hadriel_logs | the taste of blood

Entry tags:

the taste of blood

Who: Dean & YOU
What: The Mark of Cain Compels You. as in it compels dean. to kill things.
Where: the caves & around the caves & heading back to the spires (dean lives in spire 1, room 501 so feel free to bump into him around there, too)
When: right now!
Warnings: gore, violence, blood, dean being dean.

There was only so much Dean could take of the constant screaming in his mind. Only so much he could withstand when it came to the compulsions he faced on a second by second basis, the ones that forced him to question his every move, his every breath. Every face he passed was an opportunity to kill and every moment was one he wasted not handling the needs that lay crawling under his skin. It was something he told Sammy nothing about because he was fully aware that it was wrong, that all he would do was worry and mull and try to come up with a solution that didn't exist. Because if there was something that Dean knew, it was that there was none. And the only solution, the only one that meant he would stay alive, was to find something to kill.

He'd heard about the caves, brief explanations of the monsters that crawled within. And so he finally decided, after being here for too long without reprieve, left to flickering memories of Leviathan and Purgatory, to take care of what needed to be taken care of.

Making his way to the edge of Hadriel, it took nothing to dip inside the caves and begin to hunt. It wasn't a rare thing for him to go looking for monsters; there was no inkling of the fear that should likely have existed riding the pulse found in his throat. But it was the first one he stumbled upon that made the world around him vanish, that made nothing but the beast in front of him stark and real and necessary to demolish. His demon blade made in appearance in seconds flat and as the cat like creature pounced, he was quick to jam it into its underbelly, wrenching his fist and slicing through skin and muscle, blood immediately pouring over his fingers, down his wrist, soaking beneath his jacket.

It was only the beginning.

Anything he couldn't kill straight off, couldn't demolish with a blade took a shot to the head, blood spattering across the cave walls, a fine most of it hanging in the air. The rest he gored, struck through, tore open - any flesh he could sink into was decimated to the best of his ability. It was a constant rush, his heart crammed up somewhere into the back of his throat as he killed until he could find nothing else. He reeked of death, of remnants and innards and his boots stuck to the floor with sticky, congealed messes. He was soaked with his own need to kill and finally, by the end of it, he felt sated. Numb would have been another word for it, his being finally tamed for, how long? He didn't know.

But it would do for now.

Making his way back out of the caves, Dean wasn't quite sure what to do now. He had to clean up, had to get back to the Spires without making a scene and that wasn't going to happen. And so he did exactly that: just began to walk. Because what else could he do? He'd done what he had to and now he had to face the music. It was the only thing left.

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"And what are you?"

Dean was trying very hard, and Castiel appreciated that, completely, but he was avoiding the topic and it wouldn't do. After what he'd clearly done today, some kind of confrontation was required, no matter what Castiel felt. He didn't want this turning on him again and again, and Dean in turn didn't want to talk about his problems, but this wasn't going to work at all if they weren't both honest with themselves if not with each other.

He was ashamed of himself for trying to avoid as much as he did, and ask so much, but here he was doing just that. He reached his own hands up, rubbing at his eyes as though he could make the need to do this go away, and then he took flight.

Castiel didn't usually use his power in tight spaces like this. It was just too showy. But it made a point. A second later he was inches in front of Dean again, staring him down with flinty blue eyes.

"How have you got me? You can't even get to the bottom of what's troubling you, won't admit that you have a problem. How have you got me, Dean, when your basic, monstrous needs are splitting you apart?"

When Cas disappeared, Dean thought for sure that this time he would be gone for good. That with a rush of wings, he would land himself back in the in the park, never to return to the safety that he claimed he'd discovered here. And it would likely be his fault, Dean recognized that. Knew that he had done something so completely wrong that he couldn't backtrack to save his life.

Instead, he reappeared inches from his face and Dean stumbled back a good few steps from surprise, caught entirely off guard by the intrusion. His palm smeared against the nearest wall, sticky and congealed, the mess of it only a dusky shadow of what he'd done in the caves.

