foolintherain | INBOX #305682

[ He clocks Cas' steps, the thump of shoes on hardwood floors, and Dean tenses further when he hears Cas close the distance, eyes squeezing shut, wondering what reproach he's going to get this time. A reminder that Cas doesn't need to sleep or bathe, that he isn't human, that he's an angel again with recharged Grace.

He knows. He knows, and his heart twists in his chest as he feels Cas' arms slip around him but he stays a solid, unmoving rock that barely reacts when he's held. It's probably a lie, fabricated because Cas knows he's upset and probably just needs something from Dean, because God knows Dean 'got what he wanted', more of the same, again and again and again.

His lips press together and he breathes in, shaky, air sticking in his lungs as he reaches to wrap his fingers around Cas' wrists. ]

You left me. Again.

[ The unflinching coldness and the sharp accusation is nothing less than Castiel deserves from Dean. It's difficult not to feel like a burden; after all, would Dean be so rigidly stoic if not for him? But, this is a test to endure, he tells himself, like the story of Janet and Tam Lin. He holds on, face still pressed to Dean's nape and eyes closed against the accusation. He hadn't left Dean. Not really. He was there, watching over him, as ever. Telling Dean that would only make things worse, though, wouldn't it? For as sure as his grip is around Dean, his words are hesitant and soft, a ghost of warm breath against Dean's spine. ]

I'm sorry. I thought...

[ He'd thought that Dean was better off without him. He still believes that, and has no idea how to reconciliate that with his feelings for Dean and Dean's obvious reaction of loss. Nothing makes sense, except this. Cas sighs, fingers lifting only slightly to link with Dean's and tighten again. ]

Well, I was wrong, and you were right. I shouldn't have left. ...I missed this.

[ It doesn't take Cas more than a moment to correct himself, because this stilted embrace is a pale shadow compared to what they'd had, and he'd ruined, as he always does, somehow. ]

I miss you.

[ Dean isn't sure how he's supposed to react to this sudden change of heart. Be grateful? Get angry? Yell? Turn around and give him a solid punch in the nose? Some combination of all? Maybe.

His eyes squeeze shut, his heart slamming, chest constricting as his heart squeezes painfully in his chest, breath coming in a little ragged, labored, horror crawling up his spine as he feels the telltale sting of tears.

Don't you dare cry, Dean Winchester. For God's sake, don't you do it. ]

Why'd you leave, then? I needed--

[ You, in all this. Dean needed Cas, and he left when Dean needed him most. ]

[ Even if Castiel weren't an angel capable of reading minds, now with empathetic blood, he's not obtuse enough not to notice the shake of Dean's breathing with the swell of emotion. It breaks his heart. Because of him, Dean is—

He quashes the thought with a mental stamp hard enough to crunch. Instead, he loosens his grip on Dean's chest and waist, only just enough to tug him by their linked hands, turn him around, and cup his face. ]

You shouldn't.

[ He doesn't mean to say it aloud, isn't entirely sure which one of them he's addressing, but he steels himself, lets logic slip and instinct reign, leans in and kisses the corner of Dean's mouth. ]

[ Dean's easily moved despite his stiff rigidity - Cas pulls and he goes, weak beyond measure to the angels whims, now moreso than ever before. He lets Cas touch him, rest his hands on Dean's stubbled cheeks, kiss the corner of his mouth. ]

Shouldn't what?

[ There's no resistance like he'd imagined; he'd pictured talking to Cas in the recent weeks, thought about how he should eventually confront him; this isn't at all how he expected it to go. Better or worse, he's not sure yet. ]

[ There's no resistance from Dean, and Castiel doesn't know if that's good or bad. He tries not to think about it, or think at all. He tries to remember what it was like to be stoned out of his mind and carelessly reckless. He goes up on his toes to kiss the bridge of Dean's nose, then his freckled cheeks. It feels new and unfamiliar, and Castiel has never hated his grace more. Despite the soft actions, his voice is low and rough. ]

Need me.

[ He answers, and then with the reminder that needing an angel's grace and needing someone's affections are two very different things, he clarifies between soft, what he hopes are mollifying kisses. ]

Like this. Like... how I need you.

