bakerstreet

[ castiel is still supine when, at a distance, he hears the sound of a door being shut from further down the hall, where the living quarters are. in the cold, blazing silence that follows he takes stock of himself. gradually, his broken body is beginning to knit itself back together, the broken nose repaired but still sluggishly bleeding, the fractured arm already mended. with some reluctance, born of an emotion he chooses not to name, he drags his sorry carcass upright, groaning at the resistance it offers to him, the way every muscle seems to protest. then, without any hesitation, he yanks his shoulder back into its socket with a gasp. when the tendons have healed, he stands up.

the bunker is a tomb. even before the back of dean's skull collided with his face, all he could smell was gasoline and blood. the bodies will need to be taken outside and burned. his gaze strays toward the once fresh-faced young man lying face-down in a puddle of his own blood; then toward the angel blade, his own, stabbed into the heart of a thick book. something lurches, deep down inside of himself.

he leaves it there and walks deeper into the bunker.

predictably, he finds himself standing before the door to dean's room.

and he probably shouldn't be. but if he were capable of leaving well enough alone, he never would have fallen in the first place. castiel places his hand, palm flat, on the door, something constricting around his chest as he does so, tightening until he can feel every breath of his human lungs and every beat of his human heart inside the infinitely small space of his chest cavity. he licks his split lip and wonders if maybe he should've gotten cleaned up before doing this. the superficial wounds won't disappear until the internal injuries are healed. but to turn back now— he can't do it.

instead, he lifts his hand, curls his fingers into a loose fist, and knocks. ]

[He can feel it. The Mark. It burns inside him, singeing any good thing that was left of him, which wasn't much. He looks down at his bloody fists and tastes ash.

The rage from earlier has died down to a low simmer, but it's always there. It never leaves him. It's always been there. Even before the Mark. It's now just present and palpable, ready to get set off at any moment by anything or anyone.

Like Cas.

He curls his fists tight enough to leave red half moons from his nails on his palms. He thinks about the sickening crunch of the angel's bones as those fists made contact with his face. It both disgusts and arouses Dean and then disgusts him all over.

Cas wasn't wrong. The Mark is changing him. But maybe Dean likes that.

When the knock comes he feels that anger flare hot again. Of course Cas can't just fucking leave well enough alone. Dean beats him to a pulp and he comes back for more. Guilt flares up right beside the anger and they compete for dominance. Maybe self-loathing wants to come along for the ride too.]

Go away, Cas.

[Dean takes a long drink straight from his half-empty bottle of whiskey.]

No.

[ it's just one word. a simple, inflammatory statement. he still has conviction, and this is the proof. not that that matters. dean already knows exactly how serious he is. dean gave him the opportunity to let him leave and he wouldn't, couldn't do it; he knows that he only stopped fighting because his body gave out and he was left with no other option but to let him walk away while he bled.

but now he's on the mend and ready for— what? what does he think he can do here? he measures his breathing and the throbbing ache of his body. blinks his eyes, hard, and sees stars in the darkness behind his eyelids. there's no soothing this away. but... maybe the mark's thirst for violence can be slaked by giving it something to consume.

if he could do that, at least for a little while—

his voice is rougher than usual. ]

Dean...

[ he reaches for the door handle, to see if it's unlocked. ]

[Jesus Christ, Cas is masochistic.

Dean drags himself up from the floor where he was leaned up against the side of his bed. He's still in his blood-soaked clothing, face bruised, body battered, but he barely feels the pain. It's like a nagging in the back of his mind, dulled by the power of the Mark somehow.

He wrenches open the door.]

You really wanna do this again, Cas?

[He's all hard anger and bite but it's dulled a small amount in comparison to earlier - now there's a tired, worn out edge to it. And Cas stands there, still bleeding and bruised, Grace not able to keep up nowadays. But he looks as determined as before and Dean wants to rolls his eyes at the guy. Who's the Patron Saint of Lost Causes again? If it ain't Cas, then God made a mistake somewhere.]

[ his expression hardens, his jaw tight, but he can't maintain it. exhaustion softens him at the edges. exhaustion, and something suspiciously like despair. it's the kind of thing he can't allow himself to dwell on, for fear that he'll be overwhelmed by the enormity of it. even after all this time, these sentiments aren't something he's truly come to terms with. for all that he might be shrewd about the world, he was never made to feel things.

but they both know that. god's mistake was dean's good fortune, once. ]

I don't want to. But I will if I have to.

[ castiel stands in the open doorway. he steps forward and closes the door behind him without looking back, blocking the exit. swaying in place almost imperceptibly. he can't keep dean here forever, but if he can just give them some time... ]

[Dean can see the exhaustion and the despair bleeding through Cas' exterior. It's a bright light that flashes "weakness" in his brain and he knows he could easily take him down again - both with fists and with words.

