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[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???? ]

[If Sam notices that Castiel doesn't really need to lay so heavily in Dean's arms (or that Dean doesn't really need to keep supporting him), he thankfully doesn't say anything, something for which Cas is eternally grateful considering the turn the conversation is taking.

The natural conclusion to be reached.]

...I'll...go to Heaven to investigate, [Castiel rasps, unable to hide his unease (fear) but knowing that indulging in it any longer is just going to put the Winchesters in danger. There's no choice. There is no choice. At the very least, if he does kill himself then the Winchesters won't be at risk of him blacking out and hurting either of them.

Castiel pushes himself up with a hand on Dean's knee before rolling onto his own, staggering up onto his feet. Better get it over with.] Sam, if you could open the door.

[ Sam, being of sound perceptive mind and common sense (or at least in some areas that the rest of Team Free Will don't have any), gives Cas one of those concerned, forehead-wrinkling Looks that he loves to give. He opens his mouth to presumably ask a reasonable normal question like "Cas, are you sure?" or maybe "are you okay?"

Dean's just gonna the queue on that one though, all anger, sort of a wordless snarl while he wrenches himself back to standing. What was he even worried about. Through rage, all physical feats are possible. ]

The hell you are!

[ Angry is easier than heart-seizing dread. Anger is actionable. He'll just sink every hook he has into himself and then into Cas and tie them together like one of those gross-ass rat kings. ]

[Sam startles at Dean's vehemence, but Castiel just looks at him tiredly, having expected it. He wears that same expression of despondent resolution, the one he puts on when he's positive they're all going to die bloody but he's going to march next to the Winchesters regardless.]

There's no choice, [Castiel tells Dean softly, like Sam's not even in the room with them. He might as well not be. This stretches back into the woods, that tight, warm grip of their hands for that single moment; it stretches further, into the quiet motel room with just the two of them, Dean telling him talk to me and just listening as Cas explains. The way they crack themselves open for each other.] We need answers. You were right.

[ Sometimes in this life, you're left to be the guy wondering what the fuck is going on while your brother has a weirdly intense and intimate moment with the communal best friend about something you weren't there for. Every day, it's something.

Dean stalks over, grips Cas's shoulder near the junction where it meets his neck, where his fingers can almost, almost start to curl around behind. Some pantomime of closeness, grip tightly enough that he feels a pang of guilt about it. But it's either too-tight or not being able to keep his hands steady, and only one of those is okay to be doing right now. ]

We'll find another choice. We'll make one, I don't care. You're not-- [ allowed to leave. Which he can't say. Not allowed to cut yourself out of every knot that we've ever made tying you to us, not allowed to try to cut us out of you, try to carve a hole and bleed me out like--

(Like a poison. And Dean is selfish for this, he's so goddamn selfish, but he can't make himself not be.)

Which he can't say, either. ]

You know, maybe it was because I got my friggin' eardrums blown out, [ he starts instead, tone all steel, ] but I'm pretty sure I remember you sayin' you weren't gonna make me abandon you. You don't think this counts? Huh?

[ Because it would count to him. If they step back and let Cas go back up there and he-- he doesn't come back. And Dean knew that he might not come back, and why. ]

[Dean's grip doesn't even rattle Cas, but the accusation does.

His eyes snap back up to Dean's face, brow furrowed sharp, jaw set so tight the corner of it jumps. That's not the same. That's not fair. But he doesn't have an argument ready, a reason against it, so his chest just burns with the beat of a heart that doesn't need to pound as quickly as it does in the face of Dean's upset.

Sam clears his throat, but he might as well be ringing a bell in a soundproof room for all the attention it pulls. "So you guys obviously haven't told me some shit," he starts off snippily, though his tone gentle almost immediately with a sigh, "but if it's because Cas doesn't remember things, why don't we use a memory spell, or a psychic?" You drama queens. Stop making out.]

[ Dean wins. That's what that means, that Dean wins. Because he can't get himself to say please or stop doing this or just stay, just stay with us and let us try, but he can damn sure say you said you wouldn't make me do that again.

No one ever said winning had to feel good. In his experience, nine out of ten times it doesn't. ]

Hear that, dumbass? Memory spell. Psychic. Those are called options. [ He needs to walk away about this really quick actually. Get the distance between him and the vulnerability of being looked at like that about it.

Standard fare. Less standard is the "yeah oops Sam's pretty far out of the loop on some of this stuff" realization that filters in belatedly. That's the problem with these profound bonds, man. There's stuff that doesn't feel like any of Dean's business to pass around. ]

Could those work even if he was totally blacked out for whatever he did?