And while Cas was right, Dean found that it was his turn to avoid. He couldn't have this conversation simply because he knew didn't know how to and he supposed that in turn meant that he couldn't be the thing that Castiel needed most. He was destroyed in his own way and they both knew it, knew that the things they were, were peeling them open and leaving nothing but the barest core of their needs behind. Cas could only see what he could stand and Dean could hardly see through his humanity, both blinded by their terrors and stolen by way of desperation.

So Dean hid, because Cas had. Because he was a failure in more ways than one, a man who could not be the things he wanted most and had no way to put those desires to words. Any actions he could commit were failed attempts - that had been proven blindingly well - and everything he tried only pushed him further away from what he thought he knew.

Staring hard at Cas until he couldn't bear it any longer, Dean said the only thing he thought he could that would allow him a way out. It was stupid and helpless, but they were words nonetheless.

"I'm gonna take a shower."

Edited 2016-05-24 18:03 (UTC)

They had to have this confrontation. There was no way around it. Castiel, of course, wanted no such thing, and the idea of putting his foot down, squaring himself off, terrified him immensely, but what other choice did he have? Dean had literally shown up covered in blood and had nothing to say on the matter, which was unacceptable, even if getting the man to talk about his feelings would have been hard on any other day, too.

But today? Today it absolutely had to happen.

The angel sighed, and waited for Dean to turn away, waited for him to head off for the shower, so it at least gave him the briefest reprieve. He needed to breathe, to gather himself up for the fight ahead. There was nowhere for Dean to run to, nowhere for Cas to run to. He pushed into the fight ahead as best he could.

And flew right into the shower stall, where he stood waiting to be discovered, looking defiant, arms folded across his chest. It was a complete mythology, a front, but he was going to do his best.

Dean, for at least a minute or two, believed himself to be fully successful as he turned away. He was going to take a shower and he was going to disappear in it, become nothing at all and forget this thing that he had to become to keep himself whole - not that he'd ever been that way to start with. It was his only respite, he was sure of it, and somehow he managed to convince himself that in his state, Castiel would leave it be.

Making his way into the bathroom, perhaps he should have taken a look around before he began attempting to peel his shirt from his skin, though it was hardly a task he was foreign to. Everything just at the edge of tacky with dried blood, clothing going stiff with it, fingers stained. It was just another day in the life truly, though it took his full attention for a few moments.

At least until he finally looked up towards the shower stall, offering it his full attention with the intent of turning on the water. Which would have worked so well had an angel not been standing in the way. Puffing up his chest with a breath, Dean stood back and stared, finally coming to the conclusion that he wasn't going to be getting out of this without a fight and Cas was the last person right now that he wanted to be fighting with. It was only then that his shoulders dropped, head bowing as he stared off for a moment before snapping his attention back, trying to put space between them but mostly attempting to put space between himself and the way he was being torn in two.

"What do you want me to say, Cas? Huh? You want me to talk about what this feels like, how it's eating me up inside?"

Castiel had to admit he was relieved that Dean didn't manage to get out of his entire outfit before he noticed him. Not that he had any problem with nudity but because Dean was always going on about how uncomfortable it made him when Castiel invaded his privacy. This probably counted. He was defiant though, ready.

Seemingly, though, the fight dropped out of Dean there and then. Maybe he'd worked it all out, in the caves, and while Castiel wasn't ready to let his guard down entirely yet, he did soften very slightly at Dean's posture, and his words.

"You saw my dreams," he countered, still a little stern even if his voice had dropped to apologetic. "You know perfectly well that I know what it's like to be consumed by something you cannot control. You know that I know how it feels to be consumed from the inside. I just..."

There was a long pause. What did Castiel want?

"I can't live here if we aren't even going to discuss it. You need to be open about it, if not with Sam then at least with me. I won't judge you. I won't tell anyone. Please, Dean. The underlying tension... You cannot carry that entire burden yourself."

It wasn't that Dean didn't think that Cas understood - he knew he did. Figured he knew better than anyone what it felt like to have something inside you chewing away at the very things that made you whole. And while Sam would've tried to understand, would have damn well willed himself to see it from Dean's perspective, Dean didn't want him to have to. He didn't want him to worry, didn't want him to look at him in that way that meant he was just waiting for him to fly off the handle so he could be there to stop it.

