theroadpaved | Open PSL

[ 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)

[ ATTACKED? PERSONALLY ATTACKED??? PERCEIVED? Leave it to Cas to start sounding more normal and immediately be annoying. God bless.

No. Come on, Dean, you can keep control of the situation. Sounds fake anyway, honestly. Yeah. Ridiculous. Pff. He even scoffs about it, see! ]

I don't do that. Shut up.

[ Save him, gaslight gatekeep guyboss. You're his only hope to lock this shit down. ]

[Grunts a little when they have to carefully use each other to climb over a large fallen tree, but it doesn't distract him for long.] I know it's second nature for you to deflect, but when I tell you that you're brave, or that your very nature to be so kind towards others, to care about people who you haven't even met is so rare and such a precious thing to behold-

[ This would be such a great time for stubbornness to be able to overpower Dean having no idea what to fucking-- even do with that. Because he needs the stubbornness to do that so he can win this conversation and prove that he doesn't joke every time Cas says a nice thing or whatever. He doesn't always deflect!

Unfortunately, tapping into spite isn't enough to counter it even though spite is supposed to be strong enough to get Dean Winchester through pretty much anything.

You're brave, he says. Like it's obvious. Like it's true. Like he's just saying it to say it. Your very nature to be so kind and to care about people and rare and precious- and all Dean can do is tense up against each one like it's Cas very slowly pushing a knife between his ribs. That's sort of what it feels like. Like his heart pounding and his fingers twitching and waitingwaitingwaiting for the part where it makes sense to him. ]

You seriously gotta get out more, Cas.

[ Fine. Dean loses. Maybe if he throws up the white flag and admits defeat, this part can stop. ]

It's true, [Castiel says softly, but he doesn't push it further. The point wasn't to hurt or humiliate. The point is...he needs to make a mental note to do this more often. Immunize Dean against that symptom in increments.

They walk on in quiet for a while and, somehow, stumble across a path. Castiel allows himself some silent vindication that they did find a trail by following the creek, and it doesn't become as necessary for them to be pressed so closely but they stay that way anyhow until Dean's got the bars on his cell phone to finally call Sam.]

Edited 2025-11-17 16:36 (UTC)

[ Good. Okay. Good. Surrendering worked, Dean's gonna remember that for next time.

He wonders if Cas thinks he owes him all that crap, somehow. An apology by another name or penance or... making things up to him or something. There's not really a way to say "you don't owe me a damn thing for anything" that doesn't risk jumping right back into the conversation Dean just played dead to get out of.

But he doesn't owe him. He never will. And Dean doesn't... he doesn't need it. Obviously. He'll turn over how to shut that down another time. For now, it's enough to keep trekking through the quiet, to keep that physical reassurance that they got out of this dumbass job alive.

Dean is less of a high-alert cornered animal the longer they go without saying anything else about it. (As much as either of them is ever not a high-alert cornered animal.) He won't admit that it's a shame to lose the extra points of contact for the sake of a phone call either, while he's at it.

For Sam's peace of mind? He'd trade off a hell of a lot more than that. Especially with the sheer volume of missed calls and messages that start coming through once he finally gets his goddamn bars. ]

Time to watch the master at work, buddy. [ Yes, he winks at Cas when he says that. Of course he winks.

By watching the master at work, he means "watch me reassure the hell out of my brother like a cool, confident badass."

And by that, the narrative means "watch him get his ass handed to him over the phone by his extremely worried brother while he valiantly tries to be like look, dude, we're fine, it's fine, we're on the freakin' trail heading for the car right now so sit back down, we'll get home for a patch job-- you can be fine and still need a patch job, Sammy, c'mon and so forth.

He's dying on this hill for no reason. He's cold and he's tired and everything hurts and he likes arguing with his beloved baby bro as a love language. He is blatantly ignoring any and all oh yeah???? Then give the phone to Cas and I'll ask him. I mean, he'll just tell me the same thing, right? sentiments.

Anyway, Dean's a huge loser, happy to help.

But. He won't spill the "Cas said he's been losing time and he freaked out about something earlier" beans right now, either. That's an in-person conversation. ]

Think I'm gonna stop for coffee on our way back, Cas, what do you say?

