theroadpaved | Open PSL

[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.]

[ What's one more time being completely pathetic on main in this 24-hour bubble, really? Of Dean letting his breath hitch and his pulse kick up because of shit he shouldn't want and shouldn't get. Of not knowing what to do with this-- tenderness, unnecessary care, the press of chapped lips to his scraped knuckles, outside of selfishly memorizing the feeling of it. The too-much-not-enough he can never figure out when hands turn gentle with him.

How do you tell anyone that they're a hook through your heart? How do you tell someone that no matter how many times the hook gets ripped out, even when you're the one who does it, you'll always, always have another part set aside for it to sink back into-- make me bleed, I'll understand, I'll thank you for it? How do you say that if the circumstances weren't completely horrific and you didn't care about free will, you'd probably want to tie them to you just like this anyway? Screw morals and ethics.

You don't tell them, is the answer. You keep it all tucked away where it can't weigh them down and it can't make you a liability.

Never mind the strange ease that comes with this tether settling in. Never mind the closest thing to safety that he's felt since he was four years old, the fleeting sense of coming-home. Never mind the tremulous awe all over his face because of Cas doling out one painfully affectionate gesture.

God. Dean thinks he might actually be beyond pathetic. Pathetic's in the rear view mirror, and he's hurtling towards whatever comes after.

He might just be completely screwed, because he can't even make himself pretend to want to pull away. ]

[This definitely was not part of the ritual that Cas did with Sam, but Castiel is also very aware of what Dean will allow and has arranged himself so that his back is to Sam and, thus, hides most of what he's doing with his own shoulders. If he keeps Dean's knuckles against his lips for a moment longer, that's nobody's business but theirs.

Dean's longing thrums through him like the plucked string of a harp.

Cas opens his eyes, mumbles the Enochian phrase to complete the ritual; the gravel of his voice curls around the Rs, the guttural stops of the Ts and Gs. It sounds so different like this but using his mouth affords him the cover he needs to move his lips against Dean's skin, just for a moment, until the magic settles finally, joining them together in contract, and then he has no more reason to keep holding.

He lowers their hands. Slips one away, then the other.

Sam is resolutely not looking at them, is even doing them the courtesy of not being obvious about it, but a while after Castiel finishes the ritual he does clear his throat around a cough, leaning up in his chair. "Okay; I got us three tickets to Athens, leaving two days from now from Dallas. Jeez; sixteen hours, not including layovers." That's gonna suck for Dean! Good thing Sam isn't scared of flying. In fact, he's maybe even a little excited. Athens. They can squeeze some sight-seeing in while they're there, right?]

[ Dean can make himself be a little bit brave about this kind of thing again, right? A little. Not exactly his forte or anything, but -- if he squeezes Cas's hand before it slips away, strokes once with his thumb, careful, that doesn't have to be anyone's business but theirs.

And Dean can be grateful to get this much. He can probably run another few years off of all the touching they've done in the past 24 hours. Even while he's cutting his gaze away after, flexing his fingers while he turns to get his hand cleaned back up. ]

Is that all, [ he mutters like a very cool normal person who is NOT slightly red in the face due to Castiel's errant knight rizz. At all.

Sam can go ahead and keep on not looking at him though, thanks. ]

Those layovers are probably gonna be what keeps me from killin' all three of us, so yeah. Let's give those a round of applause and be grateful I'm a step up from B.A. Baracus.

[ Will there be in-flight entertainment? Can he have his quiet panic attacks while drunk and watching The A-Team?

Could do worse, honestly. ]

[He is returning the touch.

If Castiel was staring at Dean before it's got nothing on what he's doing now, watching him with a focus so intense it borders on obscene. A fathomless creature inside of him roars for more; more touch, more quiet moments together, more of those scraps of...of something from Dean that are so new and so gentle. He should be satisfied with whatever Dean is willing to give him. He shouldn't be allowed to want more.]

I could help you sleep, [Cas offers, eager to be of use. If they're going to go so far out of their way to help him, the least he can do is use his grace to knock Dean out into dreamless sleep for the plane ride.]

[ Dean goes ahead and pretends that he can't almost physically feel the weight of Cas staring at him for the nth time in his life. Different tempo or not, this part is at least the same song and dance. It's not like Cas ever pretends to not be staring at him, anyway, so it makes more sense to just be normal about it.

Don't overthink it. Don't think about the gnawing thing that would settle inside him if he was allowed to touch Cas like that all the time, for no reason other than-- other than the things that he's not allowed to think about. Dean's good at not overthinking this.

But he hesitates at the offer, while he's much more pointedly setting a soup container on Sam's nightstand, tapping his fingers on the plywood a few times to be extra annoying about pointing out that it's there.