[ Mature behaviors like: Cas gets to be in the conversation when he's not arguing for a potential death sentence solution. There's only room in this motel for one person with that attitude and Dean called dibs.

"I mean, I wouldn't say it if I didn't think there was a chance, Dean," Sam says, because he is god's most enduring warrior on this or any other world even when he has to keep coughing into his elbow. "We need to do some research. Obviously. But Cas can, Cas can help with that. Right?"

Girl help me talk down your boyfriend from the angel hostage scenario he thinks we have to create in here. Please.

It's first thing in the morning. Technically. Sam is not equipped for intense negotiations right now. ]

[Castiel still stares (glares) at Dean's back even after he shoves off and paces away, a sensation in a vessel he's gotten far too comfortable in like a tightening of his throat. He hates it. This stupid thing keeps reacting like a human. It makes it difficult to be objective. He's supposed to be objective.

Ever since he met Dean Winchester-

-he was lost!

No, no. No. Castiel takes a slow breath (another thing he doesn't need to do) before letting it out his nose, turning to Sam. Dean doesn't corrupt. Castiel is better off now than he'd have ever been with Heaven, even if things are...difficult. The things he's suffered lately are of his own design, a result of his own failings. He can't blame Dean for that.

...to answer Sam,] Reading the mind or memory of an angel is perilous for mortals. [The woman the Winchesters reached out to in order to find him is a good example.] Psychics could be maimed or killed. Anyone who uses the memory spell could likewise suffer the same fate.

[Sam sighs, but not one of defeat, and Castiel wonders when he began to understand the difference as Sam turns back to his computer and begins typing.

His eyes drift to Dean's back yet again.

"What about this then?" Cas turns back to Sam to see he's spun the laptop around, the words on the screen arranged like an article or entry in a tome, the title at the top reading, The Greek Pantheon: Mnemosyne, Titaness of Memoria.

Castiel blinks.]

[ Sam is really the MVP. Gotta give him props for that, every time. Smarter than anyone's got any kind of right being, but damn if it's not a lifesaver.

Dean goes ahead and pretends he doesn't feel Cas still staring at him. Pretends that he's a normal person who knows how to-- process shit or handle shit or react to shit, because he's right, he's right, this one time he knows he's right.

So let Sam do his thing, weigh their options.

It's gonna be fine. He's fine. He's got it under control. He's got it so under control that he pretends he didn't even think! about! Cas staring at him!!!! When he spins on his heel to also look at the laptop. ]

'Mnemosyne'? [ Sure man, why not. ] That'd solve our little mortal minds problem pretty quick. [ "Our" problem. If they summon a deity and it dies helping Cas, he actually doesn't care very much or consider it a problem at all. :)

But he'll say things like that to keep pretending all that stuff about being a normal person with normal emotions and moral standards when it comes to the other two people in this room. Sure. ]

[This time Cas is the one who sighs. You'd think he wanted to go to heaven and off himself for all the heel he's digging in.]

Although Mnemosyne isn't technically a goddess, she's...not likely to help an angel. [He folds his arms.] The Grecian gods view angels and Heaven as interlopers and conquerers. Which isn't far off from the truth. [Heaven didn't exactly dissuade the holy wars humans waged in God's name, after all.] And that's if she's even willing to answer a summons. Commonly, she'll send one of her daughters to handle human affairs.

[ Why is he like this? And other things Sam and Dean share a Look about while Cas is still checking out the screen. As much as Sam can contribute to that when he doesn't know everything.

Not that he's salty about that because hey he loves Cas too or anything. Of course not.

"It's still worth a shot, Cas. Right?" Are you gonna say no to these big sad caring eyes? Castiel? Please.

And Dean is also here to help make a case. In theory. ]

Yeah, and not for nothin', but. [ Pulls some bullshit face. ] I'm great with daughters.

[ Demigoddesses? Goddesses but like not the main goddess? Whatever. ]

[Dean being Dean definitely earns a patented Sam eyeroll. "Great at getting us run out of town, maybe." Sure, it was only once and it was years ago, but if they're keeping up this ruse then Sam will play his part.

Cas, meanwhile, is still silent, arms folded in deep thought. "...Cas?" Sam asked, prompting, throwing a glance in Dean's direction again. "Know how we can get in touch with an ancient Greek Titaness of memory?"

Castiel cuts his eyes to Sam, then back over to Dean. It's not going to work, least of all because a Greek deity wouldn't deign to help one of God's angels, but...they're not going to give up. They never do.] ...yes, [Cas sighs eventually.] But we'll need to be in Greece, and I can't currently fly.

