theroadpaved | Open PSL

[ Someone save Dean from having to fucking communicate. Please.

This can't be natural. It's freakin... harrowing. It's like skinning himself without even getting some pain as a distraction. ]

Yeah yours, dumbass, who else am I gonna be talking about?

[ He is so normal. He is VERY normal. ]

[Easy, big guy, he's coming to his own Earth-shattering conclusions.

He demonstrates this by being very quiet for at least three stoplights, sipping calmly at his coffee and staring out into space contemplatively. Cursed or not. Dean would rather have him. It had been touching then, too, even though Cas had known it was only because Dean had needed help. That Dean was willing to trust him even that much after what he'd done, it had meant...more than it should have, maybe.

The Impala is swinging into the motel by the time Castiel finally gets enough thoughts in order to speak.]

You'll have to forgive me for taking so long to accept it, [he murmurs into the dusty dawn light as it spills weakly across the dashboard. Every physical fiber, every metaphysical warble of him feels exhausted and warm, as if he could be capable of the kind of sleep that promises no dreams. The man scant inches to his left smells like blood and sweat and gunpowder and the hearth of a loving home.]

It's an unfamiliar concept. [To be wanted.]

[ Maybe Cas should've killed more angels. Just cleaned the whole shitty system out. That's a reasonable thought, right? ]

Well. It's still here. [ There. Here. Whichever. What wouldn't Dean carve his way through to prove it at this point? He's not so sure there's a limit to what he'd do. For Sam, for Cas.

He barely remembers what it was like to be scared of himself for that. The edges of that wore down a long time ago.

Dean chugs what's left of his coffee once they're parked. Gives his Baby a fond pat on the dash, makes himself dredge up some more energy. He thinks he's past second wind and into fifth wind by now, but that's the cost of doing business. Can't walk in and pass out or Sam'll have a conniption about it.

God knows Cas can't do all the explaining without making it sound worse than it was, either. Dean doesn't need all that, he just got Cas hanging around more (after his wing heals up) on the menu. ]

Alright, home stretch. And we're not [ NOT. ] lettin' Sam get all worked up about this.

[ He is already worked up, Dean, that's what happens. Hope that helps.

Future problem. They're gonna stumble their way in there like consummate professionals. ]

Alright. [They will make sure. Sam doesn't get worked up. Cas almost runs into a pole and Dean has a concerning-sounding cough but they will walk in so cool and collected, and Sam will be asleep and won't even wake up.

-

So Sam is not only awake, he's sitting at the little plastic table waiting for them to walk in. And he does, unfortunately, get worked up; especially when he finds out that Dean's still got a bullet in his shoulder. He insists on presiding over Cas digging it out, only holding back from being the one to remove it due to the fact that he's still coughing and hacking and thinks better of spraying all of that directly into his brother's open wound.

The excitement of making sure Dean's cleaned up properly wears him down and he crawls into bed shortly after, mumbling about brothers worrying him, ordering Dean to take the antibiotics in the kit, thanking Cas for looking after Dean and ignoring when Cas tries to tell him that Dean took care of him, and he's out within minutes of getting beneath the covers, snoring heavily, dead to the world.

Dean disappears into the bathroom to clean up, and Castiel stands. Wobbles, but cuts open a hand to begin warding the room with angel proofing.]

[ In hindsight, that was always the longest of long shots. But it means a lot that Cas is so ready and willing to commit to the doomed bit. Makes Dean feel all warm and fuzzy.

Maybe that's his imaginary pond salmonella talking.

He does his best Good Patient for Sam's sake, which means sitting very still and also ignoring Cas and his "Dean took care of me" stuff in favor of being offended Sam asked Cas to look after him in the first place. Like???? He's right here you lil bitch?

All the better to get Sam actually sleeping so that Dean can run a little cleanup, yeah. Which he even does without complaint. Because of what a good big brother he is!!! (He's gonna make fun of him for snoring tomorrow. Later.... today... whatever.)

Stop one stepping back out of the bathroom is a quick check-in to feel Sammy's forehead since he wouldn't LET Dean do it before for some dumb reason. Could be better, could be worse. They've got enough painkillers and fever reducers to give an army, though, so he'll get Sam back on that once they're back up. Guy probably forgot because of all this.