But he finds there's a satisfaction in just knowing that. He doesn't need to demonstrate it again. Not now, anyway.

And Cas is lucky that's the case, because there's no way Dean would let him walk through that door otherwise.

His face is steely as the door clicks shut, jaw ticking, ready to fight if he has to. But deep deep down at the core of him, the piece that's clawing and fighting against the Mark, he doesn't want to. This is Cas. His friend. He doesn't want to hurt him. But the Mark wants blood. It just wants more blood.]

What the fuck do you want then?

Just— Let me stay.

[ he doesn't have any bargaining chips, no pieces on the board to maneuver with, except for himself. maybe he can bide their time until sam gets here, and then... he has no idea what sam will do. but they're trying, and two against one might give them enough of advantage to— to keep dean from leaving. to force him to stay until they can get their plan together, and then maybe, finally, they can end all this. make all this unnecessary sacrifice worth something. (make charlie's death worth something— as though anything could possibly justify what they let happen to her.)

but he can't count on best-case scenarios.

he has to be realistic about these things.

his eyes meet dean's, and there's wariness there. he doesn't know which path to take, whether it's better to submit or challenge this behavior, which choice will keep him standing longer. he swallows and his throat clicks, lips parting, but he doesn't avert his eyes. ]

Please.

[Dean looks around.]

What? Like here in my room? Dude, that's weird.

[The Mark burns on his arm and he realizes he doesn't know which base instinct it's trying to trigger in him - fight, flight, feed, or.... The red half moons are back in his palms. Whatever the Mark is doing, it sets his teeth on edge. He knows that being trapped in a small space is just going to rile it up more.

He needs more alcohol, so he backs away to grab for the bottle and takes a long swig. He barely takes his eyes off Cas though.]

Why?

[ castiel thinks, his eyes narrowing, that literally everything else about this situation is weirder. but that's fine. they can discuss his lack of social skills until he figures out something better. his gaze flickers from dean's face to his hands, where he watches him grip the bottle, tilt it back and swallow. his eyes follow his adam's apple and then he finally looks away. ]

I've been in your room before.

[Dean narrows his eyes right back at Cas, like the angel is planning something and he's being purposefully obtuse to throw Dean off.]

You just barged in my room and closed the door and told me you want to fucking stay here after I just beat the shit out of you.

I'd say that's weird.

What do you want from me?

[ there are more than a few possible answers to that question. a lot of things he could say. fewer that he could get away with saying. castiel stares at dean like he's trying to read something in a language he barely understands anymore.

i want you to let me and sam help you. he thinks, i want you to stop. but he already knows dean's not going to listen to that line of reasoning. ]

I don't know, I'm not sure it's actually that strange for us.

[ he licks his lips. ]

What— What makes you think I want something?

[Dean blinks. He has to contest that Cas has a point there. It's not that strange for them to be screwing each other over and them turning around and trying to save each other in the next breath.

He snorts. Jesus, they are fucked.]

I don't know, Cas. Maybe the fact that you came knocking on my door.

[He takes another drink and crosses his arms. Some of the anger is gone, replaced with the cockiness, tinged with something bitter that's more the Mark than Dean. He's still keyed up but he's mellowing. Maybe it's the booze. Maybe it's being away from all the blood and mayhem. Maybe it's a little Cas.]

Can't I just want to be here?

[ his words sound like a sigh. it's strange that the tension should get to him the way that it is. his brethren in heaven were never particularly genial even when he got along with them. cold, sterile hallways full of white light have been his home for millennia. a few years living with humans, and he's changed in ways even he doesn't understand.

but this is exhausting. he doesn't want to fight with dean, even though he's well aware that he doesn't deserve his friendship right now.

he leans back against the door, his already bowed shoulders sagging further. rubs a hand over his face. ]

I'm not asking for anything else.

[Dean pinches his nose. With Cas giving up the fight, Dean's anger and tension have nothing to bounce off of. It leaves him with a feeling of unease and a buzz under his skin that's gotta be the Mark.]

You wanna hang out with the guy who just kicked your ass for trying to be a good friend?

[Self-loathing has entered the room.

Dean also feels the exhaustion starting to catch up with him. He sits on the edge of the bed, bottle dangling between his hands.]

Let's just... call us even.

[ they could pretend that dean was repaying the favor, even though it's been years since he beat him bloody and dragged him back for trying to give himself over to michael. there are arguments that could be made that castiel had a reason for what he did, but the violence was hardly a requirement. things were different. he was different. and he's changed. he'd been wandering around without an owner after his faith in god was shattered, and at some point dean grabbed his trailing leash and pulled, hard. ]

Besides, I wouldn't really say this is "hanging out". I was just going to stand here.

Edited 2021-09-11 01:37 (UTC)

Yeah, cause that's not weird at all.

[Dean takes another drink.]

Do whatever you want.

[He knows Cas is there to make sure Dean doesn't wander off and kill anyone else. He's not an idiot.

