foolintherain | DEERINGTON INBOX

[ Though Cas has made a habit of introducing his presence loudly around Dean and other soldiers over the years, he's stealthily quiet now as he opens the basement door and closes it softly again behind him, then takes the stairs with practiced smooth footsteps, usually intended for sneaking through hot zones, but now used not to disrupt Dean if he's already managed to fall asleep, however unlikely.

Cas sets the bowl and glass he's carrying on the steps and sits beside them, a comfortable enough distance not to startle Dean if he wakes suddenly. ]

Dean... Chow time.

[ Dreams can be so vivid, but it's always obvious that you've been dreaming after you wake up. There are details that don't hold up, realities that would never happen in the waking hours. The problem is, Dean feels like one of those impossible things, that it's hard to accept that this dream is real, whether Cas is awake or not. The rasp of his voice and the warmth of his mouth are beautifully corporeal. His fingers are calloused but gentle as they cover Cas's fingers and sink into his hair, and whether this is a cruel dream or a kind reality, Cas leans into it, welcoming Dean's hands, his tongue, his warmth, and everything that makes Dean Dean inexorably closer.

Doubt is a creeping, poisonous thing, but Dean's hands and overwhelmingly deep kisses chase it away. Cas's fingers tug at Dean's shirt and slip under it to find more skin to touch, and Dean's warmth is a weapon against the world that Cas clings to. He kisses him back, blissfully breathless. He slides forward towards Dean, starved even as he's being sated, and the hood pops under the loss of his weight, and Cas remembers why they're out here making out like teenagers on the front lawn to start with, and why they shouldn't, and what he's risking.

It's enough of a fear that he pulls his hands out from under Dean's shirt and leans away from those sweetly addictive kisses. His eyes track Dean's lips and his voice is breathless with Dean's kisses, and all Cas wants is to lean back in and inhale him more. But— ]

Mn... The hood's nice, a real workout on the abs, but when do I get my tour of the backseat?

[ He sets the fluid down when he's finished, closing his eyes, and allowing himself to doze. He knows Cas is coming, and that's fine; it's more than fine, but he's aware he's less than fun company right now, so he isn't actually expecting Cas to stay. This whole... thing of theirs feel like its on tenterhooks, and he isn't sure when Cas is going to get bored of Dean and wander off into the night, so he lays and hopes and dozes and dreams.

When that familiar voice pieces the veil, drags him back to consciousness, he curses his inability to keep watch on the one goddamn doorway but he's also simultaneously pleased that it's those dulcet tones he awakens to after a brief little nap, eyelids fluttering. ]

Mm. [ He's up, he's up. ]

What...what time is it?

[ Dean follows after Cas when he leans back, his hands sliding free of hair and hands. He aches for more, lips cool and damp from where he'd tasted paradise. Cas is speaking, but it's muffled under the roar of need in Dean's veins, skin pricked with gooseflesh from where Cas' fingers slid over his body. ]

What? [ Dean's already reaching for Cas again, uncomprehending at first, mirroring the desire for touch. He slips his hand under Cas' shirt to pass over his belly to his lower back, eager to bring him in ever closer, because Dean cannot get enough and even the press of flesh on flesh is not good enough. He wants to crawl into Cas and stay there, so deeply ingrained, sand under skin.

Some of the fog clears, though, and it registers what is actually being said and Dean remembers himself, eases back with great reluctance and lets his fingers trail over Cas' skin, lingering at his hip. Cas is a bright star in Dean's dimly lit universe, a beacon of light glimmering in the twilight. He can't look away, can't pull away from his gravity now that he's allowed himself to be caught.

A deep breath, one, two. ]

Right now.

Edited 2021-06-03 13:03 (UTC)

[ With as little sleep as Dean tends to get, it feels like a shame to wake him. But food will be good for him, and selfishly, an awake Dean is better company than a sleeping one.

Sleepy Dean is also aces, like, what a fucking adorable little grump. Cas grins, and with no real rush to his actions, picks the bowl of soup and glass of water back up, stands, and deliveries them to Dean. ]

Dinner time. ...Maybe seven, if I had to guess.