[ Schrodinger's joke. ]

Edited (shut up html im in charge here) 2025-11-17 17:43 (UTC)

[Per usual, Castiel listens in on Dean's side of the conversation (but also uses a little angelic hearing to eavesdrop on Sam's side of the conversation too) as they walk down the trail, following the markers and Castiel's newly returned sense of direction, at a much more sedate pace without each other to brace against.

Even without skimming Dean's surface thoughts, Castiel knows he's probably tangling himself up in the complex series of increasingly knotted ropes that make up the hoops he jumps through in order to earn affection. Maybe wondering if Cas is only saying those things in lieu of apology, maybe bracing himself for bad news. A lot's happened tonight. It would be easy to make those connections, even for someone not as determined as Dean is to slip the leash of high esteem.

Dean doesn't tell Sam about Castiel's blackouts. That's...not unexpected, but appreciated. Likely Dean doesn't want Sam to run himself ragged trying to figure out what could be wrong. Sam doesn't sound even close to recovered, though he's got more than enough energy to expend it snipping with his brother in their weird half-cutting, half-soothing ritual of showing affection without wielding it like a blunt instrument (like Castiel does). The call is long and, Castiel suspects, even more to ease Dean's nerves than it is Sam's. The sun is almost risen by the time they finally end the call, sky warming to an even blue between the trees still stretched above them. A trail marker indicates less than a mile to guest parking.]

...I'd like a coffee, [Castiel sighs easily. They more likely could use rest, Dean in particular sleep and food, but something warm and uncomplicated like a cup of black coffee sounds...nice.]

[ Cas is the best backup Dean could ever ask for. His silence is so golden in maintaining the status quo for that little bit longer.

As long as Sam doesn't have to worry... quite so much about them, then Dean can worry a little less. Keep him there. If not necessarily back in bed, then at least like. Sitting down or something. ]

Good. [ He cracks his neck. Goes to stretch. INSTANTLY regrets it and aborts that mission. ] Whew! Make that drive-thru coffee. Yeah. We can go out for a real cup later.

[ A vague and nebulous later. Not necessarily today or tomorrow or anything, because Cas probably needs to rest up as much as any of them.

He sets up a phone alarm for a Sammy Soup Run™️ later this afternoon while he's thinking about it, though. Maybe he'll check on the coffee not-a-date status around then. ]

[Dean's aborted stretch catches Cas's attention, for some reason; it seems cruel ~~(of God)~~ to give Dean a body that aches too much for him to even care for it in the way it needs. Especially after tonight. Especially now, when he's being so unerringly kind, in his rough Dean Winchester way.

So Cas steps closer (sways a little into him before correcting), sets one hand on Dean's good shoulder and digs his first knuckle into the knot he can see in Dean's shoulderblade and holds him still.] Try it again.

[ No but for real, and in the most eloquent way possible:

?????????????????

Signed, Dean's fight flight or freeze response. Literally stops and stands very still on the path staring at Cas like a weirdo about it for a couple seconds while his brain tries to process. Shoulder touch normal. The follow-up? Less normal. What's the normal thing normal people with normal feelings about the person touching them does right now?

St-

Stretches the arm again???

Damn. That already works better, actually. ]

Thanks.

[ Wow..... maybe this IS what it's like to have a loyal weirdo knight... ]

Edited 2025-11-18 01:21 (UTC)

[...that's good. Good. Maybe he can't lay hands and heal Dean, but his hands are good for something. Dean did give him a slightly terrified look, which honestly is expected given Castiel's strength and him saying "yeah I've been blacking out" just hours ago, and the fact that he almost broke Dean's wrists and probably bruised a rib throwing him into the pond-

But he can make up for that. He can get Dean to trust him again. He just has to be more careful, more helpful. Humans do this for each other all the time, don't they? There's massage parlors all over the place, it's normal.] I can massage you when we get back to the motel. If your muscles are more relaxed, you'll recover more easily. [So proud of self. He found a solution.]

[ Dean should've let the druid murder him. He should've drowned to death in the pond. What the hell is he doing here?

It's just cruel and unusual at this point. Stupid goddamn well-meaning, entendre-missing, "if anyone else said that to me I would a thousand percent be getting laid" angels of the Lord and their stupid... stupid soft way of saying his name and stupid gentle hands.

Who's that dude constantly trying to push the boulder up a hill but cursed to always fail? Oh yeah. It's Dean Winchester. He keeps tripping over his own dumbass fondness and sliding right back even though he knows better. ]

I don't think that's gonna happen.

