foolintherain | DEERINGTON INBOX

Hm.

[ There's probably a lot to think about there, that Dean's ideal pet makes him work for its attention. Not to mention, they say you hate personality types that resemble yourself. But then, there's also the hellhound thing, though that certainly didn't stop Dean from summoning a dog into his home. Cas leans forward again, hand extended. You had a hit; pass it back, bro. ]

I think you haven't met the right dog. Maybe, uh... "Bones" will change your mind.

[ Probably not. Judging by the welcome Cas got, Bones doesn't seem to have any kind of discerning taste. He's friendly, loving, excitable. Cas likes him. ]

Also great name for jokes, by the way.

[ Yeah yeah, here. Sheesh.

Dean passes it back, shifting on his bedroll so he can better finish his dinner. ]

Maybe. That name was Sammy's idea. [ Of course it was. Not terribly clever, but he's fourteen. ]

Tomorrow sounds good!

[Wait, how was it that people showed they were eager or happy or whatever? He's behind on the times... It's hard when the niftiest computer of his time was $4,000 dollars, but he's learned a little by osmosis when he adds:]

Thanks for BOTHERing with me! =) ;)

[Nailed it.]

[ As much as Cas enjoys having the joint back, getting Dean to eat was the actually important part of that equation, and Cas is happy to see him at least get something nourishing in his system. ...Unlike Cas, of course, who takes another deep drag of his own personal form of nourishment. ]

What would you have named him?

[ It doesn't matter, obviously. It's just nice to shoot the shit with Dean again, about whatever and anything, until he passes out from his latest self-sacrificing quest. ]

Ravage.

[ Dean answers immediately, eating another spoonful, because he's finally realized how damn hungry he actually is. ]

An ode to the best Cassetticon in G1 Transformers. [ Duh, Cas. ]

[ That's adorable. He absolutely did nail it. ]

sure kiddo. see you in the morning
oh and dont tell your brother i taught you this, but if you hit that little smile in the corner, theres pictures you can use instead of ;)
😉
go wild ✌️

The what?

[ Cas chuckles in breathy coughs of smoke through the question, because whoa, it's been a long time since he's heard Dean speak in tongues. Cas has no fucking idea what Cassetticon or Transformers is. Movie? He's guessing movie. ]

Uh. Transformers...it was a cartoon created literally to just sell toys back in the eighties.

[ He looks embarrassed, like he wishes he hadn't said it. ]

But I liked it. Kind of had a cult following.

[ Of course Dean liked it. It was probably very bright and exciting and marketing to poor children who needed more fun in their lives. Cas smiles fondly at Dean's embarrassment. ]

You were part of a cult and I'm only just now hearing about it?

[ Obviously not literally, but he can't not take advantage of Dean's phrasing. Now that Dean's eating a bit, Cas lets himself get comfortable rather than watch Dean with casual concern. He scoots over to his own bedroll beside Dean's and leans his head back against the wall as the smoke slowly curls upward between them from the blunt balanced between his fingers. ]

What was the cartoon about? What did, uh, Ravage transform into?

Funny.

[ His lips twist in a wry smirk as he works on his dinner, a spoonful at a time. It's good, and it's nice to have someone else do it for him, for a change. It's usually Dean feeding Sam, in some variation. ]

You're gonna think it's stupid.

[ Even fearless leaders aren't impervious to danger, and someone has to take care of the man taking care of all of them, every once in a while. Cas isn't a good cook, but what he makes is edible. It helps, being able to taste, and everything. His eyebrows lift, and he gestures with his joint before bringing it to his lips and talking around it. ]

By which you mean you think it's stupid.

[ Nobody is as judgmental of Dean Winchester and his preferences than Dean Winchester. Cas inhales again, holding the hit in as he prompts. ]

So? What is it?

[ He makes a face at Cas, scowling at him a little and taking a bite before he deigns to answer. ]

It's about two races of giant transforming robots duking it out on earth. Autobots and Decepticons. Ravage is like...a symbiote of Soundwave, who's a Decepticon who transforms into a tape deck. Ravage is one of his cassettes.

