[ The fact that Cas thinks it's a sick joke? Maybe that cuts a little deeper than either of them would have guessed back home. Things are different here and so is he. But not so much that he doesn't feel something ugly slide into his chest before he forces it down and shakes his head. ]
This place pulls people from wherever the hell it wants. You were dead. Now you're not.
[ It's the kind of idea that hurt to think about when he first arrived because it made him so angry. That he'd had no choice or say in being here at all. It still does. But alternate timelines are something he'd already known about. ]
There's another version of you here. From the other timeline. [ He pauses, has settled his gaze on Cas clutching that bottle. ] From where past me's from. Except they stopped the apocalypse.
[ Cas sits in silence for a moment, in a stillness that has become unusual for him since everything inside of him has started rotting away, leaving the labyrinthine caverns of his own body too empty, still and silent.
It takes a moment to process, but... well. Of course.
Of course he'd wind up being the useless surplus.
Cas smiles in the vague direction of the sheets, then nods, shrugs, and drinks deep. What else is there to say or do. ]
You know. I did ask you about available assets...
[ He liked past!Dean, in no small part because it needled at his Dean, so turnabout's fair game, he supposes - for him to be confronted with the better make and model of himself.
Except it sounds as if there will be no escaping this one.
Of course the only voice ever reaching out to him... would be his own. And of course he ended up unwittingly, harshly, rejecting himself.
[ The stillness is a little disconcerting, but then Cas speaks and it's probably something close to what Dean figured was going to fall out of this mouth. He doesn't think that Cas doesn't think before he speaks. At this point? He knows better with the number of times those words are shaped to needle at him. Not talking about it? Yeah, he doesn't know what to say either other than to frown slightly and finally pushes himself up off the bed. ]
I don't know what to say to you. I know you think I'm gonna say something I woulda said back in our world.
[ He pauses, raising his eyebrows as if he's half-surprised about this too. ]
But I'm not. I have no idea where to begin explaining to you what the past three months has been like.
cw: nihilism, lack of self-worth, mention of death
[ He thought five years had torn a gap between him and Dean, a friendship burnt to bitter ashes, with just enough sinew connecting them to make sure they can't quite disentangle themselves from one another, no matter how hard they might try when it doesn't count.
When it counts, Dean can snip his fingers, point, and Cas will go. The fact that this Dean doesn't seem to want that anymore leaves Cas reeling and unable to find the footing he'd fallen into. ]
I was being mostly seriously. While, hm. Some warning would have been... let's say appreciated... There are monsters here, you said? I'm assuming I... other me... can still smite. Fly. Heal. That is useful to have on board.
[ Why, after all, wouldn't he be on board? Cas still sees no reason not to follow Dean with a smile and some barbed wire on his tongue, and he did die for him twice. Once out of his own volition even.
He picks at the frayed edges on his jeans. His tone is... not soft, perhaps, but softer than it could have been. Some of the mockery shaved off, almost like they're talking strategy on equal grounds.
Some warning? Okay. How did you figure that was gonna go? 'cause the way I remember it, there wasn't exactly a good time to bring that up.
[ Honestly, between almost shooting Cas on sight because he didn't believe the town had pulled him here and then patching up injuries he'd caused by sending the guy off to his death, the other version of Cas hadn't been at the forefront of his mind. So if he sounds defensive? It's because he's feeling attacked.
He wanders over to the window and though he can't see out of it - this one is depicting a hoard of Croats swarming one of the old abandoned trucks from the camp - it's more habit than anything to try gauge what's going on outside.
There's another window, downstairs at the front of the house in the room he uses to store all the weapons and maps, that's of the moment he chose to use Cas as a diversion. Maybe he should warn him about that too, but eventually he decides that would probably just be a waste of time. He can own what he's done, had to push through the guilt of it. Doesn't mean he's pushed through the guilt of anything else he did to Cas though and that still feels heavy as stones in his blood.
He's barely looked over his shoulder at Cas again before he speaks. ]
Yeah. He can. But he's not on a leash, if that's what you mean.
[ 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
[ Bit cruel, which... seems uncharacteristic of Dean.
Well, no, that's not true.
It seems uncharacteristic after... last night? Earlier? Some undetermined hours ago, at any rate.
Cas's fingers flex around the neck of the bottle a bit. ]
You, uh. You know I don't really count as "angel" anymore.
no subject
This place pulls people from wherever the hell it wants. You were dead. Now you're not.
[ It's the kind of idea that hurt to think about when he first arrived because it made him so angry. That he'd had no choice or say in being here at all. It still does. But alternate timelines are something he'd already known about. ]
There's another version of you here. From the other timeline. [ He pauses, has settled his gaze on Cas clutching that bottle. ] From where past me's from. Except they stopped the apocalypse.
[ And Dean now knows that he fails at that. ]
no subject
It takes a moment to process, but... well. Of course.
Of course he'd wind up being the useless surplus.
Cas smiles in the vague direction of the sheets, then nods, shrugs, and drinks deep. What else is there to say or do. ]
You know. I did ask you about available assets...
[ He liked past!Dean, in no small part because it needled at his Dean, so turnabout's fair game, he supposes - for him to be confronted with the better make and model of himself.
Except it sounds as if there will be no escaping this one.
Of course the only voice ever reaching out to him... would be his own. And of course he ended up unwittingly, harshly, rejecting himself.
There's some fucking poetry in here somewhere. ]
no subject
I don't know what to say to you. I know you think I'm gonna say something I woulda said back in our world.
[ He pauses, raising his eyebrows as if he's half-surprised about this too. ]
But I'm not. I have no idea where to begin explaining to you what the past three months has been like.
cw: nihilism, lack of self-worth, mention of death
When it counts, Dean can snip his fingers, point, and Cas will go. The fact that this Dean doesn't seem to want that anymore leaves Cas reeling and unable to find the footing he'd fallen into. ]
I was being mostly seriously. While, hm. Some warning would have been... let's say appreciated... There are monsters here, you said? I'm assuming I... other me... can still smite. Fly. Heal. That is useful to have on board.
[ Why, after all, wouldn't he be on board? Cas still sees no reason not to follow Dean with a smile and some barbed wire on his tongue, and he did die for him twice. Once out of his own volition even.
He picks at the frayed edges on his jeans. His tone is... not soft, perhaps, but softer than it could have been. Some of the mockery shaved off, almost like they're talking strategy on equal grounds.
What was it? Newborn steps? Close enough. ]
no subject
[ Honestly, between almost shooting Cas on sight because he didn't believe the town had pulled him here and then patching up injuries he'd caused by sending the guy off to his death, the other version of Cas hadn't been at the forefront of his mind. So if he sounds defensive? It's because he's feeling attacked.
He wanders over to the window and though he can't see out of it - this one is depicting a hoard of Croats swarming one of the old abandoned trucks from the camp - it's more habit than anything to try gauge what's going on outside.
There's another window, downstairs at the front of the house in the room he uses to store all the weapons and maps, that's of the moment he chose to use Cas as a diversion. Maybe he should warn him about that too, but eventually he decides that would probably just be a waste of time. He can own what he's done, had to push through the guilt of it. Doesn't mean he's pushed through the guilt of anything else he did to Cas though and that still feels heavy as stones in his blood.
He's barely looked over his shoulder at Cas again before he speaks. ]
Yeah. He can. But he's not on a leash, if that's what you mean.
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. ]