[ In other words: utterly, hopelessly, and dangerously devoted. "Homoerotically codependent," as a certain angel would call it. It was one thing for them to be so indulgent at the end of the world where the devil had already won and Sam was lost. But back home, and even here, there's too much at risk. Dean has so much to lose, and much more to gain. He could have that normal, human family life he deserves. It's right there, with Lisa. Castiel's chest is tight, but he doesn't need oxygen. He doesn't let himself breathe and relieve that tension, because it would come out a sigh. He stays stiff instead, the line of his shoulders in rigid contrast to the soft brush of his fingers over Dean's jaw as he leans back again, just enough to look at him, and reinforce his words with unblinking eye contact. ]

You deserve so much more than you give yourself, Dean.

Too bad.

[ Should've could've would've's don't do anyone any good; it's too late, Dean's too deep. He does need Cas, and it has nothing to do with angelic grace or power, or because of what Cas is, inside that vessel. It has nothing to do with what Cas can do for him and everything to do with the fact that Dean's hopelessly, carelessly, recklessly in love with him. Timeline shifting and magic and whatever aside, those feelings didn't disappear. Those memories didn't flutter away. He remembers every kiss, every touch; Cas' smile as Dean leaned in between his thighs to steal soft kisses in the greenhouse, the way they curled together in bed at night, tangled limbs and sweaty foreheads, panted breaths, white hot kisses, and curls of pleasure.

The kisses Cas gives him now are soft on his skin, sweet and tender, but each one he's gifted with stabs like knife in his soul, twisting deeper in his heart, the ache trickling out like a fatal, slow bleeding wound. It feels like some kind of final goodbye, like Cas is trying to let him down gently by giving him what he thinks he needs, and it hurts, but more than that - it leaves him a little frantic, desperate.

He slides his hands up under Cas' coats, around his waist, fingers curling in his shirt, pulling at the material to untuck it so he can get his hands on skin. ]

You keep -- telling me what I need, what I don't need, what you think I deserve, but what about what I want? I dunno how many times I've gotta tell you that I want you. I don't care what flavor you come in. Dickhead angel or junkie, I just want you.

[ There's a pathetic plea in his voice that Dean doesn't like; he sounds weak and needy, terrified and small. Like he's a little kid again, asking his daddy where Mommy went, and getting only silence in reply. ]

Edited 2021-11-29 15:05 (UTC)

[ All that time spent with Dean before... To Castiel, it feels like a drug-induced hallucination. That time was equal parts horrible and wonderful, and still nothing in comparison to returning to a timeline in which none of it had happened. Those past months or days living in a black hole resembling a cocoon were mentally torturous to Cas. And now, back in this place... Obviously Castiel isn't handling it well.

Neither is Dean, obviously, from the desperate way he reacts. The feeling of Dean untucking Castiel's shirt and sliding hands against his ~~vessel's~~ body's skin is muffled and distant, but the memory of it is clear enough to send a warm flush through Castiel as if that distance wasn't there. He listens to Dean and how his voice breaks with honest need, and instinctively, Cas pulls him in closer by the hand on his cheek and kisses his mouth fully this time, and again, with rushed, warm exhalations he doesn't remember inhaling, and growing heat. ]

Tell me again.

[ He demands against Dean's mouth as he drops one hand to cover Dean's and push his palm more firmly against his skin, higher under his shirt. He remembers that conversation with Dean on one cold autumn afternoon that feels like months ago, not verbatim, but the human, dream-like impression of it. "You can trust me with your heart," Dean had said. "I'm different. I like us." That wasn't either of them, was it? But Cas wants it to be. ]

Tell me we can still have this. Ask me to stay.

[ You shouldn't, logic demands. They have to go back to their own reality. It's an eventuality. And when they do, they'll go back to who they were before they broke the world together. It's already happened. Free will is a lie, but it's a lie Castiel is still desperate to believe. ]

Please, Dean...

[ If he thinks on it, he can just remember the smell of Cas' hands, the way stale smoke always curled around his aura, lingering in his hair, his clothes, invading Dean's nose, sending his heart thumping in his chest; again and again and again - the repetitive motion rattling against his ribs, his breath too loud, the way it fills his lungs and echoes in his head.