[ These days, it's not all that easy to tell except by how bright or dark the fog is, and this asshole doesn't care to wear a watch. Anyway, the guests have all been getting food and heading to their corners of the house, Bones included, so it's late enough that no one's out wandering, beyond Sam's nightly patrol. So maybe Cas let Dean sleep a little longer than fifteen minutes. He needed it.

And now the lucky bastard gets dinner hand delivered in bed. Cas sits beside him, cross-legged, fingers loosely linked between his legs because he doesn't trust Dean to eat if he isn't watching. Also because, you know, an excuse to watch. Don't judge him. ]

It tastes like shit cold, so eat up while it's hot.

[ Reality is the space between them, the cool air saturated with the sharp smell of fog. The dream world is Dean's hands on Cas's skin, lighting up his senses, flaring up heat under the wake of Dean's fingertips on his sides, his back, and sand underneath skin sounds terrible, but if it's Dean, Cas would welcome the painful itch, wrap a protective shell around it, and squeeze, and lave, and love Dean's grit to smooth, righteous pearl.

Parting from Dean's touch is not sweet, all sorrow, and as soon as Cas is slid off the hood, he wraps his hands up in Dean's flannel and tugs him towards himself again, kissing Dean's mouth but only fleetingly, making him chase as he walks backwards around the side of the car, dragging Dean along with each step. ]

Right now is perfect. Show me.

[ Cas leans back against the door and pulls Dean against him, kissing him deeper, drinking from his mouth, and it's a little counter-intuitive to the whole get inside the vehicle idea, but kissing Dean and holding him like this is a dream, and if they're lucky, maybe dream logic will take over and they'll phase right through the steel, hit the leather, and never have to part to do it. ]

[ His hair is a mess and he's warm and groggy, dragging himself to awareness with practiced precision. He's usually on such high alert, this is a foreign feeling to him, being so sluggish. ]

Jesus. How long was I out...

[ It's mostly grumbled to himself, taking the dinner he's offered, blinking blearily down at it as Cas makes himself comfortable. ]

You don't have to hang around if you don't want to. [ Dean would like it if he did, though. ]

Not long enough for how badly you wore yourself out.

[ A rare, vulnerable, just-woke-up Dean Winchester is certainly a pleasure to see. As if Dean could get rid of Cas that easily. ]

If you think I'll leave and let you get away with pushing my stew off on Sam or some other poor sap, think again. Choke it down, soldier.

[ Since the duties for the day are sufficiently taken care of and the mission for wormwood is put on hold for a second time, Cas sure does settle in, digging in his canvas jacket's pocket for a half-smoked blunt and his lighter. ]

Yeah I, uh. I think I overdid it a little.

[ Dean figured he wasn't gonna be able to shoo Cas away as easily as he'd like.

In reality, though, Dean doesn't mind Cas sticking around, and he keeps his eyes fixed on him as he moves to lean up against the wall, dinner in hand. ]

You're bossy, you know that?

[ Cas backs up, teasing Dean, and Dean easily, eagerly gives chase. He reaches for Cas, fingers light on his hips as he goes after him, seeking kisses only to be denied. The angel keeps just out of reach; Dean moves to close in and Cas slips away, until he managed to pin him up against the car, hips pressed flush, noses brushing. He doesn't kiss him again, though - not yet.

Instead, he reaches around, fumbles with the door handle to open it, pulling Cas with him as it swings outward. The backseat of the Impala is startlingly roomy, and the leather has been lovingly, carefully restored, parts salvaged from a strikingly similar Impala he'd found in the scrapyard.

A remnant from a previous stay, maybe. There's certainly been a revolving door of Winchesters in Deerington. He won't complain though, because the parts were needed and the leather was still intact. It'll hold up to the weight of two men, because Dean is easing Cas into the vehicle, pinning him down, and closing the door behind them.

Now he will kiss Cas again, teases at that pretty mouth, tongue tracing over lips. Dean is a selfish, greedy thing, and now that they've started whatever this is, he doesn't want to stop. ]

[ Cas just shrugs at the accusation, twisting the end of the joint between his fingers before bringing it to his lips, lighting up, and inhaling deeply. His head tilts back, but he watches Dean, not so much to make sure he's eating anymore as just because Dean is there, in front of him, to watch. It's more calming than the weed, which burns in Cas's lungs. Smoke seeps out of his lips in wisps as he asks, still curious. ]

So Sam always wanted a dog growing up. That's it?

