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[ 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. ]

[ Okay. Okay. Marginally better as an upright conversation.

Dean shuffles his way towards Cas because personal space only matters when a) he wants it to, and b) it's not dark as hell.

Okay and c) when he's not deeply and fundamentally worried about someone. ]

Why didn't you tell us? Hell, tell me, at least? [ He knows it's probably out of his paygrade, but-- after everything? After telling him what he has already?

How bad must it be? ]

Cas, we could've been helpin' you with this!

[ That's literally what family is here for??? They would do it in a heartbeat. Figure something out. Less than a heartbeat, even.

hypocrite4hypocrite romance right here. ]

[Dean shouldn't have to deal with this. And- and this is hardly the time. There's a druid still out there hunting Dean, and they're both wounded and now Castiel really is immobile. He's really fucked this up. He has to salvage this. He has to-]

I'm sorry, Dean. [Of course Dean would be angry; not telling him of his potential weaknesses put Dean in considerable danger. Even if Castiel only suspected, he should've said something for the sake of the gar- the group. For Dean and Sam.] You should keep moving. If you follow the creek down you should eventually find a footpath out of the park. I'll stay here and restart the fire. [The druid will have to choose whether to chase Dean or deal with the fire and Cas, and given their compulsion to protect nature, Cas is sure they'll focus on him first.] I'll...follow you when I can. But you need to warn Sam, first.

Yeah, put an apology in one hand and crap in the other, tell me which one fills up first. Don't be sorry. Talk to us. [ Obviously. Obviously!

How is he supposed to take care of this dumbass angel if Cas won't let him? How is he supposed to take what's probably been a long line of hints and stop trying when it's-- it's Cas?

(Why isn't he healing? What's happening here? And how does Dean hold it all together with his two measly human hands until Cas feels safer?)

Case in point: the easiest response in the world that Castiel, angel of the Lord, just teed up for him. ]

No. [ Not that he feels his mouth dry out and his chest constrict or anything. Not that the terror of failing to do one of the one damn things he's supposed to be good for, again, is unshakeable or anything.

It's normal emotions, actually. ]

You don't ask me to do that. You don't.

[ Or he may throw a punch and break a hand on principle. ]

[BRO UGH he gets that you're mad and that apologies are useless but do NOT right now] There's no time for this. The druid is powerful, and we can't let Sam or other people walk in here with no warning. If you'd just follow the creek to the path-

[ Oh, he WILL right now. ]

And if you'd just get it through your skull that I can't!

[ There's no non-pathetic way to beg. There's no non-pathetic way to say don't ask me, don't make me. To ask for that.

(If Dean knows anything, it's that asking never works. It never works and it makes you look-- makes you look weaker. Smaller. For nothing.

But he'll dig in his heels and grit his teeth until he breaks skin and he'll be too stubborn to shake, anyway.

As long as he can.) ]

[White hot anger flashes through him for a second at the refusal, an old pride he hasn't quite managed to kill-

But he looks at him. At Dean. Both of them panting, kneeling in pond scum together, bleeding and trembling and missing each other by miles, when only inches apart. Cas afraid to touch Dean at the risk of hurting him, and Dean clenching his fists so tightly he's nearly hurting himself. He doesn't look too wounded to walk. He isn't too wounded to walk.

God damn it.]

Dean, [Castiel murmurs, and he doesn't know if his voice is allowed to be so gentle when he speaks but if it is, it must be permitted when he speaks to Dean,] I broke my wing just now. [He glances, just briefly, at the felled trees and the smoldering embers of the strangled fire. Between whatever is going on with his eye and now his wing- no. It's too risky. He won't. He will not.] I can't move with you here.

[ Well it's not fair to say his name like that. For the record. Soft and careful, even in the middle of this crap. Despite Dean not being allowed to kiss him for it or even to think about kissing him for it, btw. Cruel.

All this gentleness does is take the wind out of his sails. Too close to something, too careful, too raw and exposed.

He looks away, sharp. Schools his expression. Works his jaw.

There are things that good, smart soldiers do because they know it needs done.

Maybe he ain't the smartest, but damn sure he's a soldier.

Do your job. Feel it later. ]

You gonna be able to heal up? If I'm not here? [ In a non-sitting-duck way. In an is it worse for you if I triple down way.

Are you still gonna be here, way. ]

...no. [And this is Dean, struggling against the very core of his nature to look after, to protect, to care for the people he cherishes. Castiel might question why he still holds a place of love and caring in Dean's heart, after everything, but now after everything he wouldn't question it.

Dean's jaw tightens in that way when he's trying to kill the part of him that cares.]