Stop two: obviously Cas's personal space. As a treat. ]

Seriously. Leave you alone for two minutes and you're bleedin' again?

[ It's a joke (its a flirt be so fr), he swears. We love quiet conversations in cheap motels around here. ]

[Sam's fever is going down, at least, the skin more sticky warm than scalding. He coughs occasionally in his sleep, and doesn't stir when Dean comes by his bed to check.

Cas likewise doesn't pay much mind when Dean makes his rounds, concentrating on painting the wards. One day Dean will understand that him cutting open his arm or hand for blood is like someone else spitting on the ground. AKA: not a big deal.]

I'm locking myself into his room, [he rumbles as quietly as possible.] Once I've finished, I won't be able to leave until someone else opens the door.

[ All Dean's little ducks in a row. It's not much, but to him it's basically everything. He'll be reserving his right to care about Cas and his stupid non-essential blood forever, though.

It's a straightforward enough answer for Dean to take up Sam's abandoned post in the crappy chair, at least. You know, watch Cas do his blood ritual, no big deal. That's basically relaxing in this household. ]

Should I ask why? [ His abandonment issues love "Cas won't be able to leave until someone lets him" like, conceptually and unrealistically. The logical mind is like girl shut up with that. Angel-safety purposes, probably. ] And how's the wing holdin' up?

[ The one Dean can't do anything to help and must therefore worry about a little extra anyway. ]

[Thinks about trying to force Dean into bed before coming to the conclusion that Dean will not get in bed until Cas is done painting and no longer bleeding. Hurries up a little bit.]

When I...lose time, [he says carefully, because it's not really blacking out, it's not being unconscious; he doesn't think so, anyway. He just...doesn't know where the time went. Doesn't know what he did with it.] When I lose time, I don't know where I go, or if I even go anywhere. This will keep me from wandering if it happens again. [Chaining himself down like a dog with dementia, so to speak.

He doesn't bother answering the wing question, since they both already know. It hurts, and there's nothing Dean can do.]

[ Life is all about choosing your battles. Dean likes to pick basically all of them. But he'll let the wing question go, conversationally-speaking. Nobody's gonna stop him from thinking about it on his own time.

There's still some pretty pressing issues at hand. ]

So you're goin' on lockdown. [ As plans go, pretty solid. It keeps Cas where they can have eyes on him. Try to work out how to help him. Can't ask for much more than that.

It's-- it's a relief. Pretty flat-out relief. Being able to do that much. ] Guess we could all use some downtime in the penalty box here.

[ Dean will rethink his individual downtime stance if a really serious hunt turns up in the next couple of days. For now, maybe Team Free Will is on ice. Personal reasons. Like having the two most important people in his life to take care of. ]

[There's not much to be said in response to that, so Cas opts to keep his words to himself. He paints a few sigils on the door itself, passes some of the strokes over the crack of the doorjamb and the door panel, and touches the completed symbols with bloodied fingers. A few words in a long-dead language, muttered low and rough, and- something descends over the room. Like shutting a window in an airtight capsule.

He's trapped.

But he's the one who trapped himself. It's...fine. It's okay.]

...you should get some sleep, [Castiel murmurs, the wound on his palm healing between the clench of his fingers with a wince. Stretching his grace even to heal his vessel throbs through his broken wing. That'll go away soon, hopefully. A day or two.]

[ He looks tired.

Genius observation, Dean. Of course he looks freakin' tired. His wing's broken, he's having blackouts, and he just sealed off the bulkheads to make himself stay in the world's tackiest submarine. He's not exactly gonna look refreshed and renewed.

Dean keeps watching him for a few seconds anyway. Makes sure the bleeding stops with his own two eyes, and that's good. ]

We're gonna figure this out, Cas. We always do. [ One way or another, at least. They'll have Sam's giant genius brain on the job before too long, and god knows that's the lynchpin of this whole operation.

In the meantime, Dean scrubs a hand through his hair and doublechecks the time, and that's about all he's got in terms of problem-solver contributions right now.

Sleep. Yeah. Probably. There's time to get in his usual before that Sammy soup run alarm on his phone goes off, give or take. ] You sure you don't want company? I can throw on a crappy movie or somethin'.

