hadriel | video

[ Bullshit. ]

That's for you to find out.

I wouldn't even know where to begin.

[ Is this really the conversation you want to have with him right now, Dean? A conversation about whack-a-mole? Because that is where this is going. It is going there. What are you going to do about that? ]

[ It's not even remotely the conversation he wants to be having. Not even close. But problematically, if he averts the topic away, it would be even more obvious than if he were just to stay on it and torture himself continuously, so-

What the fuck does he do. ]

You'll figure it out as you go.

No, I mean...

[ Oblivious to how awkward this is and how trapped Dean is in this situation right now, and just... He is about to make this more awkward. ]

I mean I wouldn't know where to begin. You all have different habits and pastimes as far as masturbation goes. You alone, for example. You masturbate in the shower, in bed, in your car, in toilet stalls--some humans prefer the call of nature, some prefer to do it with other people...

[ Do you want to stop him right now? You should maybe stop him right now. ]

[ Dean......

Dean does not know what to do.

He's stuck, and somewhat humiliated though he doesn't truly care enough to be embarrassed. He's had worse splayed across the public's eyes but that's not the point, right now. The point is he's confused and part of this hurts somewhere he can't explain. Somehow it feels like road rash, raw and stinging, and he wants to walk away from it but won't that just bring it all to the surface, make it shiningly obvious? Make it something he truly can't escape from when Cas points out that he's now the one who's running? ]

And some people just don't know when to quit.

[ He falters, looking at Dean looking at him, and feels admonished, knows he's made a misstep somewhere. That's...happened a lot more often lately, considering his brain to mouth censor has been a little off ever since he woke up.

So his brow furrows, and he looks down at his hands, trying to work out what he wants to say. He raises his eyes again looking a tad ashamed of himself. ]

You don't talk about it. [ Ding ding ding. ]

Where and when you diddle your fiddle is usually kinda private, yeah.

[ Thankfully he keeps from sounding majorly peeved, though his voice is still tinged rough with gravel, frustrated because he doesn't know how else to be. Except he's mad at himself, mad at this, mad at everything - mad that he doesn't know why this feels so different. He wants to be normalized but he can't cram this into the same box it always fits into and it's suffocating him, making it impossible to escape. ]

[ Cas suspects that the awkwardness of their previous interaction, and Dean cutting himself up for taking advantage of it in his own way, is responsible for his malcontent. But he's struggling enough with his own feelings that negotiating what Dean could be feeling as well is only made infinitely more complicated.

He nods, quietly, but then chews his lip. ]

So how do you... How do you work out what you're supposed to do, if nobody talks to you about it?

[ Dean doesn't know what he's negotiating anymore. He's lost, he's gone, he's somewhere else, trying desperately to hold on the person he thinks he is. The person he knows he is. The guy who would be laughing his ass off awkwardly throughout this entire exchange, knocking back booze between messages as if it was nothing. But this is wrong and confusing and twisted and he doesn't know where the knots are so much as he knows they're there at all.

And so he keeps going, because he has to. Because he keeps telling himself it isn't a choice, it isn't something he's allowed to run from. ]

It's not like it's hard, Cas.

[ Yes, yes it was hard. That's the goddamn problem. ]

[ Yep. More and more awkward. Because Cas just looks down into his lap at that comment, and then jerks his head back toward the video, tipping his head toward his shoulder as he goes. His eyes roll, his mouth opens as though he's about to say something, and then he curls his tongue, ducks his chin forward, and twists his expression back into a frown again. ]

Not at the moment. It's not really something I have any control over.

[ Yup. So much worse.

It's not what Dean wants to hear in the slightest and his nose wrinkles a bit - not in distaste but in discomfort, his skin crawling and his shoulders curling inward. It's back to his booze for a good few seconds this time, shaking his head as he drinks because that's what he'd usually do, right? That's what's normal in this? Anything at all? Dean doesn't know, isn't sure, and sort of sets his drink aside after a second, snorting through a forced laugh, picking up on Cas' confusion and wrapping himself in his obliviousness as best as he can. ]

Never thought i'd have to live through the teenage years again.

Well, do you...