Dean puts the bottle on the bedside table with a clunk and then starts to shrug out of his bloody shirt.]

Although, you might want to avert your virginal eyes if you don't wanna get an eyeful in a minute.

[His bloody t-shirt follows suit before he stands up and starts working on his jeans. Once everything is in a pile on the floor he pulls on his dead guy robe.]

You gonna chaperone shower time too?

I'm not a virgin anymore.

[ it's said kind of offhandedly— just stating a fact— but he also makes a point not to look away just to drive it home. of course he's not planning to follow dean into the bathroom, but for a moment he thinks about it; wonders if he'd lash out again or find the situation ridiculous enough to derive a little humor from it.

but he's not going to push his luck. ]

No. I'll wait here.

[Dean rolls his eyes as he ties up his robe.]

Yeah alright, Casanova.

[The Mark flares up and he ignores it.]

You do that.

[He shoulders past Cas, where he's still pretty much standing in front of the door, and then he heads out and down the hall to wash the blood of the whole piece of shit Styne family off of him.]

[ cas presses his lips together and shuffles aside, watching dean's back as he disappears down the hallway. once dean's shut the door behind him, he turns back to survey his room; the half empty bottle of alcohol. sits down on the bed. rubs both hands over his face and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes until he sees stars again.

when he pulls his hands away they're covered in flaky bits of dried blood, and he abruptly remembers what a mess he is. he touches beneath his nose with his fingertips and it's still tacky, although not wet enough to indicate fresh blood.

he should wash up. but he told dean he would wait, so, for once, he stays. ]

Edited 2021-09-11 02:32 (UTC)

[Dean takes a scalding hot shower and watches as the blood circles the drain. He wonders if he could burn the Mark off him, but he knows that's not the case. He wonders if Cas' Grace could.

Probably not, if his earlier weakness against Dean's blows was any indication.

Guilt bubbles up again and Dean wants to scream. He wants to hit something hard and never stop. He wants Cas and Sam to leave him alone so he can stop hurting the people he cares about.

The next thing he knows he's fucking sobbing in the shower like a goddamn baby.]

[ with his hearing already strained (to listen for any evidence that dean might try to slip out) he can't help but pick up on the sounds that come from the shower. it's faint, even for him, but he knows— his expression hardens. what is he supposed to do? dean won't welcome it if he goes to him, but how can he leave him like this?

castiel stands, his stomach sinking as he walks down the hallway. with each step, the weight of his task feels heavier across the stooped slope of his shoulders. he won't be the one to bring dean back from this. he knows this. but he can't stop.

when he arrives in front of the shower door, he pauses. places his hand against the wood, bowing forward to press his forehead to the grain. and he waits. ]

[When he's finally able to get his shit under control, he's got his head pressed up against the cold tile, taking in deep, unsteady breaths. He feels exhausted, wrung out. The Mark still burns but it's slid to the background, leaving the rest of him cut open and raw like a gaping wound once the anesthetic wears off.

He rubs at his face under the water that's gone lukewarm before turning it off. He's gotta get himself back together before facing Cas again. That kind of vulnerability isn't what they do. And it's not what he needs Cas to see right now. The dude will never leave him alone if he thinks he's fucking lost it.

Grabbing a towel, he dries himself and wraps the robe around him again as he steps out of the shower stall. The Mark tingles and somehow he knows he's not alone. Not entirely. Cas must have followed him down here after all.]

I know you're there.

[He sounds more tired than angry now though, even as he works to reconstruct the walls around himself.]

[ castiel sighs inwardly, but he reaches to open the door. of course, he doesn't say anything about what he heard, nor does he presume to offer any sort of comfort. besides his presence, he supposes, although he doesn't know what comfort that could possibly be to dean now. there should be some reassurance to be found in the fact that he's the one person who can take what he can dish out—

but it's not like he's completely indestructible. dean knows how to hurt him better than anyone else.

he glances down at himself, his bloodied clothes. ]

I was going to wash up.

[ there are other bathrooms, but never mind that. ]

[Dean's eyes are red-rimmed, but hell, they were before his cry fest, so it's not like that's giving him away. But he also knows that Cas has supersonic angel hearing or whatever, so he's sure he's been made. But Cas doesn't bring it up. Doesn't try to get Dean to talk about his feelings.

He looks at Cas' current battered state with a frown.]

You really that low on juice?

[ he gets a pinched expression. if possible, he'd like to avoid mentioning just how badly dean beat him, but he's not entirely sure how to avoid it when he's being asked directly. his gaze slips past dean, toward the shower, but he meets his eyes before he answers. ]

I'll be fine, but I shouldn't waste it.

[ you know. just in case he needs to defend himself again. ]

Do you mind if I use the washer after I'm done?

sorry for the delay! i had to put myself to bed lol

i feel that. :)

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