[Dean must not understand, but that's fine; Cas will just clarify until he gets it, and you know what? He'll just massage Dean's good shoulder while he's at it, for a demonstration! He can't deny the effectiveness of Castiel's solution when it's currently working for him, right?] I reassembled your body, I still remember exactly how it operates. I know all your pressure points, how every fiber of every muscle should feel. Don't worry. I'll be very careful.

[ Girl help, he can't even complain in his brain about mixed signals because he's a hundred percent sure by this point in his life that Cas isn't trying to send a signal in any direction. ]

I'm not worried. [ It's the first thing he can actually think to say, because he's kind of offended that Cas thinks he is worried about that.

Dean's saving his worries for other different hypotheticals and realities. Like staying still instead of accidentally trying to bite Cas on the hand or something. It's nice, but-- well, all the buts that could be on Dean's personal issues laundry list. That's too long to put in here. Nice but a lot. Nice but confusing. The check engine light in his brain keeps flashing. ]

Is that what this is about? You're worried that I'm worried? 'cause you shouldn't be.

[ Yeah yeah Cas almost broke his wrists and threw him in a pond and reminded him how he's an unknowable cosmic horror in a sturdy little package that could melt his brain and he's been having really worrying blackouts. But that's like whatever, man. If Dean let stuff like that ruin a relationship, he would've been a solo act on the road for a long time by now.

He guesses that line of thought makes more sense, thinking about it. It's probably exactly why Cas keeps trying to lure a wild raccoon out of the alleyway with an open palm full of cheetos. Metaphorically.

Maybe he'll just. Yeah. He's gonna stomp a bunch of longing and emotional stuff down the drain real quick and make himself take a little step back. Get some thinking room. ]

[The hint that he's done too much, gone too far, comes when Dean sticks onto that word (worried), digs in like hooks and hangs there, mistrustful. Then Dean steps out of under Castiel's hands and he pauses, hangs there frozen, eyes on Dean. Something tense and foreboding quivers in the air between them.

But Castiel...tilts his head. Ever so slightly.

For all his self-proclaimed simplicity, Dean Winchester is an incredibly complex man. Layers upon layers of interlocking motivations, instincts and behaviors sewn into each other and built upon misconceptions that he's already aware of, but with no intention to or knowledge of how to rearrange. Dean Winchester thinks peace and kindness and love are human rights...except not for him. Any gentle thing he allows himself must be masked in rituals and customs unfathomable to even himself, sometimes.]

...my mistake, [Castiel murmurs, eyes locked onto Dean's face, scrutinizing him for any clue, for any hesitation. Not just by assuming Dean was worried. He can't offer anything to Dean like that, so straightforward, so honestly. If he truly wants to give something to Dean, he must do it in a way Dean will be able to accept.

He thinks of their hands, his fingers folded over the edge of Dean's, the squeeze, his thumb, so soft. So hesitant.

His wing twinges and this time he doesn't hide the flinch. He allows himself to sway slightly, reaching out for a steadying hand.]

[ ... good. Okay. This is good. Nipped that guilt right in the bud by effectively communicating how unnecessary it is. It feels gross thinking about Cas thinking he owes him something like that. Worse than gross.

And sure, Cas keeps staring at him, but Cas Does That sometimes. He's a real Care Bear, if Care Bears had a history of trying to become God. ]

It's fine. You and me, we're good. I mean it. [ Just to make sure it's extra clear, while Dean stands here trying to brush off how harrowed he feels. They're good. They're fine. They're gonna work on figuring out what's up with his memory gap thing, they're gonna get their coffees, they're gonna do it all over again tomorrow.

Cas doesn't need to crawl his way back to the Impala on broken glass or whatever to earn that. He's here. He's. Even if it's shitty and complicated and a lot of the moving pieces leading up to today still hurt like hell, as long as he comes back at all, Dean's--

Whatever.

He's whatever. He's pathetic, mostly, he guesses.

All of which instantly goes out the window the second Cas flinches and starts swaying again. Dean could've flipped a switch: just like that he's right back in the space he stepped out of, just like that he's reaching for Cas to give him the hand he's asking for, hesitance wiped off the board by worry. He has it to give: why wouldn't he give it? ]

I got you, c'mon. If we don't make it back in the next couple hours, Sammy's gonna kill us himself.

[ Now that everyone has their issues sorted and settled and solved for forever they can focus on the important stuff like that, obviously. ]

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