All Dean wants is the touch of lips and warmth of Cas against him, and he's easily manipulated, fingers pushed under Cas' palms, tracing up the planes of muscle and bone, over his spine, sweeping over as directed, shifting closer, his mouth opening under rushed kisses, helpless to it; breathy, needy. ]

Please stay. [ It's whispered, begged; Dean breathes him in, memorizing the new scents, replacing stale smoke and liquor with ozone and fresh earth, the pads of his fingers pressing against Cas' back, resolve faltering as he caves, fallible as always. ]

Stay with me. Cas, please. I just want you. I want what we had, I feel like I'm missing a part of me, like it's some piece of a puzzle I've lost.

Edited 2021-12-01 13:07 (UTC)

[ What Castiel needs is an addiction to escape from cold logic, and here it is, in the form of Dean's open mouth and warm hands. He feels different, smells and tastes sharper, more complicated than the earthy smells of burned weed and absinthe, but the way he opens for Cas and his sweet, whispered confession is better than familiar; he can feel Dean's soul again, still brilliantly radiant, and Cas sighs with satisfaction against Dean's mouth as he presses fully against him, into his embrace, pressing Dean's back to the railing of the stairs. ]

Yes. I'll stay. I'll stay with you for as long as you'll have me.

[ It feels a bit like bleeding to say it, like lancing a bruise that's been bubbling under his skin since he left Dean alone (but didn't) all those weeks ago. The stone bracelet around his wrist has been warmed by his skin, but it feels strange and unfamiliar: not gemstone or blood or arsenic, but some new chemical combination that's similar to all three. It's uniquely Dean, and he's given it to Castiel, and savors the weight of it against his skin the same way he savors Dean's open mouth and callused hands: like inhaling sweet smoke, and holding it in his lungs, and smiling. ]

[ The swell of affection that wells up shakes him to his core; Dean is a feeler, he is a caring man who is riddled with emotions, who cares so deeply though he often doesn't always find the words to show it. It's in the things he does for people, in his actions, but with Cas, it seems like he's finally learned something for the better.

Before, when they were them, he'd confessed love, asked for trust, finally asked for commitment. All of that is still there, those feelings, those wants and needs and sentiments, but he's too distracted by the kisses left on his mouth, by the wood pressing into his back as he's pushed against the railing, at the helpless whine of emotion that bubbles up and sticks in the back of his throat, thoughts a blur and a cloud; I'm in love with you, I need you, Trust me, Stay, Don't go. ]

I meant everything I said, [ he manages to get out between kisses that he can't seem to stop giving and asking for, the air from his lungs stolen, his soul bared and flayed for Cas' easy perusal. ]

Then and now.

[ Deer County is a dangerous and strange oasis from Lawrence, Kansas, and every second Castiel walks the cobblestones and creaking wood of this place, he's reminded of how wrong he was to believe that this place at the end of the world was meant for him and Dean to love each other and let the rest of the multilayered universe go on without them. Now he sees how wrong he was; time isn't a branching tree, but a vine twisted over itself. ~~A Jeremy Bearimy, if you will.~~ There is no escaping what they're destined for. This bastion of Trench is only one knot in the ivy, and before long, they'll be back on that winding forward path.

I'm in love with you, Dean says with his mouth, and his hands, and very, very loudly with his soul, so that it reverberates through his grace. Castiel's body shivers at the sensation as he returns Dean's needy kisses with the same flurried devotion. ]

I know. I knew, but I—

[ I don't deserve you, I'll only disappoint you, When you find out— ]

I'm sorry.

[ Castiel tries to stop thinking about it, or anything other than this moment, and Dean, and how beautiful he is right now. Cas's hands leave the back of Dean's only in search of more of him. He pushes his hands under Dean's shirt to feel the familiar warmth of his skin under his fingertips, the fret of Dean's ribs, and the dip of his hipbones as Castiel tugs Dean by his hips forward and rocks against him in a dirty grind. ]

I love you. Dean, I've always loved you... I've never stopped.

[ He sighs into Dean's mouth between peppered kisses, the words a fluttery whisper under the rush of sensation from Dean's warmth, inside and out. He wants to forget what he knows, and this, with Dean— Dean makes any weight bearable. ]

[ There's probably a choice argument to be had about that, about free will and fate, about why Cas thinks they have to go back and how Dean would rather chew his own leg off than let that happen. ]

I'm sorry, too.

[ And he is - for overreacting, for being emotional after they'd just woken up, for being an ass and pushing Cas away, for making assumptions that likely weren't entirely correct. Not that they're both blameless, but neither is the solely guilty party, either. ]

Tell me again.