But if you leave this area, I can set the fire, draw the druid back in, and partially leave my vessel. Just beholding my true form will maim it. [He wants to reach out. He wants to lay hands on Dean and heal all his wounds. He wants to clasp his shoulder, squeeze his arm in reassurance. Strange, alien urges that angels shouldn't have, weren't built to have.] You'll come back, finish the druid off, and help me down the mountain.

I won't make you abandon me. [Again.]

Edited 2025-11-14 22:47 (UTC)

Right. [ Cas gave him an honest answer about the healing. Counts for something.

Dean would like to say it's real cute how Cas thinks he could ever make him abandon him again, but the thing about reality is that it sucks, man. Cas could do it, because he has done it. (Would do it. Would say that he wouldn't just to get Dean to the point where he'd make him do it.)

But Dean is gonna give him every second chance and benefit of the doubt he's got, as long as he's here to take them. There's no point pretending otherwise. It's the kicked-dog of the thing.

So he's pretending that I won't make you abandon me doesn't make him force down a flinch. ]

One druid, extra crispy. Scrambled brain on the side. [ We're so normal. We're having fun again. See? We're laying the groundwork for that breakfast bar demand.

Definitely not a couple of guys in the woods who want to vibrate out of their skin due to the Circumstances and also rip the throat out of the thing that put them in this position.

Very, very normal. ] Guess I'll know when my order's up, huh?

[ Fine, he'll stand up, whatever. Pretend he does that in a dignified way too. As dignified as anyone could look in this gross pond shore scenario.

But you KNOW he's gonna try to get a barely-there arm touch in if he can. It's about the intricate rituals. ]

[Dean's bad knee crackles when he pushes himself up and Cas desperately wishes he was brave enough to go back to Heaven and beg them to let him heal him again. They'd probably smite him on the spot.

Dean reaches down just as Cas reaches up; they end up clasping forearms briefly and then-

Then. Their hands slide and Cas...allows himself. His fingers rest at the side of Dean's palm instead of across. It's different from what they've done before, pulling each other to their feet, helping one another up a sharp slope. Cas lets his fingers fold and just...squeezes. One second stretches. Dean might not think he looks graceful or dignified, but-

A branch snaps. Castiel forces himself to let go.] Don't come back until the light clears.

[ What was Dean just thinking about the kicked-dog of it all? When it rains, it pours. You tell yourself you're past something, and at every turn you get reminded you're not past it so much as it's permanently stuck to your back.

His expression cracks back open, softens out completely, there and gone. He'd almost rather have Cas try to break his wrists again. At least he knows how to-- what to do about it. You just get up and act like it didn't happen. The not knowing is kinda pathetic so he's not gonna examine it, thanks.

One second of don't you get it, how do you not freakin' get it? After everything. He doesn't squeeze back, but he presses with his thumb. Careful as he can. Enough to be able to still plausibly deny that he strokes Cas's hand a teeny tiny bit while he has it. ]

I won't do anything stupid if you don't.

[ Call it mutually-assured survival but also mutually-assured self-destruction. That's like their bread and butter.

God. This is so unfair. He's gonna be out there listening for the Terrible and Beautiful horrors to pass and hoping it goes okay. ]

[Maybe he imagines it. He's preparing to leave his vessel, even partially, and it's going to hurt but it won't be fatal, so he's already turning off sensations in his vessel in preparation so maybe it's just a trick. Something that he wants there. A small pressure, a brush, a hint. An aftertaste.

The look on Dean's face can't be imagined.

Dean is picking his way downstream and Cas is watching him go. It's always like this with him; Castiel with long, unraveling thoughts, with worries and experiences and doubts that seem to stretch on forever, curling into the event horizon of unknown eternity, only to be stopped short by a single sentence from a mortal barely a handful of decades old. Dean takes the entirety of Castiel and, like his name, carves him down to something that fits much more comfortably in the mouth. It should feel suffocating, to be so reduced, but instead it just feels like a relief.

Maybe there's no grander purpose. Maybe there's no billion year plan to follow. Maybe he's allowed to exist minute by crawling minute, here in the warm, calloused hands of such a small, such a loving creature.

Five minutes after Dean is out of sight, Castiel lights the smoldering embers back on fire. Thirty seconds after that, the druid reveals itself. One second later-

-

The light is like a rocket going off, like day dawning early; the piercing, whistling scream is eaten partially by the bodies of the forest, which is likely what saves Dean's hearing. Both fade after only a few seconds, a flash like a bomb, but if Dean risks a glance he might see an after image of a lightning strike, part of Castiel's true form, the arc of too many arms made of white light fanning out against the sky, hands with a dozen fingers reaching up towards the stars before everything collapses and curls back down into the dark.