[ Not a good movie. Dean couldn't make sure Cas is paying attention to the good parts when he inevitably fell asleep anyway.

Maybe Cas wants the unobserved time to lick his wounds, though. Stare haggardly into the bathroom mirror for a while before Dean or Sam wake up to go and also stare haggardly into the bathroom mirror. Can't blame the guy for that. ]

Edited (why do i even proofread before i hit post. only to suffer immediately after) 2025-11-24 01:32 (UTC)

[Castiel doesn't even have to think about it.] No. [Dean must sleep. That he's got that phone alarm on at all is less than ideal, but Cas knows he won't be talked out of it. Maybe Sam will wake up first and stop him, but Castiel's not cruel enough to think about waking Sam up for that purpose. He'd looked exhausted himself, just standing past Castiel's shoulder and coaching him with a rough, thick voice as Castiel dug a bullet out of Dean's shoulder the 'good old fashioned' way.

As for his own time...he hasn't gotten as far as Dean in his considerations. He doesn't know what he's going to do with his time while the Winchesters sleep, but maybe he'll watch them for a little bit. Maybe he'll watch them breathe, listen to them snore. Maybe he'll skim the surface of their dreams, maybe he'll let himself stand up and come to their bedsides and touch their temples to steer them away from nightmares. Maybe he'll let himself back into that old daydream he used to have, where he was the good and righteous Castiel, and they were both enamored with him and the protection they thought he could offer.

Kind of pathetic. His heart still leaps for it.] ...you need to sleep. I'll keep an eye out.

[ Can't believe Cas doesn't want his half-dead company while he stands around in the motel room in excruciating angel pain. Nah, that's valid, let's not pretend Dean doesn't respect a person's right to suffer unobserved.

Crappy movie some other time, he guesses. ]

Sure. You do that. [ Local man unsure what else to say to that, because he assumes if he tries to be like "maybe take a load off and only keep half an eye out," it'll turn into a whole argument. Nobody's got that argument in them right now. Or the desire to get murdered by Sam for it.

Sure, man. Keep an eye out then.

Angels are watching over you, he thinks, and for the first time it's more weird and funny than something that turns sour in his stomach. Sorta-- well. It's not a bad feeling, anyway, and Dean doesn't want to try to put a name to whatever it is. He just lets his shoulders slump a little, lets out tension like one of those pipes that lets off steam so that the whole thing doesn't explode.

Cas'll have an eye out for trouble. He can't take off and get himself dead unless someone lets him out, and if that door opens, Dean is pretty damn sure he'll hear it. Sam's sleeping instead of stressing out, there's not a bullet stuck in his shoulder anymore. Everything's really coming up Dean today.

They're about as close to safe as they can get.

He levers himself back out of the chair, heads for the empty bed. Obviously he takes the detour that lets him touch Castiel's shoulder on the way past. Obviously. ]

Good work out there. [ We both lived girl, meaning the haters did NOT win. You melted at least sixty percent of a druid and said you wanted to stick around. Fantastic work, even. ] You know where to find me if you need me.

[ A little joke. A very tiny joke. Wake early at your own peril. And please do not watch him get into bed, he's about to look even less cool than he did when he was covered in pond scum. ]

["Excruciating" is a little dramatic, it's severe at most. Debilitating, crippling, sure. But he is not actively screaming and trying to die so like, it's not even that bad.

Dean's hand on his shoulder is, as usual, a confusing balm. Still not entirely sure what to do with physical touch but now pretty certain that it's good, Castiel lets himself lean into it and maybe his temple ends up tapping Dean's wrist before he withdraws. That's not weird, right

Watching Dean struggle into bed with his various aches and pains is troubling, and for the fourteenth time tonight Cas talks himself in and then back out of going up to Heaven. He has to be able to heal them. He cannot do that if he kills himself.]

Goodnight, Dean, [is all Castiel murmurs as Dean snaps off the lamp, settling into the plastic chair by the door to wait, keep watch, and recuperate.

-

Dean's alarm goes off a little over four hours later. Cas did not end up waking Dean and he's still in the plastic chair by the door, sitting placidly, gazing in the approximate direction of the beds.

