foolintherain | DEERINGTON INBOX

[ yeah, well. acts of service, that's his name. ]

thank u

[ that said, he's tossing his fluid aside and letting his head fall back with a groan. Fuck he's tired. ]

[ 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.

[ 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?

[ 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.

[ 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 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. ]

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. ]

[ 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?

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.

[ 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. ]

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. ]

[ 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. ]

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.

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

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