-

When Dean returns to the pond Castiel kneels there, seemingly unmoved, though there is still bright white light pulsing behind his closed eyes and clenched teeth. Two meters away writhes the moaning form of the figure from before, the stench of burnt blood as it still pours from the man's ears, from his scorched eye sockets. He could recover, maybe, given time.]

[ Ah, patience. Never one of Dean's strong suits. Sort of a "deployed only when there's absolutely no other acceptable alternative. (Well. Or when those were his orders, back in the day.)

He paces it out, where he waits. Thinks over exactly how he wants to make this kill that Cas is serving him up on a silver platter. Risks that glance up towards the end, because of course he does, of course he does. Part curiosity.

(Familiar, in some undefinable way. Unsettling and unnatural and a goddamn relief all at once. Something to go back to.

It was worth seeing.)

He's quicker to get back, obviously. Not by a lot, maybe, but still quicker. He passes Cas first, on principle, a quick hand on the shoulder that's maybe more for his personal reassurance tham anything else. Stands over the druid, which, well.

Made to order.

He doesn't have to give a shit about it suffering. Given time, in fact, Dean can think of a lot of ways to drag it out, make a meal of the event.

But Cas needs help getting out of here. And Dean is tired, and he hurts, and it's easy to keep pushing when you always have the "no time to stop and luxuriate" mindset available on tap. ]

Let's do this again sometime.

[ Easy as stepping on its throat and putting a bullet through its head. He's got more important business. AKA turning right back around so he can crouch in front of Cas and immediately care a lot more about the suffering situation at hand. ]

You didn't zip yourself up in there backwards, right?

[ We can have fun again because Dean got to do the kill and has not in fact been abandoned :)

Never mind that he is in fact still deeply deeply worried. ]

[Cas hears, smells, and senses Dean coming back long before the hand comes down on his shoulder, so it doesn't come as a surprise but it does come as a relief. He's all right. Dean's bootfalls move closer to where the druid lay dying; the gunshot that follows is expected, as is the quip just before it. Good.

The light has mostly died down when Dean comes back over to him, sinking down close enough that Castiel can smell the sizzle of gunpowder on his fingers and the old blood caked on and in his shoulder wound. He shakes his head at the question, though he knows it's mostly a joke, but Dean's right to be concerned. It doesn't take him this long to fold himself back in his vessel under normal circumstances.]

My wing was being...difficult, [Castiel grits out, the light from behind his teeth extinguished. When he finally opens his eyes the pupils still shine electric blue-white, but there are two of them now, his wounded eye repaired perfectly.] I'll recover. But I can't fly. [Also it hurts to move but there's no need to worry Dean with that.]

[ Such a dorky little guy for being a celestial horror. The dichotomy is insane. And, you know. Awesome.

Everyone contains multitudes but not multitudes as interesting as these. ]

Sorry, Cas. [ Re: the flying. Maybe some other stuff that Dean will quietly tie onto it like one of those balloon weights.

Cas has some of the small-fry (small to Cas, big deal for Dean) stuff healed up, at least. Dean gives him a lookover anyway, efficient and business-like: another touch to the shoulder, to the head to turn his face one way then the other, carefully. He'll keep his fingers clear of the eye area, just in case.

Bad guy is gone, Cas is in one piece, Sam and whoever else rolls up aren't looking at a fresh ambush. Hell, if they get back to a trail, maybe Sam won't think he's gotta haul ass out here at all. (Maybe.)

Job done. If not what he'd call done well.

So Dean can go ahead and hum his approval. Pull a "yeah alright it passes muster" face. ]

R&R time can start once we get back to the Impala. [ Okay fine, a little smile as a treat. ] Always does.

[ Girl he will drive the speed limit and everything. Let's limp home and dry-swallow some expired glovebox ibuprofen together. ]

[If Castiel lets his head rest a little heavier in Dean's hands than is truly necessary, that's nobody's business. With each blink and pass of his lashes, the light dims in his pupils until finally it's disappeared and he's fully seated back in his vessel, looking as normal and unassuming as any other salary man who's found himself lost in the woods in the middle of the night.

The pass of Dean's thumb near his eye doesn't illicit any more blackouts, twitches, or auditory hallucinations, which is...good. Concerning. Too confusing to be purely good, even with the firm care of Dean's hands on him until he's satisfied that Castiel's put together well enough to not fall immediately apart, at least.