...very placidly. He doesn't stir; not at the alarm, not when Dean gets up, and not once someone comes to check on him. It's like he's checked out entirely.]

[ That extra bit of touch only has to be weird if they make it weird. And Dean doesn't want to. At least this time. It makes something in him ache, something that he can't remember how to name, but he's really good at ignoring that. He always has been.

Probably one of the better sleeps he's had in the past few years, too. Stone-cold sober but still out like a light. That's rare.

Life makes him pay his penance for that almost immediately, of course. It's as good a time as any to give Sam the basic rundown on what Cas told him. If Dean leaves out the wrist-bruising, that's his business. He'll just make sure Sam stays hands-off.

He's supposed to be making that soup run, but... ]

What happens if I open that door right now, buddy. [ He specifies the buddy so that Sam doesn't think Dean's asking him shit he literally doesn't know. There's only so fast a sick man can research on the ol' laptop. And while Sam's doing the useful shit, Dean's crouching in front of Cas in the shitty plastic chair, scrutinizing his face for any signs of life. ] You gonna go all Terminator on me again?

[ You know what, this is a "put a hand on Cas's shoulder and keep it there" situation if ever there was one. Emergencies outvote intricate rituals.

The problem, which Sam agrees on, is that if this stretches out too long then they might have to open the door to see if something will happen. Even though that feels a hell of a lot like-- like letting Cas down. Trusting Dean Winchester with something like this only to be immediately disappointed???? It's more likely than you think. ]

["What the hell do you mean, again?" Sam calls sharply from where he's typing away at his laptop, trying to find the file he'd been working on with Cas's help.

Castiel doesn't move at Dean's voice or touch at first, but his head tilts so slightly, so slowly, to the side as if he's trying to listen to an unheard voice.]

Long story. [ Blatant lie. ] Had a little incident, turned out fine. Give you the rundown later. [ Cas went a little Terminator. Self-explanatory for now. Everyone in this room has done that at some point, right? Has been on both sides of that? Pretty sure it's everyone.

If Dean Winchester is gonna do anything, it's not make what happened sound like a bigger deal than he personally thinks it is. He tried to yoink an arrow out of the guy's eye socket, that was clearly on him. ]

You gotta work with us here, Cas. Come on. [ If he sees that slow, slow head tilt as a sign to hold Cas's face in his hands again, keep him upright, that's his business. ] Where's your head at?

[ Psychically transmit that exact information so that Sam can take notes, obviously. Problem over, the end, we won the entire war against whatever we're at war with right now.

A man can dream. ]

[Cas's head rests in Dean's hands like whatever's going on means he won't be holding it up on his own anymore, but his eyes still don't change from their distant, dilated-pupils gaze. Sam is there just a few seconds later, hauling his laptop over and clearing his throat, coughing slightly. He settles the laptop on the table and leans over it, then begins to read the growled, short-syllable language of Enochian from a translation sheet.

Castiel's eyes finally move, sluggishly, dragging over towards Sam.

Sam startles on one of his glances at Cas to check that it's worked, kind of shocked that it had actually. "Holy shit. Uh, okay, Dean keep holding him up. I'm gonna...I'm gonna try something." Sam reads another line and Castiel's eyes slip closed, slumping out of his chair and forward onto Dean as if his consciousness was just poured out of him.]

[ Okay, we're at the holy shit level. Okay. The I'm gonna try something level. At least Sam was seeing results, right? ]

Nothin' says 'time to experiment' like shag carpet, right, Sammy.

[ See. It's fine. This is fine. Dean loves being confused and worried and feeling something in his chest twist like a stressed-out rubber band while he kneels here feeling ~~helpless~~ useless.

He loves not knowing what's going on and Sam having to pick up the slack, he loves when someone very important to him goes completely boneless and lifeless and slumps over onto him and all he can do is sit on the ground bracing their back, cradling the back of their head, trying not to--

Not to freak out. Dean doesn't do freakouts, he doesn't get to do freakouts. He doesn't get to sound lost or unsteady or whatever the hell else. He does his job, he goes and finds something to hit later. It's not even... it's fine. It's fine. It's fine. He's overreacting. Thinking too much about too many other shitty things that aren't the same as what's really happening here.

