[ Dean breathes a sigh of relief, pressing his face right into Cas' hair as he flips his hand to rest palm to palm, lacing his fingers with his angels.
[ by his logic, dean should be thanking him, but he can't shake the habit. it just seems like the right thing to do, when dean is giving him this kind of pleasure. he lets dean lace their fingers, squeezing his hand, glancing down to look at their twisted together fingers. ]
[ there's a catch of emotion in his voice that normally doesn't reside there, and that should be enough for dean to tell that what he said was affecting. it's a strange thing. he has a habit of taking certain figurative terms of speech too literally, owing to the fact that his native language isn't modern english, and a cultural gap several billion years vast.
and perhaps he simply struggles with context for his own reasons, possibly—
but he knows what dean means when he says that.
he doesn't know if it's true. if, figuratively, or literally, it could possibly be true. but the idea arrests him all the same. because he wants that, wants to fit— is desperate to fit anywhere, to be wanted for anything, but more than all of that— is desperate to belong with dean. to have a place with him in the world. his fingers squeeze tighter, trembling with the force of it. he's not strong enough to hurt him this way. ]
[ Dean's feeling a little raw, pressed up against Cas despite the semen between them. He'd watched Cas die again, for what had felt like the billionth time, and his heart feels...cracked open. Exposed. His hold on Castiel tightens and he breathes in, hitched, catching in his throat on thorns.
Cas squeezes his fingers and he squeezes back, keeping his face pressed into sweaty hair, committing the moment to memory. ]
Yeah, Cas. We're like...
[ He thinks on it a moment, shifting on the ground, uncomfortable but barely noticing. ]
[ they do fit together quite neatly this way. but he also means... the figurative concept. the idea that there's something in each one of them that makes the other whole— perhaps less figurative than it sounds. they each have empty, gaping spaces, like something long desiccated. holes in their psyche— puncture wounds. this is the kind of meaning that he's desperate for, after everything with his father and heaven went so terribly wrong.
and here, with all his barriers stripped away, he just can't deny the weak and needing parts of himself. he closes his eyes. ]
Yeah. It's— a good thing.
[ he says it like he's trying to reassure himself— he wants so very desperately to believe it. ]
It is. And I..I don't just mean physically. We're good. Together.
[ Even when they fight, they're better together. Kinda like him and Sammy used to be. Way better together than apart.
Cas feels good against him, and while their shit is all wet still, Dean drapes over Cas, cover what he can with his warm body. The movement is easy, the words that come next, less so. ]
[ he makes a sound in agreement, but when dean says that— he knows how difficult these things are for him. it doesn't go unnoticed that it isn't easy. cas thinks of turning, so he can look dean in the eye... but chooses to spare him the scrutiny, and traces his thumb along the length of his arm instead, glancing back over his shoulder as he drapes his body over his own. ]
Dean, I— Of course I care about you too.
[ that shouldn't be in question, but it's not like he doesn't understand why it would be. after everything.
he wonders if dean can hear the click of his throat when he swallows. ]
I don't regret it, you know. Giving up everything for you.
[ He's saying something else with those words, I care about you, Cas, but he doesn't know how to articulate what he really means. His family wasn't really all lovey dovey and hugs and kisses. Not since he was four, and those are distant, vague memories of a woman he barely knew.
Dean knows what he's trying to say, he just isn't sure it's coming out right. Maybe that's for the better. ]
You sure?
[ Cause Cas would've been off fluttering around in heaven the last few years. Maybe not even here, if he hadn't been with Dean in Purgatory. Their arrival here, Dean is positive, is his fault. ]
[ some part of cas knows exactly what dean is trying to tell him, but the rest of him isn't aware of that part yet. still, it... has a similar weight. in all his life, no one has spoken to him like this, with this kind of heartfelt meaning. if they've gotten anywhere close, they didn't mean it.
angels and their loyalty never meant that much, in the end.
castiel hopes he can be different. ]
Dean, yes.