One friggin' time, Sam. [ Thank you for playing his little game, Sam. It's an important part of the ecosystem. Dean will sleep his way through a whole pantheon to trade for help for Cas's sake. He's done worse for less, etc.

He knows full well that that's literally not even gonna be an option, of course, which is why he can jokey-joke about it. No Fear. Cas is cooperating. As long as Cas is cooperating, they can manage this together. They're not gonna give it any choice but to be fine.

"We'll need to be in Greece, and I can't currently fly:" One Fear Actually.

Don't worry, guys, Dean's gonna handle all the suddenly being hypervigilant about the implications of this situation. And by hypervigilant he means very relaxed, and normal. ]

Greece like. Like the country Greece. [ Girl...

"Pretty safe bet, Dean, yeah." Sam doesn't get paid enough to have to deal with this all the time. He should be suing for damages. Like maybe not this time because he gets where the weird energy is coming from, but next time? For sure. ]

You ever, uh. You ever fly commercial, Cas?

[ He'll... he can get on a plane. If that's what he has to do. It's rotten work but as long as he can complain the whole time he'll do it. For things this important. ]

You hate flying, [Cas points out almost despairingly but Sam just rolls his eyes. "Cas, the bigger problem is that I'm pretty sure Dean and I might still be on the No Fly List." Like Dean won't just get falling down drunk to tolerate it. Sam's pretty sure Dean would do another stint in hell if it meant saving Cas from whatever's happening to him, a little flying isn't going to stop him.]

It would also mean we have to leave this room, [Cas points out, since we're staying practical.] We would need a way to keep me bound to your sides.

[ Something about the you hate flying gets Dean a little bit off of his own bullshit. Enough to have him turning to Cas, baffled, because what the actual hell does that have to do with anything? Girl, that matters about as much as throwing a teaspoon of table salt into the Pacific.

Cas has more to worry about than whether or not Dean Winchester will be okay getting on a plane. Jesus.

He's so glad Sam is here to articulate how not-a-real-problem that is. ]

I gotta leave this room regardless. Soup run's not gonna make itself. [ And brains aren't gonna run... okay, properly isn't the right word for any of the brains in here. But like, as well as they can run. Without some fuel.

Maybe some pie. Maybe some booze. Maybe a tube of arnica cream for Dean's new bruise collection, some more of those non-drowsy cold meds, more tissues with the lotion because Dean's not a goddamn animal and neither is his little brother, something to help get his blood out of Cas's tie... there's a whole list in the works.

"We don't need another soup run right now, man," Sam starts, rolling his eyes. Like Dean, you were the guy having a meltdown on the floor about this situation not ten minutes ago. It's too late to pretend to not care, be serious.

And yet. Dean must persist. ] Large-scale problems start with small-scale solutions, Sammy, you know that. Just-- uh.

[ Vaguely motions towards Cas. On account of the sigils and stuff. ]

Lock up after me. Read over your Enochian crap, work out some binding. I'll get the grub and see if I can get Charlie on the horn about our little national security problem.

[ She can just make the No Fly List not a problem, right. It's practically negligible. She's like computer magic. Might just be nice to see how she's doing even if that's a dead end, assuming she is, in fact, get on the horn-able. Dean likes her more than he likes either of you guys, obviously.

He needs another drive anyway. He needs the solitude of his Baby to process (push down any emotions that make him feel like he needs to claw out of his own body) for a while. Best idea. Only good idea, Dean is so right about everything constantly that it's almost embarrassing. ]

[Charlie is a combination of delighted and annoying kid sister when Dean gives her a call. They shoot the shit for a little while; Charlie tells him about her new campaign she's been cooking up for D&D and picks his brain about strategy, Dean rants about a reboot of some movie series he's been looking forward to (but is no longer looking forward to after finding out the casting choices). Charlie puts Dean on hold for a minute to order at a drive through, and Dean does the same when it comes time to check out his soups.

They get around to it eventually. Charlie doesn't pry too deep, but she does tell him with some regret that she can try, but not to get his hopes up. "Money's one thing," she says with a sigh. "You know, private sector. So many of those guys doing illegal shit anyway, they don't notice a few more numbers moved here or there. National security is something else." She promises to give it a try, but to not be surprised if they pop back up on it, or get recognized. "Hopefully you have someone with you, someone who can do some Jedi mind tricks, you know, these are not the lumberjacks you are searching for. How's it going anyway? Is he with you? Is he still dreamy? Did you kiss him yet? Just kidding, unless-"

The call ends pretty quickly after that.

