him pal, he is cool and annoying and doesn't give any fucks about nature oooooooooh.

It's cool if he shoots at this guy though, right. Don't answer that, he's already trying to do it. It feels like shooting doesn't work the way it used to anymore, but if Dean lets that stop him from trying, he'll never try anything. Why did he even bring a regular gun to what they thought was a witch fight, you may be asking?

Literally why not? In what world does he ever not have at least one gun and one knife on his person just in case they can kill something? ]

[Dean's aim, as always, is impeccable. The druid gives a yelp of pure shock, falling backwards as both of his own shots go wide and something dark and thick sprays up from his neck. It doesn't take long for the druid to start to gurgle; Castiel moves in closer, because if anybody is going to make sure this motherfucker is dead, it's the guy who can't be killed.

That certainly looks like a dying person, but the smell is wrong. The smell is...sweet?]

Dean, [Castiel says lowly in warning, angel sword still held on the dying body as he looks back over at the Winchester, but at that moment that ping sounds and he only just manages to launch himself in Dean's direction just in time to catch the crossbow bolt in its path. The good news is that Dean's heart didn't just get skewered.

The bad news is that the bolt sinks into Castiel's eye instead and he does completely, utterly blank, collapsing flat to the ground as if he were a deactivated doll.]

[ It's cool how every single day is a new reminder of how the horrors persist. It's cool how that just happens. It's cool how you'll literally die and go to Hell and break on the rack and go through Purgatory and back and lose and lose and lose and lose people, lose the same people more than once, and it still hurts the same. Every single goddamn time.

There's a moment, in the space between seeing it happen and remembering those first bolts, that-- immobilization thing, and remembering that Cas is technically unkillable, especially by something that was aiming for more of a human target-- aiming for--

There's some half a second where it feels like that all over again. Like being torn open. ]

Cas! [ Because it scrapes out of him. Because of course it does.

The fire is spreading. Druid's armed, dangerous, and on the loose. Every beaten-in soldier's instinct in Dean says keep moving. Find it, kill it, circle back, you're good at that.

He's not, though. Always good at that. Which explains why he's hitting his knees next to Cas instead, turning him with his stupid unsteady hands, leaving streaks of dead leaves and soot on his face. Really not helping that this looks godawful. Not helping at all.

If he just- if he just makes sure Cas is gonna be okay, he can take this target apparently on his own back right now (you shoot one guy, jeez) and go Rambo, because now that means it's a nothing issue, that doesn't even matter. ]

Cas, hey. Hey. What did I say about the arrows, huh? [ -you have to move you have to move you're making two real pretty targets out here like this- okay and???? look what they did to him. They massacred his boy. ] You're gonna be fine, buddy, I got it.

[ Cas just has to be fine is all. And then Dean can run that bastard up a couple laps, get a feel for him. Track him, kill him, keep it efficient. Make it fast. A little bit of attack dog as a treat. Magic whomst. Forest fire whomst. It's the very least of what Cas deserves, and god knows Dean doesn't have a good track record of managing even that. ]

Damn, I'm sorry about this.

[ For, you know, many reasons, both reasonable and unreasonable.

But specifically because his role as "guy trying to yank a crossbolt out of Cas's face" is back on the menu. ]

[The druid -or the approximation of it, a facsimile that Castiel would've been able to report if he'd had the time- is collapsing in on itself, composed of moss and rotten bark and bleeding sweet sticky sap. There isn't another glass-striking ping of magic, not yet, but that could be due to the spreading flames that are starting to creep ever closer to where Dean is trying to manipulate the dead weight of a non-responsive Castiel.

His body still bleeds at least, his good eye blank but the pupils still responding to light, shrinking and swelling as his face moves in and out of view of the flames as Dean holds him, tilts his head, tries to look. His mouth moves soundlessly; gasps of air rattle into his lungs uselessly. How aware he is of what's going on is anybody's guess.

