hadriel_logs | Take him by the hand, make him understand

[ Dean had only struck out for a few hours, careful about the whole thing ever since Sorrow had set about turning this place into a whole new level of Hell. The last thing he needed was to start babbling his confessions to the next person he saw and so he'd avoided the outside world as much as possible up until now. But there were still a few things they needed and so ran his errands, stretching his legs in the process. Didn't mean he didn't try to make the whole thing as quick as possible, not wanting to test the limits of what Sorrow might be capable of.

And so he returned after a short while, knowing what the plan was going to be when he got back: meditation. And admittedly, he wasn't looking forward to it. Not really, not in the kind of way Cas likely wanted him to be. The whole thing made him all kinds of skeptical and he just wasn't into the idea of it but at this point? He was willing to try something that didn't involve dipping into the caves and dousing himself in monster blood.

Which was maybe why when he opened the door to their place, he blinked a few times into the darkness, slowly stepping the rest of the way inside with a quiet 'uhh' under his breath. ]

Cas?

Dean.

[ He straightened up, unfolding his legs where he was sitting lotus in the middle of his nest and standing up. ]

I rearranged the apartment. I hope you don't mind.

[ Well. It was done now whether he minded or not, honestly. But Cas would put everything back exactly where it was when he was done. It wasn't like he was prone to making messes and walking away from them.

~~At least not any more.~~ ]

Yeah, I noticed.

[ Though really, how could he not. All the furniture had been pushed aside and the little nest in the center of the living room was-- okay, well, it reminded him of a Cas he knew from a different life. It almost made a laugh bubble its way to the surface until he realized that he was going to be part of this mumbo jumbo and his expression fell worried once again, even as Cas stood. ]

Is this, uh- really necessary?

[ Castiel, of course, immediately misunderstood the question. ]

Well, no. It's not at all necessary. We could have used your bed instead--or done it on the floor. [ He shrugged. ] But I prefer the dimensions of this room, and I wanted you to be comfortable.

[ He stood still in the middle of his nest, head cocking to one side, curiously intent. Dean was hesitating, but that really wasn't much of a surprise. He'd told Cas before how little he was looking forward to this experience. ]

Take off your jacket, and your shoes, and anything pointy in your pockets. The idea is to make yourself as comfortable as possible.

[ Dean cringed a bit, glancing around the room as if he was a kid in the middle of playing lava monster. What could he hop to next that would keep him from getting sucked under?

But everything was fine, this was fine, and Dean could handle it. It was just a little meditation and even with the hippy dippy crap, if it did anything at all to help then he'd have to suck it up and deal with the fact that Cas had been right.

Realizing that he was still standing there, even after Cas had directed him, Dean gave his head a little shake and cleared his throat. ] Yeah, okay- Fine. Just... gimmie a sec. [ Leaning up against the door as he undid his boots and kicked them off to the side, he wriggled out of his jacket a second later and padded across the floor to toss it onto the couch, his blade left behind in a pocket. Removing anything else pointy was a little easier than it might have been at home, as he'd only arrived here with so much. All he had left was his Colt, which he pulled from the back of his jeans and settled cautiously down on top of his jacket before turning to stand close to Cas' little nest. ]

This is the part where I sit, right?

[ Castiel blinked, slowly, and didn't hide his interest as Dean removed his shoes and jacket. He narrowed his eyes just minutely at the Colt, and then nodded. Of course Dean had his gun with him. As Dean padded back over toward him, Castiel expressed minute disinterest, as though he wasn't staring him down awkwardly. ]

Sit opposite me, [ He commanded, softly. ] It's okay, Dean, I'm not going to push you faster, or further, than you're ready to go.

[ He opened his hands in front of him, taking up a calm, relaxed posture, with his eyes on Dean. Dean would settle opposite him, with the fireflies off to one side of them shedding their gentle aura of happiness. ]

I don't bite, [ He added, just in case Dean was worried. It wasn't as though they touched often. ]

[ Every step he took was one that Dean near swore the whole thing off, turned around and headed back to his room simply to stave off the awkwardness. It felt weird, this felt like a stupid idea, and yet he knew the more he told himself that, the more resistant he would become. Didn't change the fact that he didn't think this would work in the slightest, but eventually - with an eyeroll - Dean found himself sitting opposite Cas, legs folded beneath him. ]

I'm not scared of you, Cas.

[ Dean's tone held a certain plea in this to not make it any worse than it already was, but he glanced towards the fireflies and sighed, rubbing the palms of his hands against his knees. ] Now what?

Perhaps not, but I know that you don't like to be touched, and that you find it uncomfortable when I invade your space.

