[ Cas expects it would go about as well as any other conversation they've had in the past few years; extremely poorly.
He can't quite remember the last time they talked without tearing into each other, flinging careless pain, needling at one another or hailing straight up verbal low blows. Their bond had been... something entirely profound once. Now? It felt like a leash, like a whip, like a double edged sword. ]
Well... no. But I mean.
[ Cas makes a vague gesture, sets the bottle down and slowly lowers himself onto the bed, stretching out a bit and sighing at the momentary relief it brings his wounds.
He's noted the window - chooses not to comment. Where to even begin with this place. ]
I mean, you mentioned monsters. Past... or... uh. Other Me, isn't going to let you fend for yourself, no? [ His head lolls to the side lightly, blue eyes on Dean. He's not being spiteful, but... ] It's you. [ As if that explains anything.
But really, it explains everything.
It's always been enough, and even when it wasn't, Cas still did it anyway because at that point, why choose a different poison. ]
[ The 'it's you' he hears, but it's unexpectedly harsh against parts of him that are still raw that if he wasn't already tense as hell right now he'd be frowning deeply. Yeah, that's part of the goddamn problem. Cas has decided to stretch out on his bed and there's a habit, a routine, that's been dragged back out of the darkness, ready and waiting to chew Cas out for that. In the end he's just stubbornly quiet for verging on half a minute.
It's not something he has any need to talk about right now. Not when at any second the house could be the next target of all the crap outside and he's already running on fumes. So he chooses to sound offended instead of affected, injects anger into his voice when what he's really feeling is another fresh pile of guilt. ]
Oh I can look after myself. I don't need his help. And--
[ Cutting himself off, his molars squeeze together, jaw set and lips pressed into an unimpressed line. The truth is that the juiced up version of Cas has saved his ass twice now here in the town. The rest of his sentence 'and I don't need your help either' is what he bites back.
Help has been a thing he hasn't genuinely asked for in a long time because needing help is showing weakness. And when was the last time he was allowed to be weak? Hell. ]
Are you asking for an explanation or an apology? Because right now? I don't have either for you, Cas.
[ There are things that Dean doesn't need to say to have them heard. Cas' gaze drops away form him. Strays to the ceiling, then skitters off to the wall.
There he is, the Dean he remembers, just under the surface. And all Cas has to do is dig, and dig, and dig, and he'll ruin what Dean's become, and find what he's been.
It's a hollow discovery.
It's not Dean how's the dead weight dragging them into the muck.
It's Cas, and he knows it. ]
I'm not asking for anything.
[ 'Am I allowed to sit here?' 'Am I still worth your time?' 'Can I stay, just a while?' 'Have I ever done anything but hurt you?'
If he doesn't ask, Dean can't say no.
If he doesn't ask, Cas can keep dreaming up sweet lies over bitter truths. ]
I know you don't need it.
[ Cas' help. Cas' company. Cas.
Either version works. ]
But you said you wanted it.
[ Cas' help, that is. What little he can offer these days. ]
[ Frowning, his own gaze dropping regretfully to the floorboards, Dean exhales slowly, fully, through his nose. Trying to yank back any sense of control over his temper is always an uphill battle. It's like trying to calm part of himself that just wants rage, wants the anger to bury into because if he's cloaking himself in that anger? Nothing else can touch him.
This? This is a mess. And the information - the proof - that Cas is here and alive again is still so fresh in his mind that he has no idea how he feels about it. He's been trying to figure it out ever since they parted ways downstairs and every time he thinks he's getting close to really working it out, his brain tells him he's just going to fuck Cas up more than he already is. ]
You're a mess.
[ For the first time in a long time, his tone isn't accusatory, or mean, or meant to cut Cas down to size. It's simple fact underpinned by the fact that he knows damn well if Cas goes outside like he is now? It's not gonna end well. ]
Yeah, I want your help. But not like this. You're hurt. Still trying to recover from what I did. And if you think I'm gonna give you a brief that sends you out into that? [ He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, towards the stained glass window, but he means further beyond. ] You're wrong.
[ Changed, but not so much. Looks like Dean still has it in his head that Cas is a toddler, and needs some upstart human to supervise his every step taken lest he get himself killed.
The hypocrisy is astonishing, honestly, coming from Dean Winchester of all people.
The twitch to the corners of Cas' lips is nothing short of bitter, his sigh utterly resigned.
All he wants is information. All he wants is to be looped in.
And because Dean sees nothing in Cas but a mess of his wrongfully assumed own making, he withholds, pushes Cas back into the corner he was in long before his death. No longer a friend, a partner, a confidante, no longer brothers on the battlefield. Cas is nothing but a liability.
He pushes himself up slowly, mindful of the way the stitches pull uncomfortably, and gets to his feet. ]
Yeah, uh. Sure. I'll be downstairs, then.