[ Maybe it's the weed, or the very real wars he's been involved in, but none of what Dean says sounds that stupid or unbelievable...

Okay, well, except for that last part. ]

Is playing music a weapon in that universe?

[ Because like, cool if it is? He can dig it. ]

[ He finally polishes off his dinner and sets the bowl aside, reaching for the joint. Give, greedy. ]

Not really. It was just a convenient mechanic so they could create more toys. But I thought they were cool.

[ Since he was a good boy and finished his meal, Cas gladly leans in and passes back. ]

Well, exploiting children in pursuit of money is a stupid reason to create toys, but the concept's unique. I bet whatever ideas you came up with for a, uh, tape deck and its symbiote cassette, were fascinating.

[ Also it tracks with Dean's love of music and cassettes in general. Also regardless of what the character's abilities were, Cas can concede— ]

Ravage is a badass name.

Oh, thanks!
I'll spam Dean's messages with them. 😁
I'll see you in the morning!!

[He still feels... all manner of conflicted and messed up, but this is a better step forward, isn't it? Cas doesn't hate him, and will hang out with him, and that'll probably make Dean happy — and Sam feels... well, not happy, not with the lingering knowledge of the future over his head, but he feels better.

So he tries to leave his room a bit more. Washes some dishes and makes himself some food, which is more than he's done in days, other than hole up in his room and feel a little hopeless about life. It's a start.]

[ Cas grins at the response. Nothing like some little brother hell to keep Dean lively.

He's surprised but glad later to see Sam out of his room and working. Cas doesn't strike up a conversation, but gives Sam a companionable nod. He doesn't avoid Sam, either, but does try to stay out of his way, not sure of where he stands with anyone right now, after the considerable mess he'd made.

The night passes, Cas is up despite himself before dawn, as he is on most mornings. And since he has an appointment to keep on this one, he showers (a hot shower, which is absolutely bliss, by the way), and dresses, and once the sun is visible in the eastern windows of the cabin, he knows on Sam's bedroom door, as they hadn't set a meeting place, but Cas assumes that's a good enough place to start looking. ]

[ Admittedly, it was all fairly creative. Yeah, Capitalist as fuck, but the storyline was pretty legit.

Especially when they killed Optimus and everyone lost their collective shits. ]

I always thought so. Totally killer.

[ For all of his bravado and bluster, the simmering rage under the surface and the ease in which he can plug someone infected with Croatoan without hesitation, Dean is soft, fragile - delicate in a way that's hidden under a carefully constructed macho persona, unwilling to let the gentleness in his heart free for fear of being hurt.

No one likes being hurt, and yet he and Cas have destroyed each other more times than they can count. Words like sharp steel, sex as a weapon. It's been an unhealthy tango for ages, a battle that couldn't be won, not when each party was foolishly reacting to the others bad decisions. He tugs at the hem of the angels shirt in kind, shoving it up his sides, encouraging him to lift his arms, get it off, because Dean wants to see and touch and scrape his teeth over the planes and valleys of Cas' body. ]

Here, though, in the backseat of the Impala, fresh and smelling of oiled leather and the whiskey on his lips, it feels like a new start. Dean's shirt is easily removed, shoved down on the floorboards of the car and immediately forgotten. All that there is to worry about now are Cas' plush lips, the fingers tracing over Dean's jaw and cheeks.

Oh — um! I'm coming!

[That's odd; it sounds a bit faraway, that voice. There's a sound of a bedroom window being closed, and feet landing with a little thud on the wooden floors, as if someone where... well, crawling in from the bedroom window. When he opens the door, he's in his usual t-shirt and sweats and is wiping away some dirt and leaves from his bottoms.]

Sorry, I was just... I like to watch the sunrise. It's a good view up there.

[Translation: I am a sappy nerd.]