[ Okay, think about what you want to ask before you ask it, Cas, because you're literally going to get one shot at this. He sinks back ever so slightly, looking as pensive as it's possible for him to be. ]

It doesn't happen when I think about the pizza man any more, and you don't seem to have any advice on how to make it go away either. I look to you as the authority on these things, Dean. I don't know who else to ask.

But if there is no answer, no way to control it, then that's all I need to know.

When did I become the authority on your dick?

[ The second Dean says it, he regrets it. It feels wrong, but it feels like the right thing to say - the thing he would've said were Dean Winchester truly home right now. Except please leave a message and he'll get back to you when his head is screwed on right because it obviously isn't right now and Dean can't put all the parts of himself back into the right place to make this all make sense.

It's the thing he needs to say, the comical thing, the stupid thing, the harsh and blunt idiocy he always gives. And yet it's wrong, because it'll only earn back more of what he doesn't want, what he's desperate to shield himself from. Right now, none of this is alright, and yet Dean just keeps digging himself deeper. ]

[ Well you are the one who introduced him to pornography.

But the sharpness of the words makes Castiel pause, because it wasn't easy for him to open up enough to actually ask these questions either, and the callousness of the response, even if Dean is drunk, freezes the entire line of questioning right there.

A second later, Dean doesn't have to worry about being the one who runs away, because Castiel does it for him--flees, the way that he hasn't in almost two months, the video distorting and going out like the signal's physically been ripped apart. ]

[ As Cas goes, so does Dean.

What he wants most of all, is his goddamn car. He wants to jump in behind the wheel and escape, crank the windows open and feel the breeze, wants to watch the asphalt roll away beneath the tires. He wants to feel scenery crammed into his back pockets and he wants to hide behind the sloping hills of anywhere but here, but there is no escape, no car, no hiding. There's only this damn cave, and there's only his feet, and so he lifts his bottle and he goes.

And he walks.

He doesn't walk terribly far; it's more like a wavering, drunken meandering. He's not wasted enough to find himself lost, but he's drunk enough not to care where his feet taking him, letting himself follow the line of the river at a slow gait instead. It's the trickling movement of water that he can walk beside that he's sure will save him, that will make all of this alright, but even when it does, Dean tells himself that it heals all ills. It will be alright, he thinks, it will go back to normal. It will even out, slide back to where it's meant to be.

But he walks, and that's the important part, swigging back whiskey and trying not to care about the pain beneath his ribs. ]

[ Castiel goes to the highest point in the city, perched on the roof of spire one, and he stays there. He stays for hours, just hiding, all by himself, and when finally he does deign to creep back, he goes back to the apartment, expecting to find Dean passed out on his bed with the empty bottle beside him.

But that's not where he is. He's not anywhere in the apartment, and suddenly Castiel sees images of Dean blundering drunkenly into the path of a troll, unable to defend himself, looking for a fight in order to make himself feel better and finding himself crushed under that power, or paralyzed again, being eaten alive. Every image is worse than the last, and Castiel rushes out into the caves blindly, without looking anywhere else for him first. He scours the dark places, ignorant of his own fear of them, not even thinking about it, until he's lost and disoriented, and the caves spit him back out.

His heart beating in his throat, it's only then that he feels Dean's presence in the city, like a beacon of light, and a moment later a frenzied, terrified angel is tumbling onto the grass beside him, wide eyes and frantic.

He's alive. Thank God. He's alive.

He'd been so afraid. So afraid. Blood streaks his shoulder, left over from a creature he fell upon blindly in the dark. ]

Dean.

Edited 2016-08-04 20:32 (UTC)

[ Dean isn't expecting company.

Not because he doesn't want it, but just... because he didn't think it would appear quite so suddenly, not the way Cas always does. In the fashion of now you see him, now you don't. One moment Dean is alone and the next Cas is there, seemingly stumbling blindly towards him, looking as if he'd just gotten into a fight with a who-knows-what. Dean isn't sure but he stands there for a few seconds, brow furrowed, going from questioning to concerned in the blink of an eye. He doesn't know if Cas is at death's door or if he just looks a bit scruffy, but he drops his booze, forgotten and capped, making his way over to immediately clasp his fingers to Cas' shoulders.