[ It must have some kind of real significance for Dean to go through all the extra trouble of another trip to the summoning stones for it. ]

[ The rotting of the Impala had been a gradual thing. Dean stopped driving it, and it sat like a gravestone in the grass by his cabin. The wheels went flat; the whole thing was covered with leaves and pollen as remnants from past season, but it was still drivable, back then. Still salvageable. Then a transport vehicle needed a new battery. The fluids were drained. The seats were repurposed, and a door, the license plates, and the steering wheel. The next time Cas remembers really looking at it, it was a husk of a thing, irreparably damaged. A corpse rusting away. Cas knew better than to ask Dean about whether he planned to repair it; the answer was obvious, back then. But he sat on the hood sometimes, watching the stars and the lightning, the helicopters and bombs whistling away in the distance.

He's surprised by the leather under his hands, how supple and undamaged it is, no longer cracked and stripped of its shine, but new, the way it used to be. Cared for. Dean kisses him again and Cas's hands immediately seek out Dean's skin instead, pushing Dean's shirt up above his ribs, shameless about exposing him now that they're relatively concealed. He kisses Dean again and again, just as greedy and selfish, and he arches up against Dean, not to shove him off or direct him to do anything more than what he's doing, but just to feel the press of his weight, and the slide of their bodies together.

Dean's done so much work to restore his beloved car, and himself, that Cas feels used up and grubby in comparison, but it doesn't keep him from pressing up against Dean and kissing him breathless, from sliding his hands wide over Dean's back or shoving a thigh between Dean's legs and grinding up to feel everything he can through soft, worn denim. Really, it only encourages him more, knowing what he lacks, how ruined he let things become for them and all the time lost that they have now, here, to make up for. One drunken time he barely remembers wasn't nearly good enough to fill this corroded emptiness inside of him. He needs more of Dean's hands, his skin, his mouth. A full resortation. ]

Thanks.

My dad wasn't um
really into
that kind of

... culture?

[Weirdo hippie stuff, is probably what he'd have said.

Ssssomething along those lines.]

I'd like to, though. If it'll help me with my thoughts.
You do those a lot? Meditating and yoga I mean

He likes them, yeah. [ Far more than Dean does, that's for sure. He has his reasons for it, but, you know. ]

It wasn't ever logical. We moved around too much, there's no way we could've had a dog. [ It's debatable that John Winchester ever should've even had kids, cause God knows he didn't really do right by them. He might have 'tried' and 'done the best he could', but frankly it wasn't good enough and now look at them. They're fucking wrecks. ]

I thought he'd like it. [ And it's cute, for a dog, he guesses. Fluffy. ]

[ The interesting thing about being an interdimensional being capable of time travel is that Castiel knows firsthand what most of Dean, and Sam, and John and Mary's lives were like, from about 1970 through 2001. What's even more interesting is how little he knows about any of them. Angels are dicks, and why Cas could tell you where Mary was buried or the circumstances of John and Bobby's introduction, he has no idea what Mary's favorite food was, or John's hobbies outside of hunting and fatherhood, or why on earth Sam wanted a dog. Everything human he's learned about the Winchesters hasn't been through time travel, but through stories from Dean.

Dean who tries so hard to be Sam's father and mother in John and Mary's place, even in a post-death dream world. Cas exhales smoke towards the ceiling slowly as he thinks about it. ]

He does like it.

[ It's obvious that Sam, both of them, like their new fluffy companion, but if it had been a goldfish or a stuffed animal, he's sure they would have liked it just as much. Cas has seen Sam receive enough gift from Dean to know that they are rare and precious, and generally more practical than sentimental, but always from the heart, and that Sam will always treasure them. Yes, even apple-flavored condoms.

The hit spreading slowly outward, dispersing like smoke in his blood, Cas looks at Dean again with casual curiosity. ]

What did you want, growing up? Besides the obvious.