[ The mornings are rough, in general. It's all too easy to just take a hit of something sleep-inducing and roll right back over. But when Cas comes from, that kind of thing could get you ostracized at best, killed in your sleep at worst, so he's reluctantly sober in the mornings. Even if he were stoned, though, Sam doesn't do much to hide where he's been. Cas looks over Sam's shoulder through the door, towards the window, judging the height. ]

On the roof?

[ Dean wouldn't approve. But the cabin's hardly a skyscraper, and a fall wouldn't kill him. Sam would break an arm at worst. A little risk is hardly a reason to stop doing something that brings you peace in an insane world. Cas drags his attention back to Sam. ]

Mind showing me? There's nothing like a sunrise to remind one of their place in the infinite expanse of the universe.

[ Awesome place to meditate, basically. Cas is a little envious he didn't think of it. But then people think he's crazy enough without hanging out on rooftops, so maybe it's for the best he doesn't make a habit of it. ]

[ There are so many mistakes between them, evident in the scars on their skin as Dean's shirt is pulled off and dropped in the footwell and Cas's shirt is shimmied upwards and lost between the bench seat and the passenger door. They're not whole as they used to be. They're damaged, broken in sharp pieces that stripe their skin where bullets and debris had gotten close enough to leave lasting injuries that still ache during the rain. They're older, worn, and honed by violence and hopelessness.

And yet here they are, touching one another and kissing each other like gentle, treasured things. It's ridiculous to think about, but when Cas thinks about it, instead of laughing, desperate and unhinged, he sighs against Dean's mouth. More than whatever kind of purgatory this place is or whatever Heaven or Hell or emptiness awaits him: this feels like absolution. Being wrapped up in the leather of Dean's car, tasting whiskey on his mouth and smelling motor oil on his skin feels like being cleansed of the last five years. His hands wander from Dean's jaw to his shoulders. His fingers trace Dean's ribs and slide forward across his hips, conflicted in his desires to move things along and feel Dean as thoroughly as he'd like to or to draw it out and enjoy making the moment last. Cas nips at Dean's lips, teasing between kisses. ]

How long can we stay here?

[ How long before someone comes looking, before Dean has other plans, before he gets bored of Cas pawing at him, whatever. ]

As long as you want.

[ There are no duties tonight, no perimeter patrol, no responsibilities that will take him away from this.

There are probably things he can think of that he needs to do; there are guns to clean, repairs to be made to the house and finishing touches to be lovingly bestowed upon the car they are currently christening. There's dinner to be made, preparations to be thought out and put into place, safeguards, the salt lines checked, the wards repainted, the demon trap under the front mat checked. But you know what--

Someone else can worry about it, tonight. Dean is done, today. His priority is right here, underneath him, tracing sacred lines over Dean's skin. ]

I want to take my time with you.

[ The words aren't simply generous; they're completely alien. Dean has spent years putting up walls, metaphorically and literally, and every opportunity Cas has taken to scale or tear them down has been met with frustration, anger, and resistance. So, being let in under Dean's guard for any amount of time is deeply touching, and this is... indulgent. Cas shivers under the caress of the words like they're Dean's hands or mouth. He isn't deserving of so much of Dean's attention, but fuck is he greedy for it. ]

Good. What I want is for us to last like this as long as we can.

[ He encourages Dean, voice gone a little higher with breathlessness as he rocks against Dean again, grinding a thigh between his legs, pulling Dean down by his hips as he arches up to feel the slide of naked skin together. He kisses Dean eagerly but restrained with the ghost of wet, warm lips against Dean's mouth again and again. ]

Make me beg for it.

[ He tips his hips against Cas' thigh with a little groan, breathy against the angel's lips, savoring the taste of him, the heat of hands on his hips. Cas is like a drug in his veins, pulling him in, twisting him up in a new addiction.

Dean finds that he's just fine with being swept into Cas' chaos, reveling in it, finding purpose in the loss of sanity. ]

You'll be singing hymns by the time I'm done with you.

[ He shifts his weight to brae against the backseat, sliding a hand down between them, roughly tugging at Cas' pants, pulling at the waistband. ]

Take these off.

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