[ He stated the facts calmly, head tilting very slightly to one side. ] And if I could do this without touching you, or invading your space, then I would; truly I would.

[ He just held Dean's gaze as he waited, hands still open in front of him, calm and secure to mirror Dean's own uncertainty, as though he could pull Dean down into his own focus. That was the point of this, after all. ]

Take my hands, Dean.

[ Having the facts said aloud like that just made them feel even stranger, as if Dean should be apologetic for not being the most comfortable with unwarranted affection. And it wasn't as if he hated being touched - he'd offered pats to Castiel's shoulders more times than he could count, among other random occurrences.

He wasn't that much of a prude about the whole thing.

But trying to settle into this was rough, Dean not making it any easier by being unsure of himself. He was trying however, getting comfortable and settling in with a heave of a sigh before he finally rolled his eyes and reached out for Cas' hands. ]

We hold hands the entire time?

Yes.

[ The moment Dean's hands settled into his own, Castiel curled his thumbs across the tops of Dean's fingers, holding them firmly, holding him, his eyes not even dropping toward them. He watched Dean's eyes, instead, not threading any feeling into him, yet. Dean could relax on his own, first. ]

Close your eyes, Dean. I want you to focus on your breathing; on you, and you alone. Take a slow breath, hold it, and count to three. On the fourth count, begin to exhale. When you're done, count to three again, and breathe.

[ Okay, so it wasn't that weird. Definitely could've felt stranger he supposed, but he was actually trying his damndest to not make this the weirdest thing he'd ever done. It sure was hell was the hokiest, and he had yet to believe in its effectiveness, but he knew if he fucked around with it that he'd end up admonished - or worse, Cas would walk away.

After rolling his gaze away for a moment, staring at anything else he finally succumbed and closed his eyes, taking in a slow, deep breath and counting to three in his head before he finally blew it out in a gust. Admittedly, part of him already wanted to storm off, not do this, not be stared at by Cas while he tried to do this. But instead he pulled in another breath, held it, and exhaled.

At least he manage to do this much? ]

[ Castiel breathed with him, if only so that Dean could feel, through their touch, that unity. Counting out the breaths helped to create a rhythm, would bring down Dean's pulse rate, and that would be key, if not an actual answer in its entirety. It would certainly help him to feel like calmer was a possibility, even though Castiel knew better than anyone that Dean's impatience was going to be the hardest challenge here.

So he spoke, softly. ]

I want you to picture your soul inside you. You know what one looks like, so it shouldn't be any challenge, that white light, reaching out into every corner of your body. It's raw energy, raw spirit. It's what every human is made from. For me, being close to it is like being close to a flame, because for all my power, all my light, mine is nothing compared to yours.

It extends out into your fingertips, right through every strand of your hair. If you were to open your eyes, that power would spill out. Don't open them. Keep it all inside, feel its warmth under your skin.

[ All right okay, so breathing was calming. Who knew.

The fact that it worked at all made Dean want to turn grouchy, resistant, made him want to wriggle and fight against it because he was by far better at pacing than he was at counting his breaths and sitting within himself. He wanted to win the argument that this wouldn't help, but in equal measure he wanted something to be the cure. Anything at all, and so he returned to trying.

Though, Cas' words almost made him groan in that petulant sort of way. For a moment, he cracked open one eye and just gave Cas a mightily skeptical look before he closed it again and heaved a breath out of rhythm- ] Dunno what picturing my soul's gotta do with anything. [ before having to go back to counting straight after the fact.

But, he might as well try, right? Like a seance, he had to give his all into it, thinking through himself and imagining the building of light beneath his skin, the steady crawl of it sweeping into every limb, every inch, every part of him. It made his nose scrunch with the required concentration, but hey, he was trying. ]

[ Castiel simply blink as Dean cracked an eye at him, though he could easily have looked stern at him in response. It wasn't necessary. Dean put himself back in the zone a moment later, and then the angel was closing his eyes too, feeling Dean begin to work on the visual image of his soul. It was like touching a dreamstate, though Dean's mind was very conscious, and the direct touch of hands on hands helped immensely.

Castiel strengthened the image himself, once Dean had it, taken some of the burden away from his concentration. The light began to pulse, rhythmically, in time with their counting, in time with Dean's heartbeat, steady and languid in every way. ]

The Mark, on your right arm poisons your soul. We both know that, we've seen what it can do when left unchecked. The rage it pours into you is black and hot. It's dormant, for the moment, but still there, ever present.

[ As he spoke, the black mark coalesced on Dean's arm. Its darkness spread upward through the limb, curled tendrils past his shoulder. ]

The aim of our efforts is not to push that darkness back, but to gain control of it. I can't unmake you, Dean, and neither should you try to be something you aren't. For as long as the Mark is a part of you, it is up to you to control it, to be the master of it.