But then Dean grips the shaft of the bolt sticking out of his eye and Castiel's hands grab onto Dean's wrists and squeeze hard enough to grind the bones. A high-pitched shrieking whistles through the air and strips the bark from nearby trees like a sonic weapon, and it doesn't stop until Castiel forces Dean's hand off and away from the bolt, the socket dribbling blood and both clear and milky liquids.

There's no recognition on his face. Castiel stares up at Dean with his single eye like he's never feared or hated anything or anyone more.]

[ Time for a riveting round of What Stings Most: the gunshot wound, the wrists, or Dean's guilt complex? The answer goes without saying, actually. He feels really bad and slightly freaked out. Dare he say worried.

(Worry which is not what has his ears ringing like no tomorrow, so go ahead and put that on the list. RIP eardrums. Jesus. Sorry if he's yelling a little as default.)

Cas doesn't look at him like this. Cas never looks at him like this. He's pretty damn sure he would've noticed by now. ]

... Cas? [ Which comes out a little too vulnerable and confused, too open for his taste. Can't have that. ] If you're lookin' for bedside manner right now, I'm not-- I'm not the guy for the job on a good day, man. [ Least of all today, fire issue notwithstanding.

Not much better. But a little better. ]

So let me help.

Edited (WAIT i forgor one of the most important parts of the horrors) 2025-11-13 14:07 (UTC)

[You're hurting him.

Angels in the field are instructed to follow two core tenets: first, always first, complete the mission. If brothers fall or battlegrounds burn, it doesn't matter as long as the mission is a success. Second, distantly so, watch your brother's back. That one was more of an agreement between garrison members, unspoken but understood. Mission success is of course of the utmost importance, but not all angels would trample a dying brother to achieve it. Many would reach down to lift him to his feet first, and make do later. Anna was like that before she Fell.

You're scaring him.

Castiel liked to think of himself as one of them too, one of the noble angels who would stoop to lift a wounded soldier into his arms first, but he also has distinct memories of doing the opposite and no memory of why he'd done it. Because he was a good soldier, of course; that's what he'd been told. Because he was strong and capable and he followed orders so diligently. The perfect soldier, no feeling, no deviance. That's what he was, for millions of years, and he found pride in that. What else was there to be? He's an instrument of the Lord Father's will.

Castiel, you promised Sam.

Heat crackles next to him. Her wrists are so fragile in his grip.

Her...?

There's blood trickling from Dean's ears and his wrists are in Castiel's hands and he's breaking them.

I'm begging you.

Castiel wrenches his hands off of Dean Winchester; his wings open by instinct and meet the chains binding them; a sound like violently tearing cloth rips through the air above the crackling roar of the forest fire and Castiel gags as he breaks one of his wings on the magic chaining him to the ground. The fire is too close. He can't fly. Dean Winchester is in danger of fire and his Voice and him so Castiel shoves him as hard as he can into the pond.

The second Dean's head disappears beneath the water, Castiel rolls into his knees, grabs the bolt in his vessel's eye and rips it free; the ruined eye goes with it. The resulting scream of his Voice goes off like a bomb; it rips the oxygen from the fire, smothering it, levels the smaller trees and carves the larger ones bare, a semicircle of destruction not unlike Dean's gravesite.

Castiel kneels, trembling, the eye refusing to heal, conflicting orders and broken wing and the eons-deep dread that accompanies the understanding that he's a danger to Dean rendering him immobile.]

[ Hmmm. Bad.

To call this disorienting would be a massive understatement. Hot to cold, dry to wet, light to dark, together to alone, upright to whatever the hell direction he lands facing, whatever the hell is happening- happening out there.

Something high and resonant and Terrible, something not meant to happen on Earth, muffled and muted while Cas is going off like a damn A-bomb.

Dean thinks, more than anything, about the gagging sound, about the look on Cas's face and what could've put it there. His brain knows how to think about those. How to parse them.