Maybe Dean should go ahead and write the next couple days off under "day-drinking rendition of R&R" in his mental planner. Maybe he should sue Cas for emotional damages. How about that. ]

[And Sam of course can tell Dean is having a fucking mental breakdown, so he takes a moment to reach over and try to help, to try and drag Cas into a more comfortable position in his brother's arms. "He's okay, Dean, he's fine," Sam reassures him, though it occurs to him that he's going to need to explain what he's doing before any of that sinks in.

With Cas properly turned over, Sam peels back an eyelid and notes the mote of bright white grace pulsing evenly in his eye, letting go and heading back over to his laptop. "A while back," is how he starts, because 'that time you got bodied by Alistair' is not a good starter when Dean's already freaking out, "Cas was fighting this powerful demon and it was doing this spell that looked like it was pulling him out of his vessel. It was just a recitation so I thought, there's no way it's that simple. I asked him about it during all the apocalypse stuff since we were gonna keep running across angelic opposition, and since then we've been building a, um..."

Sam winces. This is where it's gonna get a little dicey, where Dean's opinion is concerned. He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair and turning to cough into his shoulder, clearing his throat afterwards. "A database of all the spells, curses, and incantations Cas knows that affect angels. Most of them we can't use because you gotta have serious spiritual mojo behind it, but if the conditions are right, some of them..." He gestures at Cas in Dean's arms, like well. You can see.]

[ What's the point of being the older brother if your little brother is smart and perceptive enough to plot the course of the crashout you're headed for? How pathetic is that?

He's okay, he's fine, debatable. A while back Cas was fighting this powerful demon, and where the hell was Dean when that happened? Sam was there and Dean wasn't? Not a long list, but there are enough potential fights to not really... be sure. It's not even the important part. ]

So what, you guys are just... puttin' together a list of nuclear codes for angels? [ Which is, of course, pretty much exactly what Sam did not want to have to deal with right now. He starts in with the "It's not like that," all sighed out in that god give me patience because if you give me anything else I don't think I can be trusted way of his. ]

No no, yeah, sure, that's why you guys told me about it so quick. I mean, it's only been years, right? [ He should feel bad, guilty. Getting into this with Sam when Sam is still sick, still sounds hoarse, keeps having to cough, to catch his breath back. He does feel bad, he does feel guilty. And the time Dean has to take to try to rein it back in is sort of Sam's golden opportunity to force things like logic and reason into the equation.

"Because we knew you wouldn't be objective about it, Dean. And that's all that this," with a gesture to his laptop screen, "is. It's objective. It's a resource. You just said he went Terminator on you earlier. We need to be ready for something like that, don't we?" And hell, just to make sure he's actually getting the right point across here. "For Cas's sake, too."

The proof is in the pudding, isn't it? If Cas has been losing time, getting set off. If something is wrong that they need time to be able to figure out together.

Dean can't even argue it. Not really. Cas apologizes too much for stuff that's not his fault as it is. (Instead of apologizing for normal things, like not telling Dean he's giving Sam a quick-command KO list like he's some kind of animal that needs to get tranq'd.) Fine, so maybe Dean could argue it. But it circles back into the being tired and Sam being sick dilemma. So he shouldn't argue it right now. It's not even like a bad thing to have for literally any other angel that tried to come calling. They all suck. The only one worth anything is Cas.

And other such Dean Winchester problems, while he sits here on the floor holding an unconscious angel of the Lord like the world's least convenient security blanket. ]

This is stupid. Look, I get it, okay? I do. [ But Dean still fucking hates it on principle alone. Once per business day, a Winchester is required to be like "what the hell are we even doing here?" It's not much, but it's honest family work. ] So congrats on the dead language database not blowin' your computer up.

[ A family can be two brothers constantly sidestepping their own bespoke pits of struggle in order to function. Look at them, they did great here. It was almost communicating.

Which means Dean's gonna lean on hoping that Cas is marginally normal again when wakeup-call time rolls in and it's fine if his entire mental health status hinges on that, right. ]

It's an all-clear order, [Castiel mutters out from down in Dean's arms; when they look they'll see his eyes have cracked open, though he hasn't yet moved otherwise. He starts to try sitting up, grasping at Dean's arm and shifting slightly with a groan.

