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[ The man who appears on screen is wearing white hospital clothes, despite attempts to get him into something a little more him. They're comfortable, he protests. Over this he's wearing a much loved and heavily dry-cleaned (thanks, Dean) beige colored coat, the combination of the two making him look like a businessman - or perhaps a P.I. - who's had a little bit of a mental breakdown. Which...it's not far off from the truth.

In any case, he's sitting in the dark, looking drawn and tired, like he's either been trying very hard not to sleep, or the sleep hasn't been very good. It's a combination of the two, actually. ]

Did you know that human minds are most susceptible to influence when you're dreaming? If you wanted to teach yourselves how to communicate telepathically, for instance, it would be far better to do it when you're sleeping, when your brain isn't fettered by the constant needs of your body. Itching. Twitching. Fidgeting. All its aches and grumbles and complaints. Emotions. Recollections. Listening to other people chatter incessantly. Television. Arousal. You get the idea. It's all very distracting.

[ Seriously. Who let Castiel talk? Like ever.]

And let me tell you, some of those thoughts take up a lot of your time.

I--where was I? Ah. That is to say, I haven't ever slept before. I've visited dreams, of course, but experiencing my own is something else entirely. Something I'd rather avoid, if it's at all possible. So-- [ Deep breath. ] --I was wondering if anyone had any suggestions. Mnemonics, perhaps. The opposite of counting sheep. I'd drink coffee but I'm afraid I've discovered it has much the same effect on me as alcohol, which is to say I'd have to drink most of a plantation in order to have any kind of success.

Your assistance, please. I can't repay you, per se, but... Oh. [ He lifts his hands in front of him, and cups them together, and when he lifts them apart there is a little origami swan between his palms. ] I can do this.

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[ He tipped his face away. He couldn't look apologetic, so he just stared off into a corner like it could swallow him. ]

There's no reason in the world why I should be that important to you; that you should hold me in esteem over Sam's life, or your own. There's no sense to it. Not for me.

I don't hold you over Sam's life.

[ But over his own? That was different - he didn't know. He certainly held Sam's over his own and while he recognized his own behavior in the dream, he didn't know what he'd do in the real world where he given the same questions. And yet part of him did and simply didn't want to acknowledge the shame of it.

Turning over his cards once more and flicking his thumb against the edge of them, he once more tried to bring back the game, avoiding the topic as best as he could. ]

You're important, Cas. That's not changing.

You said that. That I'm important.

[ He frowned at Dean quietly, sadly, and then he reached down, gathering up his cards and raising them toward his eyes. When Dean had thrown in his first pebble, Castiel matched him, and then reached out to turn over the cards. An jack of hearts, a ten of hearts, and a nine of spades. ]

I just worry, Dean. I've seen so much death, been responsible for so much of it. I don't want that to be all I leave behind--death and misery.

[ For a moment, Dean's eyes glanced over the cards, noting the pair and already raising in his mind. But then he looked up, giving Cas a curiously unrelenting look. ]

Is that all you see when you look at me? Death?

It's what I see when I look in the mirror. [ He answered, softly. ] Death, Dean. I couldn't even keep my vessel alive. I killed all those people. I know you saw it.

It's not you. It's me.

[ He already knew they were in the same boat, albeit for different reasons. He just wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. But hell, he'd asked. ]

It's not you. You're not death. You keep making it sound like you chose that path just to hurt people, and I know it didn't turn out the way you wanted it to, but you did it for the right reasons. And if you're looking for me to blame you for it, then you're looking for all the wrong things.

For the right reasons.

[ He repeated the words, miserably, but they didn't make him feel any better. He'd had good reason at the time, but that wasn't enough. Dean had as good as said so himself. He tipped his head upward. ]

I'm a child. Just because I can do what I want doesn't mean I should. And I should listen to you. I had a choice, and I chose wrong, and if you say that I should stop, then I should stop. Because you say so. Because I'm like a brother to you.

[ He was paraphrasing. He exhaled. ] A giant baby brother in a trench coat.

Yeah, well-

[ Dean wanted to cringe, wanted to throw down his cards and walk away. He wanted to flip a goddamn table, throw Cas' game away, force him to pay attention and stop wallowing. But he was allowed to wallow, allowed to feel his pain as much as Dean wanted him to get over it.

Most of all, Dean knew he couldn't do anything, and that was the worst. That no matter what he said, it was the wrong thing, wasn't good enough, didn't hit home in the way he kept trying to make it. He was throwing anything at the wall, just to see what would stick and nothing did. Nothing. ]

Do babies know how to play poker?

[ Castiel knew he'd pushed back too hard, gone too far by bringing up the past, and that he'd upset Dean as a result. They had been pushing after all, back and forth. But this felt miserable, like he was giving up; giving up on his own ability to help, or giving up on Castiel. It didn't matter which. Castiel was reminded of Lucifer's words, that what he was doing to them wasn't worthy of them, that he was petty and childish, thrashing about in his pain and doing nothing to try and make it better.

It would take more than watching Dean's agony to piece him back together, but oh, he was trying. The fact that they'd discussed any of this at all was testament to that. ]

What do you want to do? [ He asked. He wasn't the one hiding in the game this time, Dean was, and Castiel was going to be kind enough to let him. ]

[ Dean knew Cas was trying, he knew that both of them were. The fact that they'd managed this conversation at all felt resoundingly important in a way he couldn't put his finger on, as if he'd wrangled importance out of Cas in a way he hadn't expected but now didn't truly know what to do with. It was easier to talk about the mating habit of bees after all, then admit that he didn't know what he was doing and couldn't do enough.

And he couldn't. He had to admit to that and move on.

He couldn't fix this, and that's apparently just what it was going to be. ]

How about we finish up this hand and call it a day, huh?

[ Dean was distracted, and Castiel chewed his lip a little too hard, catching it and making it bleed accidentally. He ignored it, and looked at Dean imploringly instead. ]

I meant what do you want to do with the pot?

[ Not in general. In general, Castiel was of the same mind, and the moment this hand was over he was going to go and sit somewhere very high, where he couldn't be found or found out. ]

[ Oh, that much he knew. He figured that Cas would go somewhere far away, somewhere even Dean couldn't get to and that would be that for... who knew how long. But he'd tried, hadn't he? Didn't that count?

Likely not. ]

I'll raise.

[ He probably would've raised no matter what, just to do something, to have words to say. ]

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