[ There's still so much he doesn't know about Dean, so much Dean used to talk about, garrulous and carelessly intimate without prompting, until he wasn't anymore. ]

[ Either Dean didn't realize the Impala he found in the scrapyard here belonged to a previous version of himself, or he didn't care - though of the two, the latter is far more likely. As the years wore on on Baby, so they also did on Dean's soul. The passage of time and utter deterioration manifested physically in the form of Baby's demise, the warmth of his soul fading to icy blackness as the Impala rotted a few feet away.

Dean let Baby die, as Sam so accurately stated, but it wasn't because he wanted to, it wasn't because he enjoyed the decline. With every part stripped away from his precious vehicle, the one thing in life he loved as desperately as Sam or Cas, a piece of himself was stripped away, too. The battery was needed, the glass in the back windshield, the tires. She became a husk, a shell of what she used to be, a dying star - much like her driver.

If she could speak, she would say that it was alright, that she understood, that there were more important things that her parts were needed for. Dean cried when he pulled the battery out, when he took the doors off, but after that he hardened, and it became routine to strip her down when something was needed. She'd forgive him anyway, if asked, but then again - nobody ever did.

He grew colder and crueler, more and more selfish with every passing day; it's little wonder that he didn't bother to mention the Impala's existence when he found it to his other self - much like he never bothered to outwardly tell Sam or the other Dean that they existed. If he could keep these things as close to his chest for as long as possible, he would. He was irritated enough when Cas slithered over there, and while Dean recognizes that he cannot control anyone, his anger doesn't abate. It's stowed instead, carefully plugged in a bottle, combustible and fragile, and locked away. It's not a new coping mechanism, not really, but the volatility of his anger has tempered somewhat. There are new chances here, he thinks, and people that show him there is more than the life he left behind.

He's changing, slowly but surely. And the new seats in Baby's backseat mirror another sealed up fracture in his heart, molten gold shining in the multitude of cracks. Dean eases Cas back against them, the seats smooth and supple like new, smelling of leather. Hands smeared in grease slip up under Cas' shirt, skirt over his skin, trace and count his ribs as Dean meets his kisses. He breathes Cas' name against his lips; already this time is different, less urgent, less drunken fumbling, less frantic. Dean takes his time, palming Cas' ribcage, dragging his fingers up, taking his time as he savors the feel of warm skin under his fingers. ]

Edited 2021-06-05 10:57 (UTC)

[ He watches the smoke curl up, slipping between Cas' lips like ghosts in the shadows, curling its way upwards until it dissipates.

This is an uncomfortable conversation; he's had it with himself before, in a dream and he looks away from Cas, down into his bowl to take a bite he barely tastes. Every piece of his identity had tied into his father - his car, his music, his favorite jacket. Hell, he still hears his old man's voice in his head;

Watch out for Sammy. Look after your little brother, boy.

He had nothing outside of Sam. What did he want, growing up? It's impossible to answer, because his life revolved around his fathers sick obsession that ruined his fucking life. ]

I dunno, Cas. Maybe some Hot Wheels. I was a kid. I was four when Mom died. I don't remember much before that, and after, I took care of Sammy.

[ That's certainly the identity John drilled into Dean, and arguably, the identity Dean drilled into himself because of it, but "Sam's keeper" is far from the only thing Dean Winchester is. If only Dean would realize how much larger he is. It's easy for children to see their parents as these ideal, inhuman figures greater than the sum of their flaws, but parents, even the almighty kind, are frustratingly human. Cas turns the bud around in his fingers and leans in closer as he offers it to Dean. There's no better herb to season boiled vegetables with, or canned beans, or whatever else you don't want to eat. ]

You didn't ever want a dog? What was your ideal pet? A cat? A lizard? It was a guinea pig, wasn't it?

[ Of course John wasn't "into" meditation, but Sam and John were two very different people, which Cas is endlessly grateful for. Also good on Sam for not typing out "weirdo hippie stuff." He's much more considerate than his father (or brother) ever were of alternative lifestyles.