This he knows: this panic. This you cannot die on me worry. This feeling he's familiar with, at home with, and it doesn't feel foreign and pointed the way everything else does within his chest. ]

Cas, you good?

Dean.

[ He repeats the word again, almost automatically, and then he lunges forward all at once, throws his arms around Dean's shoulders and hugs him bone crushingly tight. The panic inside him is humming underneath the surface like a roaring tide of worry beating up against a dam, and it throws itself over the top, crashing down as he holds onto Dean, onto the reality of him, the fact that he's okay. His relief. ]

I thought--I thought you'd gone into the caves. I went looking for you. You could have gotten yourself killed, and it would have been my fault. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm sorry.

Hey, hey- woah-

[ Dean's not expecting the bone crushing hug. It seemingly comes out of nowhere and maybe it's the booze or maybe it's the fact that he hasn't caught up yet with Cas' worries - he's not sure. But either way, it doesn't really matter because Cas is clamping tight and Dean can do nothing but pull him close and settle his chin to the angel's shoulder, as if he needs the extra bout of reassurance, despite it all. Despite his confusion, his anger, his beleaguered self confidence, this is still Cas, and Cas still needs his comfort too.

Clapping a hand to his back, Dean holds him snug, huffing a stern breath, one that's ever present and full of warm intent. ]

It's okay. We're good, i'm good, it's fine. Wouldn't have even been your fault, you hear me?

[ It's too bad if he didn't expect it, he's got it now. A fierce and unyielding hug, pressed tight against him, resisting any urge to encourage him to back away. All Castiel wants is to hold him and remind himself that Dean is solid and real and not at all dead. He'd been so afraid, working himself up over hours, and now he's found Dean in one piece the relief will take more than a minute to subside into something more manageable.

So he squeezes again, knowing Dean can take it, and closes his eyes tight, burying his face into his shoulder. ]

I ran away, and when I came back you were gone. That's not... How can you trust that I'll always be there if I'm not?--if I'm not there when you need me?

[ Dean is all here, all present and accounted for. He's not bloodied in the slightest; perhaps a bit less drunk than he'd like to be but he's whole. He didn't even consider hitting the caves, a rarity for him only that in he isn't hiding in violence this time and is instead trying to hide in the movement of his feet. It's the best he could do, the best he could be, trying so hard not to always be the monster he's turned into. It hasn't helped in the slightest that he feels as if he's been written upon by the Gods, made even more marked, and so he's turned a different way, hopeless all the same.

Dispelling the urge to push away from fear of what this is becoming between them, Dean holds back in turn and swallows hard at Cas' words. They're strong and painful, something that digs in hard beneath his ribs and makes him wonder just where the truth is in what he's saying. Just how much he'd be inclined to believe in exactly what Cas has made known, that Dean only trusts in Cas because he is always there. That when he is needed, Cas can almost always be found.

And yet he's still here. That's the point, isn't it? Cas is always here. Always around the corner.

Always seemingly, just out of reach of how Dean needs him most. ]

You're here now, aren't you?

[ Slowly, Castiel releases his tight death grip, the grip that's meant to make up for the fact that he let Dean out of his sight at all. His eyes slip downwards, ashamed of himself, of his reaction, and as they drop away so do his hands. His fears prickle into place again; his doubt and guilt, his echoing concern for Dean. He's here, he's safe, but Castiel feels like there's still some part of him that's broken and knowing that, placing it against his new knowledge that his affection for Dean isn't just that, that it's so much more; so much that he doesn't yet understand... Being broken isn't good enough any more. Running away isn't good enough any more. He loves Dean, and he feels utterly helpless, trapped inside this fractured version of himself that can't possibly deliver on all the things he wants to.

His expression pinches for a moment, in his own misery, his fingers curling around the outside of the pockets of his coat. He squeezes the fabric roughly, and then looks up with desperately miserable eyes. ]

What if I'm not good enough?

[ Dean watches slow and unsure as Cas begins to peel himself away, the grip turning inward and infinitely more afraid. Dean isn't drunk enough or stupid enough to miss out on at least part of it, part of this and Cas' reaction, to be so oblivious as to not see that there is something more buried beneath it all but Dean doesn't know how to access. He doesn't know how to be a part of what this is and only feels distant, as if he isn't allowed to partake. As if this can't be an aspect of himself he somehow knows so well.