Sam turns in the chair, covering his mouth for a cough as he watches Castiel move like an old man, inch by inch with Dean's support. "What I said?" At Castiel's nod, he turns back to the laptop and starts typing. "The first part or the second part?"

If Castiel decides to just lean against Dean, that's nobody's business. He feels...out of sync. Like he's trying to move his vessel as one would manipulate clothes into moving without limbs inside the sleeves, instead of just wearing it themselves. Disorienting. Disconnected.] The first is to call the attention of angels in a suggestible state. The second part orders angels back to their garrison. [Castiel closes his eyes, presses a hand over them, into them. Rubs tiredly.] It's...it's not a spell or incantation. It wouldn't have worked if I hadn't been... [He glances around, eyes falling on the clock on the nightstand between the beds, expression falling. Four hours. The last time he recalls looking, it had only been two.]

Edited 2025-11-26 17:15 (UTC)

[ Dean's gonna be the last guy to complain about Cas staying put. Doing a little leaning. Both for emotionally-frazzled reasons and for practical reasons, as he's kinda not sure what his get-Cas-off-of-floor plan looks like. All thing considered. Didn't really think that one through.

Regrets? No. None. He was born to be a service dog in this fashion. Something steady to lean on. Something secretly very selfish, very hung up, that wants the reassurance of the contact for as long as he can reasonably have it.

Cas is back online. Struggling, but back online. He's right here with them. That's about as good as they can probably get right now. ]

If you hadn't been "suggestible"? [ Not Cas's fault. Obviously. Something else's fault. Someone else's fault. Because if it's someone or something else's fault, that means solutions. ] Do we know what we gank to stop that?

[ No wrong answer. Unless the answer's no, then Dean doesn't like the answer. That would have to be the fastest way to help, right? Burn down the forest, remove whatever's causing this from the equation? Murder something for Cas (the only singular easy love language, in which Dean is extremely well-versed)? ]

[Dean's voice takes on a razor-sharp edge at 'suggestible' that makes Cas feel both embarrassed and flattered. Such a staunch defender of free will...it's one of his most beautiful qualities. For all the man feels trapped by his own responsibilities, the thought that anyone else might be restricted by their own makes him armor himself with a righteous anger that gleams like polished steel. Lovely.

...he's been gazing up at Dean's face for a while. He should put more effort into sitting up. At least his wing isn't throbbing in constant pain anymore, now just aching and stiff, unwilling to move at all.] The powers that can put an angel into a suggestible state are very, very rare.

[He doesn't elaborate any further, because the options really are limited. Very limited. ...depressingly limited. Sam seems to catch on first, pausing in taking notes to look at Castiel past his laptop screen. "You mean it's Heaven."

Castiel nods reluctantly. He can't think of anything else that could achieve such a feat, especially through all the wards he put on the room. This would be old protocol. From the time of Creation.]

[ For Cas's mental health and Cas's mental health only, Dean wrestles down the impulse to say something like "I wish you'd clean-slated the whole angel population, actually." Kind of a near-miss, but he manages. In the same way that he manages not to tighten his grip too much, forces down that impulse alongside the other one.

(Things don't change for a person that much, growing up. Not really, Dean thinks. Somewhere in him, he's always four years old, standing in front of a burning house, holding one of the most important things in the world like it'll get stolen from his hands if he lets up for even a second.

And the thing is, life has a way of proving him right.)

The gap where Cas got out of Purgatory. The lost time, the freaking-out last night.

It's paint-by-numbers for an ugly-ass picture. ]

You're the angel expert around here, Cas. [ Go figure.

Dean is going to create an environment that is SO normal and SO calm. ] How do we find out who we see about cuttin' the cord?

[ Dean Winchester can be trusted with this information, should it exist. Of course he can be trusted. And he would not dare get himself killed trying to commit extended and unspeakable violence with regards to this situation.

Just let his hands be weapons to wield at your behest and then let him spell out his devotion in the blood of any terrible, powerful thing that's trying to do you harm or strip you out of yourself. Is that so much to ask???? ]

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just do what i do and never proofread

ur so right

cw: suicide mention

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i should make a sam journal at this rate

doomed by the narrative (to be in the narrative)

omg....a dani essay........im so blessed

the stars aligned...

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