It's a shame he's too young to expand his mind in more entertaining ways. But then there's a Sam around who isn't too young for it... ]

in the mornings, yeah
gets me out of bed and limber

[ Mostly the first one, although the second one helps for the pain that comes with being able to feel the existence of your spine. ]

if you're ever awake at sunrise, come find me outside, and i'll show you some exercises i've picked up
of the breathing and connecting to the air around you kind

[ Chances are, Sam could do more with it than Cas ever has, but even if he can't, trying to help him feel better in whatever way he can is the least Cas owes him. ]

[Sam couldn't relate to the whole spine thing. His was young and flexible and spry, not a crackle to be had when he got up in the morning. Envious, huh?]

I'm always up at sunrise, yeah
Got used to it anyway, even if Dean liked to sleep in all the time.
I just don't wanna bother you if you're really focused, or anything.

[Read: He's still a little shy around Cas, because he feels like Cas may just be nice to him because he's Dean's brother. He's working on it, though. 100%. Now that they've... kinda gotten that squared away. He wants to make an attempt to be someone better around Cas than what he's had to deal with back home.]

[ Super envious. Cas went from blissfully immortal to thirty-five years old. Wouldn't recommend it. ]

what i'm hearing is that i should come bother you
hows tomorrow sound?

[ Though Sam has wronged Cas in ways he doesn't remember, it was never really Sam that wronged him. Cas has found that out now, from the other Sam, and though he doesn't regret telling Sam about the... less fortunate end their world came to, the responsibility was solely on Lucifer, not Sam. And himself. Atoning to Sam is what he should've done from the start. This feels at least somewhat like a step towards that. ]

Yeah, Cas. You got me. It was a guinea pig.

[ Dean leans in, takes what's offered, rolling it between his fingers before breathing a deep hit. It's been a while since they've done this. ]

Seriously though, I really never gave it a lot of thought. A cat would've been okay, I guess. I'm allergic but there's pills and stuff you can take.

"Pills and stuff" sounds like a lot of work for animal companionship. But then, it pays off in pussy jokes, I suppose.

[ A while, yeah. It wasn't often that Dean allowed himself to loosen up enough to even hold a decent, non-strategic conversation. He kept himself busy; Cas can't really blame him for that. But the punishment Dean, of all people, put himself under was undeserved. He deserved to smoke more, and have a pet cat, and whatever else Dean wanted but didn't pay enough attention to, busy with the weight of too much responsibility. ]

I always found crabs charming, but the jokes don't have the same... finesse.

[ Combustible, fragile things are the kind most likely to explode and destroy a great deal of everything around them, but then Cas isn't in a place to lecture Dean about his anger. Cas was lightning in a bottle like that, once. Now he's a drained wine bottle with the bottom broken off: empty and sharp and incapable of being filled. But oh, how sweet it is to feel whole for a moment here and there, when Dean touches him gently and breathes Cas's name against his lips, a reminder of who he still is.

That lightning is gone, but the smell of motor oil and leather seats makes him feel high on nostalgia for a time when it wasn't. He sighs Dean's name into the next kiss, a reminder of who Dean always will be to him, and though there's no urgency or need to rush, Cas feels greedy for more of Dean, anyway. He traces the curve of Dean's back and his sides, his chest and his stomach as he kisses him again and again, inhaling the scent and taste of Dean with soft, oiled leather, and when Dean's shirt gets in the way of his hands, Cas tugs it up, and up, over Dean's arms.

He drops his head back to the seat and smiles as he watches, because Dean's always been, and still is, lovely to look at. Mostly though, it's just as nice to see Dean right now as it is to touch him. Cas's starved touches turn gentle as he traces Dean's high cheekbones, his plush lips and rough chin, before tugging him down again slowly and arching up to meet him in more leisurely, deep kisses. ]

[ Snort. ]

Crab jokes definitely aren't as funny. [ Pussy jokes aren't charming or anything either, but. You know. ]

Cats are cool. They do their own thing, they aren't up your ass every second of the day wanting attention. They gift it to you when they want. Dogs are just...

[ Too much.

They remind him of hellhounds, too, and Dean is understandably wary. ]

DEERINGTON INBOX

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do i have to cw: smut this same thread again because like it should be obvious by now

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just be like cw: dean and cas, that's it, that's the warning

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exactly

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belated cw: drugs.... aka the usual cw: EV!cas

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