This moment isn't his to have, it's not a part of him, and yet he so desperately wants to know how to feel more within it. All he can access is the fact that he's lost, that he doesn't understand, that he somehow feels as if some part of him has gone irreversibly tight. It hurts - it's what he knows, that it hurts, and Dean can do nothing to give more of himself when he doesn't even know what he has left of himself to offer.

Lifting his hands as if in offering, Dean's fingers fall to Cas' throat, almost as if to throttle him, but instead are only there to offer the chance to hold his gaze. Dean isn't looking away either, despite the terror behind his eyes, the look that he's too lost within himself to even know what he's supposed to be looking for. ]

Cas, you are always enough. You've always been enough, you always will be.

[ It's really stunning to him, truly. This is the first moment since his eyes had caught Dean's the other night, that they've actually looked each other right in the eye. With the way that Dean had acted the morning after, and this whole charade on the network, their video conversation with averted gazes, from different rooms, Castiel has felt like everything had gone back to a slightly more horrible version of normal. But suddenly, they're feet away from each other again, and Dean is looking right at him, and there's no escape from the intensity of that gaze, the frightened green that pierces his own fear and anchors him to the ground.

And when Dean tells him that he's enough, that he always will be, the words alone echo far deeper sentiment than I need you or I love you, and yet they encompass those as well. Enough means so much more, is infinite in its meaning, the resolution of safety and purpose and guardianship, love and honor and brotherhood. It's intimate, and it's personal, and it has far more meaning than any single divine command that Castiel has ever received. No angel has ever told him that he's enough, no superior. No one has ever reassured him in his uncertainty, or commended him in his actions; not even his own Father.

But from Dean it means everything. It is a kaleidoscope of meaning crystallized into a single word. Enough. Good enough was all he ever wanted to be.

His own long pause says "I needed to hear that, and I love you too." But he looks into Dean's eyes and he doesn't say the words, he just feels them, reaches his hands up and curls them gently around Dean's wrists, wordlessly. ]

Edited 2016-08-05 00:07 (UTC)

[ Dean thought he would be pitted against even more resistance, more of Cas' pushback and refusal to be a part of the words Dean even attempts to say. Most of the things he spits into the air mean nothing, are trivial at best and often lost to the fine air of the surround, but what he gives to Cas is sometimes so different. What he gives has meaning, holds truth and honesty that he offers to no one but Sam at times and even that comes in an entirely different form. Dean says brothers and all he means is love, but not even Dean understands the difference between his love for Sam and his love for Cas. All he knows is that it's love, that it's importance and need, that it's necessity and a dire fear of separation that he can't hide himself away from.

Fingers curl around his wrists and Dean feels an urge well in his chest to tip his cheek against them, to hold them closer and press fingertips to his lips in comfort. It's an urge that all but reaches in the pit of his gut and wrenches upwards, leaves him cold and hot and once and he nearly stumbles back with it, fearful and needy at once. It's horror and need and fear and want all wrapped up into one and Dean feels himself go numb, feels himself stark and wide open, as if Cas has peeled him back without even meaning to. Dean has to wonder if he's been seen, as if Cas could look into his hollowed pits and see everything the way he's always been able, and yet they stand and Dean doesn't know what to do.

His tongue feels too thick and he's too drunk and he's too stupid, and he's too much of a failure to find himself in this. Dean knows he's a mess and one that shouldn't be handed into the middle of this and while he wants, he's ashamed of it. Terrified. Lost. Confused. Heartbroken. He is a rainbow palette of feelings all dripping together and cannot find himself in the mess of paints and Dean licks his lips and stares for seconds longer before he tries, strokes a thumb against Cas' pulse and just tries. ]

You're enough for me.

[ The thing is, Dean doesn't know what he's trying for, and while he wants to pull back his hands, Cas' are curled too firm around his own. He can't escape and yet he's rooted right where he wants to be. Right back to where he always turns to, every single time. ]

video

video;

video;

video;

video;

video;

video;

video;

video;

video;

video;

video;

video;

video;

video;

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action

action