By the time Dean gets back to the room, Castiel and Sam have more or less worked out what can be done to keep Castiel from vanishing, at least in their presence. It really is more or less like a magical child-leash, a temporary binding ritual that will keep Castiel in their 'service' until specific conditions are met. It looks a lot like the binding magic that had enslaved Gilda, something Sam was very reluctant to copy over to their friend, but eventually came around with Castiel reassurance.] It's fine, it's different, [he'd told him, awkwardly patting Sam's wrist before withdrawing.] I have to enter into the pact as well. It's mutual. It wouldn't be strong enough to bind an angel otherwise.

[So when Dean returns, Sam goads his brother over and hands him a silver knife, still warm after being scorched with holy fire. "Use that, cut your hand, then hold Cas's. I already got mine done so I figure it's a good idea if we both bind him; that way if we have to split up, we've got more options on who goes with who." Sam returns to typing furiously, not even paying attention to the soup Dean's returned with. He's got plane tickets to buy and research to do and maybe he's going to brush up on his Greek.]

[ No matter what, at the end of the day, it was still good to talk to Charlie. They connect on very deep and important levels, especially taste in media. Kinda sucks that the go-to option probably is "ask Cas to cover our asses even though we're trying to do this to help him with the horrifying shit he's dealing with right now," of course, but hey. Worth a shot.

Disappointing, sure. Not really surprising at this point. Life sucks.

Dean feels more settled by the time he brings his haul back into the room anyway; despite Charlie being an insufferable little shit sticking her nose into all the business that she's technically been invited into, by dint of being basically family. And having eyes and ears or whatever. (He could think about talking to her about-- this kind of crap, feelings, whatever, sometime, but--

Waste of time. Too much pulling tangled messes out from behind his ribcage and putting them on the table, too much admitting that they're tangled in there at all, too much like... just too much. Too much for something a guy can't have or doesn't deserve or is too goddamn tired to deal with.

It can't turn into wanting if Dean refuses to let himself look directly at it.) ]

Soup run went great, thanks for asking. Yeah, checkout was a bitch, you know how it is with these places, fifteen registers and there's only two open. Things I do for our deep and abiding love, huh? [ Literally just complaining to complain, to clock Sam rolling his eyes and making a little bitch face about his nonsense when there's clearly More Important Stuff to take care of.

Glutton for punishment, Dean Winchester, that's just how he is. It's grounding, though. Something semi-normal.

He'll force some food into Sam in a few minutes. In the meantime, he turns to Cas, already very obligingly cutting his palm. If Sam's sounding that confident about the binding... thing. Then Dean has to assume that means un-binding Cas the second they get this taken care of is already lined up. Like, obviously. ] Alright, T-1000, time lost is blood lost and I don't exactly have a full tank right now.

[ Compared to that bullet earlier, this is baby stuff. Still: give him your hand. Right now. He's too mature to make a grabby motion, but immature enough to look very impatient.

Not that Dean enjoys having the intricate ritual of a literal ritual to be able to hold Cas's hand again or anything. Or having a good front-row seat to give the guy a scrutinizing look, make sure he seems as on the up-and-up as he can after scaring the crap out of them. ]

[Cas makes a pained expression at Dean joking about losing blood, yet again in less than twenty-four hours, but obediently takes the knife and likewise digs it into his own palm. He'd already cut and healed the other when he completed the ritual with Sam earlier, but one for each hand feels...more even. It doesn't make a difference, he's pretty sure. Well, like seventy percent.

Dean's hand is warm and solid in his. Cas takes it at first as if they're simply shaking hands, but brings up the other to press against Dean's wrist, to make sure their palms slot against each other, to force their blood to mingle. Warmth suffuses his vessel. Castiel clutches Dean's hand between his own, remembering those brief seconds in the woods as he hooked his fingers over Dean's hand and gazed up at him. The urge to bring Dean's knuckles to his lips returns, stronger.

Magic curls in the air between them, invisible. Castiel closes his eyes when they begin to glow a bright blue-white, clutching Dean's hand between his own, almost pulling it close to cradle it to his chest. Something that should feel like chains encircles his true form, unseen by mortal eyes, but it's more like the mooring of a great ship the night before a storm. The string of a child's beloved balloon, cinched around his wrist to keep his treasure from floating away. Dean's longing is seeping through the connecting and it makes Castiel ache.

He gives in. He brings Dean's hand up and presses the backs of Dean's fingers to his mouth, not quite but not unlike a kiss.]

Open PSL

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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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cw: suicide mention

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