[ Because he needs to hear it, needs reassurance, needs Cas' hands on him, on his skin and on his soul. He drinks Cas' kisses down greedily, like sweet wine, his hands passing over Cas' back where he's got them up under the angels shirt, under the layers that are both familiar and somehow foreign, like they were a skin Cas had shed somewhere along the way. ]

I need -- to hear it, again.

[ Dean tips his hips against Cas', slotting them together and pressing right back against him, his need obvious in both his kisses and fervent, desperate touches, and the hardness of his cock inside his jeans. ]

[ There is nothing that Dean needs to apologize for, in Castiel's mind; they're both victims of untouchable, capricious gods and the doggedly obstinate hand of fate. But Cas doesn't argue it. Not right now. He's exhausted by circumstance and time wasted while being at odds with Dean. They're together now, increasingly intimately, and it's the high Cas has been without. He'd do anything to keep Dean like this, touching and kissing him, just the way they are. Repeating the words is a comparably small request from the mountains Castiel would move to sun himself in the continued warmth of Dean's affection. ]

I love you.

[ It's surprisingly easy to say, as if the weight of it has been lifted just by speaking the words aloud. Castiel feels light, thinner, almost transparent. He holds onto Dean like a tether to the Earth, and Dean's kisses and the press of his (noticeably hard) body have him panting between wet-mouthed kisses, similarly aroused. His hands push back up under Dean's shirt. His thumbs trace Dean's ribs. "You whom I have prepared as cups for a wedding or as the flowers in their beauty for the chamber of righteousness—" Jealousy is a sin, but how hasn't Castiel sinned these days? ]

And I want you.

[ As he pushes against Dean, rocking to seam eager rhythm as their increasingly breathless kisses, there's a floorboard the creaks each time. A month ago, Cas wouldn't have cared. He likely wouldn't even have noticed. But now it's a loud, sharp sound, and the guilt of time and place and exposure is impossible for him to ignore. His hands flatten against Dean's stomach, and he pulls away from his kisses, apologetically slow. ]

...Hold on—

[ Castiel means that literally, because in the next moment, he's pushing against Dean again, but with a different kind of purpose. Dean's back goes through the shadow of where the stairs should be, and Castiel steps forward with him through space, wings opening to catch the current of time, and in the next blink, landing them standing beside the bed they used to share. The door's already closed. It's indulgently private and achingly nostalgic. Castiel pauses only after they've arrived, and though he's still flushed with arousal, he waits to gauge Dean's reaction and see if he's overstepped, metaphorically as well as literally. ]

[ Dean exhales when he hears it, feeling lighter, freer; he'd thought (naively) that Trench would be a new start, that he and Cas could settle, smoke a bunch of weed and have a bunch of sex and just...finally have some semblance of peace.

It seems that kind of life isn't in the cards for them, and these past few weeks he's found himself fervently wishing they hadn't screwed shit up so...so fantastically. They were so close, so close, and it was ripped from them, right from their hands, the opportunity wisping through clenched fingers like curling smoke.

Maybe they don't get that life, that peace he's always craved - maybe they don't get their house on a mountain, their paradise, but with every breathless kiss Cas the angel bestows on Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, he thinks maybe...

Maybe they can have something close.

Dean grip at Cas, fingers pressing into his skin, palms sliding down, a hand teasing at his waistband, dipping below. ]

Cas, I--

[ He's frantic when Cas peels back, his grip tightening, obeying without realizing as the world tips around him, the eerily familiar feeling of being pulled through space and time consuming him for a brief moment before his feet find solid ground and they're in their room, their space, their home.

Dean swallows, forcing himself to find his balance before he reaches in again, drags Cas back into his arms and kisses him hard, fierce; if Cas were human, he'd be breathless. ]

I love you, [ he growls against plush, kiss stung lips, hands working to shove at Cas' trench, the beige garment a sight for sore eyes. ] And I want you to take me, now.

INBOX #305682

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cw: cas gettin spicy like the good old days

cas is real spicy

he's just got a Whole Lotta Love

more like a whole lotta Communication Breakdown lbr

you're not wrong... Bad Romance, B-side

went ahead and fixed it lmao

fix what? i saw nothing

>8)