Castiel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theroadpaved) wrote2025-10-27 08:22 am
theroadpaved) wrote2025-10-27 08:22 amOpen PSL
Play with me! Write a starter or request a starter (and let me know in the comment if you'd like something genre-specific!)
theroadpaved) wrote2025-10-27 08:22 am
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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?]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.
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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 🤏. ]
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...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.]