(Sam swats his hand for it, but he's either feeling nice enough not to swat too hard or being sick has just sapped him of the strength needed.) ]

Yeah, not sure where I land on that one. But thanks. I'll let you know.

[ Not having to experience a lot of the flying versus not being awake if something happens versus well of course he could trust Cas to wake him up if something happens versus but what if the thing that happens is Cas gets all zoned out again and then he can't wake Dean up.

Much to debate, even if it would probably be easier on literally everyone else in the plane for Dean to be conked out. And easier on everyone after they landed because it would be the most sleep he's gotten at one time since he was like ten.

He's honestly grateful to simply have the option either way. ]

[Sam, meanwhile, is so bravely ignoring the truly REVOLTING amount of romantic (and sexual??) tension between his brother and Castiel. He literally deserves a medal, parade, and one million dollars cash.

Plans and execution proceed apace. Cas manages not to fall into despair by Dean rejecting his help and by knowing he's inconveniencing the brothers by being unwell. Sam drinks his soup and sleeps most of the drive to Dallas. Cas has a couple of mild zoning sessions, but nothing as severe as before and he doesn't disappear on either of them, though Sam complained afterwards that he had felt a little like someone tugged on a thread tied to his ribs.

They arrive at the airport and Cas does a little mojo show when some TSA agents squint a little too long at Sam as they go through security, but they make it through and onto the plane, Dean in a seat between Sam (aisle) and Cas (window).

The plane begins to taxi but before it even accelerates for takeoff, Cas reaches over and lets his hand rest on Dean's wrist, murmuring.] Do not be afraid. My wing is healed enough to bring us safely to land, if need be.

[ All's well that ends well. Except for the part where for Dean this is not an "ends well," because of the plane of it all. He's in his middle seat. He's ACTIVATED the airplane mode on his phone and secured the seatbelt because he will not play those kinds of games!!

And he is vibrating like a beloved pet chihuahua between Cas and Sam in a manly, brave fashion. Naturally. Humming all the vague snatches of Metallica in the world cannot save him, which he thinks is so fucking stupid when he's like. Literally died and gone to Hell and saved the world and seen its many, many horrors over and over again.

But a little extremely long plane ride is where he hits his limit? In front of his brother and his-- Cas, no less? Again??? ]

Mmhmm, [ is about the most he can muster as a first response. It's a delayed comprehension moment, so Dean mostly absorbs the touch and the tone of voice first.

Do not be afraid. Embarrassing. Humiliating. He should've asked Sam to concuss him before they got to the gate. pregamed with some overpriced airport booze.

He's a grown man, for chrissake. ] Yep. Great. Nothin' to, nothin' to... yeah. S'all good.

[ Would love to say "nothing to worry about," but alas, cannot make himself do that while there's a plane in motion.

Sam is at one side, pressing shoulder-to-shoulder. He's leaning closer than he needs to on purpose, just to do that. Dean knows. And Cas is here, and his hand is warm, and that's. Good. Humiliation factor aside.

But hopefully Cas doesn't want that hand back very soon, because Dean's just gonna. Gonna grab onto that THE moment this bad boy starts gearing up for takeoff for real. His arm now, commandeering that shit for the greater good (hating all airplanes forever and ever).

Maybe Dean can take these little selfish liberties as a treat. Just a little 🤏. ]

[Dean's grip on his hand is such that is Castiel even wanted to pull his hand away, he'd probably hurt him. Sam is on his other side and even with his airline-provided headphones over his ears, listening to a podcast, eyes closed and his brother's shoulder wedged against his, Castiel can feel the curious mixture of amusement and guilt coming off of him. Humans.

...the headphones give him an idea.

Castiel closes his eyes and leans back in his seat, allowing his true self to seep out in waves, curling carefully around essential signals and systems, seeking out-

-one Star KZPS 92.5 FM, classic rock, all day every day. Coming up next, "Smoke on the W-"

That'll do.

Cas plucks up his own plastic wrapped single-use earbuds, unsure as to why Sam had requested them for all three of their party but now glad he had, and finds the earpieces. He leans over and tries to get Dean's attention to put them into his ears but, of course, Dean is barely hanging on as the engines roar just outside the fuselage.

No problem. Cas will just put in the one he can reach for Dean, ignore Sam's questioning gaze, and then grip the metal jack and leans back in his seat, closing his eyes once again to concentrate on filtering the electrical pulses pulled in by his grace and translating them back into their intended sound.

It's actually kind of a fun exercise; more complex than anticipated, but with a little room to play around with it. Maybe he can try to lay in the memorized growl of the Impala's engine in the background, so it's almost like they're in the car.]

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