Dean's shoulder can't withstand the force to pull Castiel to his feet, so he just uses his good hand clasped in his own to afford him balance. That's more of the problem anyway; there's no weakness in his vessel's limb from the wounding of his wing, but an angel's wings are so multi-purpose that it's not until one is incapacitated that they really learn just how vital they are. There are twinges of pain as they walk, but more than that is persistent vertigo, a wobble or a limp to the side of the wounded wing as Castiel's Grace struggles to compensate for the imbalance. More than once Castiel almost staggers sideways into a tree, only saved by Dean grabbing onto his arm or by him snagging a branch before he falls too far to recover.]

I'm sorry, [Castiel repeats for probably the half-dozenth time, furious with himself for his weakness and for his panic causing the weakness to begin with by breaking his own wing against magic only a few thousand years old. Every time Dean has to grab him, he runs the risk of agitating his own shoulder wound further, and there's enough to worry about with that already. If Dean doesn't develop an infection, Castiel will be astounded. Not to mention his own bruised wrists, which probably ache without having to catch the idiot who almost broke them from falling flat on his face.] I should- I could locate a- a serviceable cane. I'll break off a branch.

Edited 2025-11-15 20:46 (UTC)

[ Phew. Man.

Dean's starting to miss the adrenaline already, if he's honest. Which he will be to himself in his mind because it sorta seems like Cas is having a guilt trip of a time without hearing him bitch and gripe on purpose. The grunts and hisses and whatnot are clearly doing too much of that as-is.

All these apologies. Like? For what? It falls under that same vague talk to us umbrella. The let us help, you squirrelly dumbass. ]

Dude. It's fine. Shut up.

[ Dean is too tired for this. What are we doing here? This is so so far from his first rodeo. ]

Sam's like-- like two of you stacked on top of each other. You think I never helped his giant ass limp outta the woods? [ Get real. He's dragged that giant ass outta the woods before. ] If you'd stop with-- just stay over here. Right? C'mon.

[ What if Dean could be good and useful right now, huh????? What if? How can he weasel this angel into accepting some basic goddamn care?

Like feeding a dog a pill, he guesses. Sneakily.

Flaps good arm. Like a cool hero. ] Cas. I'll keep you from goin' all Mister Magoo, you help me take some weight off this knee. 'cause it's a real pain in the ass right now.

[ More than usual, even! As far as you know. ]

And every friggin' apology I hear from now to the car is another slice of bacon I add to the breakfast platter you owe me.

[Maybe it speaks to how well Dean knows him that Cas immediately wobbles his way over to Dean's other side, under his good arm and pulling it over his shoulders. It does help balance him out a bit, and if Cas puts his other arm around Dean's back and waist to help stabilize them, well, it's necessary.

(It is actually necessary, though, especially over the uneven terrain. The closeness, the heat of Dean's side against his from chest to hip, that's just a bonus. A reassurance that even if they aren't well, they are alive, and reliably so.)]

Dean, [Castiel sighs, but then switches tracks, tone evening into something a little less woe-is-me-the-most-terriblest-angel-ever,] I know you haven't forgotten. I don't have any money to buy you breakfast.

[ Thank god. That almost, almost sounds normal. It's a start.

And yeah, honestly, after this whole roller coaster, it's good to have an extra hand on his own individual quest to not eat shit on a tree root. It's good to have the solidity. Cas is still here. They're right here. They'll get into a good range and call Sam, settle him down.

What's not to feel hopelessly fond for the nth time in his life about? ]

Ohh, that's right, [ he says in his most annoying, least-convincing pretend "aw gee shucks" voice. He clucks his tongue and everything. Totally forgot about that actually! Wow. Whoa. Etc. ] Damn, guess you better watch that language then, buddy.

[It is not his fuckin' fault that the more Cas gets to know the Winchesters, the less okay he is with them getting banged up. In fact, he's fairly sure that's normal! What was was okay to just observe idly (them getting thrown into walls, choked, beaten, threatened, bloodied), so long as they were able to walk away, now causes literal pain in his chest! Like who the fuck allowed this? He used to be a functional angel, for fuck's sake. A soldier of heaven.

Despite the injuries and his own guilt, Dean's irritating 'guess I have the upper hand now' voice is just as irritating as ever, and Castiel doesn't bother to suppress the roll of his eyes at hearing it again.] Fine, if we're going to be laying down conversational rules: you're not allowed to make jokes when I say kind things about you. [YOU THINK HE DIDN'T NOTICE??? get wrecked, casual]

Edited 2025-11-16 03:39 (UTC)

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

2/2 we did it nvr mind

hallelujah the stars aligned

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