Dean couldn't stand that look, was doing everything in his power to avoid it, to make sure Sam didn't know what it was that was seeping its way through his very veins.

Teeth grinding together with frustration, Dean still managed to keep his gaze on Cas, willing himself to look at the angel that was trying so very hard. Cas didn't really have it in him for this but here he was, doing his best at it, trying not to hide from this thing that neither of them wanted to bare. Which meant that really, Dean should be trying in equal measure.

"This is me talking about it. Okay?" He heaved a frustrated breath, waved a hand about. "It sucks. Is that what you want to know? The feeling that I can't go two seconds without wanting to throttle the life out of something? Cas, I can barely concentrate, it's all I hear. And one of these days i'm gonna fly off the damn handle and do someone in. It won't matter how hard I tried, it'll just be me and someone's blood on my hands."

Castiel stepped forward.

He reached up, and placed his hand on Dean's shoulder. It was mired with the same kind of blood and gore and mess that had ruined Dean's shirt, but Castiel didn't care. He'd been covered in many worse things, over the years, after all.

"Perhaps that's true," he said, softly, "But you've been controlling it. You are controlling it. This isn't you slipping, Dean--heading out to the caves to fight those monsters? I told you before, you being trapped here, immobile, with nothing to go and nothing to hunt... It would be difficult for you under normal circumstances.

"Perhaps one day you will slip. With me, with Sam. But you know that we both understand. We both care. You mean everything to me, Dean, and to Sam."

He cocked his head to one side, looking up into the other man's eyes intently, trying to hold his gaze, and his attention.

"I can...perhaps I can help you to focus on other things. There's things I can try, if you'll let me. Meditation."

For a moment, Dean's gaze tripped up and slipped to the hand on his shoulder, staring at it for a moment before he was looking back to Cas' face, serious as ever. He didn't look entirely crushed, but his stony exterior was doing everything in its limited power to keep from washing over with emotion. Dean didn't want to crack when he already felt like he was doing so in other ways and so he simply remained as stoic as he could, at least until Cas mentioned the possibility of killing them.

Shaking his head, Dean refused it, the possibility and the idea and the intention. Even if he knew that it might be there, that it could be the very thing that would happen, he told himself he couldn't let it.

That it wouldn't get to that point.

Though really, meditation? Dean only groaned slightly, though the sound was almost a scoff, Dean's gaze rolling like a child who'd just been told he'd have to endure piano lessons despite a painful lack of interest. His gaze fell back onto Cas and while it wasn't pleading, he looked anything but thrilled by the concept.

"C'mon, Cas- We're gonna go the hippie route?" That wasn't entirely a no...

"Meditation could be instrumental in helping you control your instincts, or at least channel them." He drew his hand away, because he couldn't help but feel like the movement that Dean made was an indicator of 'remove your hand right now'. Castiel had learned that much, anyway, from past experiences. More of a 'What are you doing still touching me?' gesture, really.

Castiel put his hands back at his sides, quietly, and looked at Dean again, intently.

"It wouldn't be the same as meditating on your own. I'd help you. I'd be with you every moment, Dean. An angel on your shoulder, guiding you, supporting you."

And that? Well, that he could offer, truly. It was a peaceful solution, and Castiel could appreciate it for that. Less fighting and more searching for solutions. That he could do.

"Tell me you'll consider it."

It wasn't entirely an attempt to shove Castiel's touch away - if anything, it was Dean being surprised that he was being touched at all. He was filthy and he felt wrong, disturbed, undeserving. Everything felt muddled and completely tangled up; he thought he once understood all of this, but combined with trying to figure everything else out he just felt twice as lost. He didn't know what a single touch meant let alone the chaos in his own mind.

But Cas was trying so damn hard that even through the clenched muscles of his own jaw, it was hard to push all of this away. He didn't want to meditate, not even a little bit, but what was the alternative?

Killing someone? Killing everyone? Watching Sam's life, Cas' life drip through his fingers after a point where he could no longer keep himself whole?