[ perhaps dean would say that he never would have made his mistakes if not for meeting him, but... if he'd gone back to heaven, after what he'd done, he doubts there would be any fluttering. he doubts there would be anymore 'him' at all. ]
[ He squeezes Cas hand, hoping that at least some of the meaning slipped through, that he cares, genuinely, a whole lot more than what would be considered normal for two men who are just 'friends'.
No, this is more. And admitting it to himself is difficult, but he can, at least, admit to Cas that he cares. A lot. ]
I like you being with me, too. And being with you.
[ it's a simple word, but his voice is rough when it comes out of his mouth, like it costs him something to say. maybe it hurts because it's so hard to believe that he could be allowed to have this; what has he done to earn dean's affection? what has he ever done but hurt him?
but he just can't turn him away. he'll have to make himself worth this, somehow. ]
[ He smoothes a hand down over Cas' side, skin under his fingertips warm, though they're both cooling pretty quickly. ]
Let me see if any of our stuff is dry yet.
[ They've been fucking around for a while, and they'd laid everything out, so here's hoping.
At the very lease, he's wadding up his jacket that had stayed...eh. Dry enough though it's crusty with blood, and gently slipping it under Cas' head for a pillow. ]
[ he turns his head and watches dean in silence, the weight of the moment settling around him. when he places the coat under his head, he gives him a look full of gratefulness and settles, feeling the same vulnerability that dean had felt only moments ago. in his true form, he may be great and terrible, but somehow it feels like what dean is seeing now— this tired, cold, and messy body— is truest to what he really is.
it's not an idea he likes, particularly. but dean wants to stay with him, and that's enough. ]
Do you need help?
[ he wants to sleep. he can recognize the feeling from the last time his "batteries" were low. but if dean is packing up, he won't leave him to do it all on his own. not at least without asking first, anyway. ]
[ Let Dean look at what they'd spread out and determine if there's anything dry enough. One or two shirts. His jeans, definitely not. But cotton dries faster than denim, and they've been out here a while, so those, at least, are dry,
He drapes them over Cas, using his damp jeans to wipe the cum off the angels back before tossing them aside, quietly mourning the fact he's going to have to wear cum jeans until they can find a place to wash their shit. ]
cas follows him with his eyes a moment longer, but he lets dean clean him up and drape his dry shirts over his body, feeling another pinch of emotion at the base of his throat. it's overwhelming, in the way it was overwhelming to feel they had no hope, when dean cursed him for giving up— except it isn't the same kind of overwhelming. he doesn't feel hopeless.
he just doesn't know what he does feel.
it doesn't take him long to slip off, after that. with dean's shirts sealing in enough of his body heat to warm him, the moment he's no longer cold he drops like a stone into unconsciousness. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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His. ]
Mm. Good. Me too.
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[ he would hope so. ]
That was, um— Thank you.
[ by his logic, dean should be thanking him, but he can't shake the habit. it just seems like the right thing to do, when dean is giving him this kind of pleasure. he lets dean lace their fingers, squeezing his hand, glancing down to look at their twisted together fingers. ]
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[ He rubs his thumbs over Cas' knuckles, keeping their fingers laced and twisted up, unwilling to let go. ]
You're so good. Perfect, like -- we fit, you know? We fit together.
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[ there's a catch of emotion in his voice that normally doesn't reside there, and that should be enough for dean to tell that what he said was affecting. it's a strange thing. he has a habit of taking certain figurative terms of speech too literally, owing to the fact that his native language isn't modern english, and a cultural gap several billion years vast.
and perhaps he simply struggles with context for his own reasons, possibly—
but he knows what dean means when he says that.
he doesn't know if it's true. if, figuratively, or literally, it could possibly be true. but the idea arrests him all the same. because he wants that, wants to fit— is desperate to fit anywhere, to be wanted for anything, but more than all of that— is desperate to belong with dean. to have a place with him in the world. his fingers squeeze tighter, trembling with the force of it. he's not strong enough to hurt him this way. ]
Do you... mean that?