Dean sucks down some water when he hits, struggles with every counteracting reflex saying breathe-don'tbreathe-breathe until he can make enough sense to haul himself back up. To try to crawl out of the gross-ass muck, graceless and undignified and coughing. But he'd like to see anyone manage better in his position. Shit hurts, man. ]

Cas, [ which could be a warning, a plea, a question. Maybe it's all three. Dean wants to sound cool and not wretched, half gagging on pondwater. He's gonna try his damndest.

If he's not dead, he's got no excuse not to keep crawling. Keep trying to get his feet back under him. Just gotta get the world to sit still long enough.

It takes more than that, a prayer, a personal lifeline. Still here.

It's okay. It's gonna be okay. ]

Talk to me!

[ NOT THAT HE IS FRANTIC OR ANYTHING THOUGH. Sike he's frantic. ]

[Dean needs him.

Wounded angels get trampled.

Dean needs him. Okay.

Dean needs help.

Castiel is shuffling towards the pond shore on his knees. Muck sinks unnoticed through the knees of his slacks; he reaches for Dean in the darkness but- hesitates. Makes fists instead around his coat to haul him back fully out of the water. His Grace is uncooperative. A pinprick of bright white flickers in his remaining eye and then, suddenly, Dean's clothes are dry again, at least. Nothing to be done about wounds or shock.]

Are you alright, [Castiel whispers, terrified for Dean's hearing. Please tell him he didn't deafen him.]

[ Cas is still here. That's important fact numero uno. He didn't turn out to be angel poisoned and have the audacity to literally explode and die or something, which Dean is just... nowhere near prepared to get through. So.

As much as tension ever really vacates this man, he manages for that. Because Cas is still here, at least. It's something.

Anyway fuck your question. Agitated and highly worried question for a question instead. ]

Cas, what the hell was that? [ Said with the elegance and restraint of a guy who may in fact be a little hard of hearing right now. ] We good? You good? Huh?

[ Surely there is some part of Cas he can whap with his dumbass flailing hand here. Ohhhhhsonofabitch ow, bad idea, but no time to regret doing that.

What's the status on his weird little guy. His weird little eldritch horror ASSHOLE best friend who's taking him to a bottomless pancake joint after this before Dean dies from Pond Diseases (he just decided). ]

[Dean's arm flings out, he paws at the ground- he's looking for a hand, for something to ground him, to help him up, but Castiel- he can't, he shouldn't-

He doesn't. He doesn't reach for him. He kneels in the mud and tucks his hands down into his lap, away from Dean, his empty socket pouring blood as he takes in Dean's ears, blood already starting to crust in the divots, as he watches the discolorations bloom around Dean's wrists in real time. Hurt him again.]

I don't know, [Castiel tells him; it sounds like a nothing answer. It's the most honest thing he's said in a while. He surprises himself with it, because he'd been sure a moment ago that the real answer was nothing, I'm fine, let's move on. But he's hearing that whir and he's seeing the pains he's inflicted on Dean and he's recalling something that he never did. Hurting Dean. Did he hurt him before this? Did they fight?

He doesn't know. Cas doesn't know. And that's the terrifying part, because he's sure he should.] I don't know. ...since I got out of Purgatory. [Dean already knows that Cas doesn't remember how he got out of Purgatory, it's a mystery they haven't delved into. One Cas has avoided seeing Heaven about, afraid of what he'll do to himself.

But...] I think I... I think I've been...losing time. I don't... [His broken wing twitches and Cas gives a full body flinch.

Wounded angels get trampled.]

[ Oh.

Oh, this isn't a cool talk to have from on the ground. Way too many things wrong right now.

So first things first, Dean is getting himeself up. Everyone please pretend he has dignity in this moment. ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

angel radio inundated with cas chanting I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM while dean yaps

doomed by the narrative (to fall for a yapper)

those are some of his best features (his yappings)

no subject

no subject

boutta be like "the rammies bro......"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

1/2 sry in advance if this takes like 3hrs bc of.... Job