Dean's shoulders sunk, his head bowing just a touch as he tried to seem as if he was thinking it over when he already knew the answer. Well- he knew what he wanted the answer to be, but what he needed it to be was an entirely different thing. And so he caved, offered himself up with lifted palms, acquiescing because he was desperate and because Cas understood.

"I'll try it. If you think it'll do something-- Just don't go full blown yoga on me, okay? I don't think downward dog's gonna fix shit."

Castiel only felt confusion, when he touched Dean--and maybe shame. He couldn't have known that there were other complicated levels to that feeling and doubt. He was curious, but he'd leave it for later. For now, he watched Dean struggle with the sentiment, with Castiel's suggestion, and finally relaxed as he made his choice.

Relaxed, but wasn't relieved. Dean looked miserable, and Castiel wanted to touch him again, but chose not to.

"I don't know what other position a dog would be in," he responded, softly, before he became self conscious that it was some kind of idiom he was responding to. He had no idea what yoga was. In any case, it wouldn't be involved, and he didn't want to distance Dean from his uncertainty.

"Let me clean this mess away. You've come through it, Dean, and reached the other side. Now let me cleanse you."

Still, the idea of meditation was one he wasn't overly interested in. Sitting still, jumping into the recesses of his mind with nothing else to hide under - no thanks. He didn't see how that would do anything to help quiet his urges. It sounded, if anything, like it would make them excessively louder, inescapable even. But he supposed he'd let Cas have a singular chance. He'd give it a try, if only because Cas was trying so hard in this.

"I can think of a few positions for a-- you know what. Nevermind." Dean cleared his throat, the moment of humor lost on both of them as he looked down at himself again. He wasn't sure he deserved even the idea of being cleansed, but he supposed ruining a good pair of clothes was idiotic around here.

Dean just didn't think it would make him feel any better, either.

"Sure, fine. Go for it."

Castiel took the last step forward, placing his hand so gently on Dean's shoulder. A moment later, all the grime and filth was gone, and just for a moment as Cas raised his hand, he let his fingers touch against Dean's jawline, looking at him sincerely, getting a better read of his turmoil in the process. It was something that terrified him, really, what was going on inside Dean's mind, his emotions, but he put himself through it for the sake of clarity, before drawing his hand back the rest of the way.

"I'll let you take your shower anyway. I'm sure it will help."

He shot Dean one last worried look, and then excused himself from the bathroom entirely, leaving him alone with the hot water. As talks went, it hadn't gone so badly, and there was promise of sorting through some of this later, when Dean began to feel restless again; that was all Castiel wanted. He wanted to help.

Dean wasn't unfamiliar to the odd sensation of Cas' healing touches. The moments where one second he felt so utterly damaged and the next- well, he still felt the same and yet knew everything was different. It was as if his body and mind couldn't quite catch up to the rapid fire healing power but eventually it did, eventually he stopped feeling so turned around and he could let himself feel cured. It was always a stunning kind of thing, something tha happened in the blink of an eye and yet it seemed to linger, the sensation of it, the knowledge of how bad things could've been.

This was no different. The filth was gone in an instant, Dean left less sticky and caked with his own sweat, but he still swore he felt it, like when you've worn a hat too long and upon its removal, you could swear it's still there. Dean still felt tarnished, broken, fouled, and while he no longer looked it, the echoes of it remained. Or maybe that was only in his head, he wasn't sure. But it didn't matter because he told himself it couldn't, because his mind was already a mess, a turmoil of things he couldn't abandon and was too scared to acknowledge.

And then Cas' fingers ghosted along his jaw and he blinked, entirely unsure of what Cas was doing. He told himself it was just a touch, just a glimpse of fingers, and that if anything, Cas was trying to get a read of him. And that alone was horrifying - Cas had more than enough on his plate, he didn't need the razor's edge of his own mess floating back through Cas' head. But he still stood idiotically, staring painfully, wishing he fix it all so easily.

The moment shifted, thank god, and Cas finally offered him the bathroom, leaving Dean to nod, pushing his fingers back through his now clean hair.

"Thanks, Cas."

It was all he had left to say as Cas made his way out, finally earning some peace to himself in the bathroom where he could shower and attempt to force his failures down through the drain.

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the taste of blood

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