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Cas squeezes his fingers and he squeezes back, keeping his face pressed into sweaty hair, committing the moment to memory. ]
Yeah, Cas. We're like...
[ He thinks on it a moment, shifting on the ground, uncomfortable but barely noticing. ]
Puzzle pieces. Right?
no subject
[ they do fit together quite neatly this way. but he also means... the figurative concept. the idea that there's something in each one of them that makes the other whole— perhaps less figurative than it sounds. they each have empty, gaping spaces, like something long desiccated. holes in their psyche— puncture wounds. this is the kind of meaning that he's desperate for, after everything with his father and heaven went so terribly wrong.
and here, with all his barriers stripped away, he just can't deny the weak and needing parts of himself. he closes his eyes. ]
Yeah. It's— a good thing.
[ he says it like he's trying to reassure himself— he wants so very desperately to believe it. ]
no subject
[ Even when they fight, they're better together. Kinda like him and Sammy used to be. Way better together than apart.
Cas feels good against him, and while their shit is all wet still, Dean drapes over Cas, cover what he can with his warm body. The movement is easy, the words that come next, less so. ]
I, uh. I care about you Cas. A lot.
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Dean, I— Of course I care about you too.
[ that shouldn't be in question, but it's not like he doesn't understand why it would be. after everything.
he wonders if dean can hear the click of his throat when he swallows. ]
I don't regret it, you know. Giving up everything for you.
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Dean knows what he's trying to say, he just isn't sure it's coming out right. Maybe that's for the better. ]
You sure?
[ Cause Cas would've been off fluttering around in heaven the last few years. Maybe not even here, if he hadn't been with Dean in Purgatory. Their arrival here, Dean is positive, is his fault. ]
no subject
angels and their loyalty never meant that much, in the end.
castiel hopes he can be different. ]
Dean, yes.
[ perhaps dean would say that he never would have made his mistakes if not for meeting him, but... if he'd gone back to heaven, after what he'd done, he doubts there would be any fluttering. he doubts there would be anymore 'him' at all. ]
I— I like being with you.
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No, this is more. And admitting it to himself is difficult, but he can, at least, admit to Cas that he cares. A lot. ]
I like you being with me, too. And being with you.
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[ it's a simple word, but his voice is rough when it comes out of his mouth, like it costs him something to say. maybe it hurts because it's so hard to believe that he could be allowed to have this; what has he done to earn dean's affection? what has he ever done but hurt him?
but he just can't turn him away. he'll have to make himself worth this, somehow. ]
Dean, I... I'm tired.
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Let me see if any of our stuff is dry yet.
[ They've been fucking around for a while, and they'd laid everything out, so here's hoping.
At the very lease, he's wadding up his jacket that had stayed...eh. Dry enough though it's crusty with blood, and gently slipping it under Cas' head for a pillow. ]
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it's not an idea he likes, particularly. but dean wants to stay with him, and that's enough. ]
Do you need help?
[ he wants to sleep. he can recognize the feeling from the last time his "batteries" were low. but if dean is packing up, he won't leave him to do it all on his own. not at least without asking first, anyway. ]
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[ Let Dean look at what they'd spread out and determine if there's anything dry enough. One or two shirts. His jeans, definitely not. But cotton dries faster than denim, and they've been out here a while, so those, at least, are dry,
He drapes them over Cas, using his damp jeans to wipe the cum off the angels back before tossing them aside, quietly mourning the fact he's going to have to wear cum jeans until they can find a place to wash their shit. ]
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cas follows him with his eyes a moment longer, but he lets dean clean him up and drape his dry shirts over his body, feeling another pinch of emotion at the base of his throat. it's overwhelming, in the way it was overwhelming to feel they had no hope, when dean cursed him for giving up— except it isn't the same kind of overwhelming. he doesn't feel hopeless.
he just doesn't know what he does feel.
it doesn't take him long to slip off, after that. with dean's shirts sealing in enough of his body heat to warm him, the moment he's no longer cold he drops like a stone into unconsciousness. ]