[ If Dean doesn't mind him going downstairs. After all, given what a mess he is, Cas might just trip.
The annoyance hangs around his shoulder like a mantle, but he bites down on the need to taunt Dean with it. Cas is too exhausted on all fronts to put up the fight, to argue his case and capability. ]
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no subject
He can't quite remember the last time they talked without tearing into each other, flinging careless pain, needling at one another or hailing straight up verbal low blows. Their bond had been... something entirely profound once. Now? It felt like a leash, like a whip, like a double edged sword. ]
Well... no. But I mean.
[ Cas makes a vague gesture, sets the bottle down and slowly lowers himself onto the bed, stretching out a bit and sighing at the momentary relief it brings his wounds.
He's noted the window - chooses not to comment. Where to even begin with this place. ]
I mean, you mentioned monsters. Past... or... uh. Other Me, isn't going to let you fend for yourself, no? [ His head lolls to the side lightly, blue eyes on Dean. He's not being spiteful, but... ] It's you. [ As if that explains anything.
But really, it explains everything.
It's always been enough, and even when it wasn't, Cas still did it anyway because at that point, why choose a different poison. ]
no subject
[ The 'it's you' he hears, but it's unexpectedly harsh against parts of him that are still raw that if he wasn't already tense as hell right now he'd be frowning deeply. Yeah, that's part of the goddamn problem. Cas has decided to stretch out on his bed and there's a habit, a routine, that's been dragged back out of the darkness, ready and waiting to chew Cas out for that. In the end he's just stubbornly quiet for verging on half a minute.
It's not something he has any need to talk about right now. Not when at any second the house could be the next target of all the crap outside and he's already running on fumes. So he chooses to sound offended instead of affected, injects anger into his voice when what he's really feeling is another fresh pile of guilt. ]
Oh I can look after myself. I don't need his help. And--
[ Cutting himself off, his molars squeeze together, jaw set and lips pressed into an unimpressed line. The truth is that the juiced up version of Cas has saved his ass twice now here in the town. The rest of his sentence 'and I don't need your help either' is what he bites back.
Help has been a thing he hasn't genuinely asked for in a long time because needing help is showing weakness. And when was the last time he was allowed to be weak? Hell. ]
Are you asking for an explanation or an apology? Because right now? I don't have either for you, Cas.
no subject
There he is, the Dean he remembers, just under the surface. And all Cas has to do is dig, and dig, and dig, and he'll ruin what Dean's become, and find what he's been.
It's a hollow discovery.
It's not Dean how's the dead weight dragging them into the muck.
It's Cas, and he knows it. ]
I'm not asking for anything.
[ 'Am I allowed to sit here?' 'Am I still worth your time?' 'Can I stay, just a while?' 'Have I ever done anything but hurt you?'
If he doesn't ask, Dean can't say no.
If he doesn't ask, Cas can keep dreaming up sweet lies over bitter truths. ]
I know you don't need it.
[ Cas' help. Cas' company. Cas.
Either version works. ]
But you said you wanted it.
[ Cas' help, that is. What little he can offer these days. ]
So... a brief. Right?
[ He doesn't need explanations or apologies.
And he doesn't offer them in return. ]
no subject
This? This is a mess. And the information - the proof - that Cas is here and alive again is still so fresh in his mind that he has no idea how he feels about it. He's been trying to figure it out ever since they parted ways downstairs and every time he thinks he's getting close to really working it out, his brain tells him he's just going to fuck Cas up more than he already is. ]
You're a mess.
[ For the first time in a long time, his tone isn't accusatory, or mean, or meant to cut Cas down to size. It's simple fact underpinned by the fact that he knows damn well if Cas goes outside like he is now? It's not gonna end well. ]
Yeah, I want your help. But not like this. You're hurt. Still trying to recover from what I did. And if you think I'm gonna give you a brief that sends you out into that? [ He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, towards the stained glass window, but he means further beyond. ] You're wrong.
no subject
The hypocrisy is astonishing, honestly, coming from Dean Winchester of all people.
The twitch to the corners of Cas' lips is nothing short of bitter, his sigh utterly resigned.
All he wants is information. All he wants is to be looped in.
And because Dean sees nothing in Cas but a mess of his wrongfully assumed own making, he withholds, pushes Cas back into the corner he was in long before his death. No longer a friend, a partner, a confidante, no longer brothers on the battlefield. Cas is nothing but a liability.
He pushes himself up slowly, mindful of the way the stitches pull uncomfortably, and gets to his feet. ]
Yeah, uh. Sure. I'll be downstairs, then.
[ If Dean doesn't mind him going downstairs. After all, given what a mess he is, Cas might just trip.
The annoyance hangs around his shoulder like a mantle, but he bites down on the need to taunt Dean with it. Cas is too exhausted on all fronts to put up the fight, to argue his case and capability. ]