I have seen you do many superhuman things by simply conquering your own will. I've seen you gain the strength to face down Lucifer himself.

Edited 2016-07-07 16:44 (UTC)

I'm not supposed to push it back? The hell, Cas, I can't just-

[ Dean was fumbling his way out of his concentration, brow furrowing hard as the darkness spread in his mind's eye. The light had almost been more comforting than he'd expected it to be and now he was supposed to keep the poison of the Mark from taking over everything. It set panic into the beating of his heart, made him feel as if he was frantically trying to envision away something that was trying to eat him alive.

It was nerve wracking and he already felt like a meditative failure, his fingers squeezing tighter in Cas' grip as if he could knock the darkness back and away, fight through it somehow. ]

There isn't any controlling it.

[ Castiel could handle almost anything that Dean threw at him, and when his grip tightened, Castiel didn't so much as flinch. He held Dean back, tightened his own grip in return, a reassuring presence that pushed back against Dean himself. He held Dean tight, a focused and insistent strength. ]

Dean. You are who you are, with all your flaws, and all your insecurities, just as I am. I'm not perfect, and I have to accept that. You have to accept that the Mark is a part of you, just as I have to accept that my past is a part of me.

You won't master this with rage. You won't overwhelm it with the feelings that it already inspires in you. Calm, acceptance, and courage in the face of your own fears, Dean.

[ Castiel didn't know if it would work, but it would be a case of touch and go, of trying things, and if need be backtracking and trying something else. ]

Can you accept that this is who you are? What you are?

[ Dean wasn't altogether trying to squeeze the life out of Cas' fingers. Mostly he was fighting within himself, struggling with the idea of what this was supposed to be and the visual imagery his mind was presenting. At times, he swore that hiding away in his own mind was the worst thing of all, the creeping things that awaited him there more terrifying than anything else. And this sort of went ahead and proved it, watching the syrupy blackness beginning to encompass his innards, the way it crept forward as if threatening to swallow him whole.

Just like it threatened to every hour of every day. ]

It's a curse, Cas- it can't be part of me.

[ He sounded desperate, still pushing hard mentally, curling his fingers tighter into Cas' and nearly pulling, as if trying to put up some kind of a fight, face scrunching as he wound himself up tighter. ]

I accept it, then it takes over.

That's what you're afraid of, but it isn't the reality, Dean. It's what you fear. It's what made that monster, out in the fog. Conquering your fear is the key to controlling the Mark.

[ He didn't care that Dean was holding him tight enough to crack stone. At least he was being held, at least it was a connection. That was more than he got from Dean...ever. So he would take it, every aching moment of it. ]

You have control over the image that you're projecting, Dean. The Mark has no say. If you envision that the darkness is receding, then it recedes.

I can be a crutch to that darkness, but you need to be able to do this alone.

[ Dean was hardly aware of how tight he was clutching, desperately trying to hold on to his immoveable object. Though Cas was hardly that; Cas was a broken thing, a bird with one wing still so intent on flying, and Dean was just trying to be the one he could lean on. The person who didn't send him away from himself, not this time. And it merely culminated into him trying harder, teeth gritting, body tensing, pushing against his inner sight until he had to wonder just what good this would ever do. What good he would ever be. ]

I made that monster, I asked for this- what if it's just me? What if this is just what I am?

[ Because god knew that he'd tried to be things that he wasn't, but he failed every time. Each and every time. ]

I don't get to push that back down.

Dean, open your eyes.

[ Castiel opened his own, and he looked at Dean firmly as a consequence. Everything he was hearing, everything that Dean was admitting, they weren't feelings that were very often on the surface, if ever. He looked at Dean intently, and waited for his attention to return to him. ]

In your entire life, [ he challenged] Have you ever forgiven yourself for a single thing? The death of your mother? Your father? The release of Lucifer from the Cage? Just how many of these things do you think are your burden to bear?

[ Opening his eyes seemed... perhaps counterintuitive to this whole meditation thing. And he wanted to make that point, express it like it was his saving grace, but instead he did as he was told, simply because Cas had asked it of him. And he was trying, trying to give in the ways that Cas seemed to need, but even Dean had his limits.

Especially when it came to questions he couldn't answer, questions that sat at the pit of his stomach like a pool of cooled lead, forcing obvious answers to the forefront of his mind but refusing to spit them out. ]

Here I thought meditation was all about keeping my trap shut.

[ Dean pushed back verbally and yet couldn't untangle his fingers, couldn't look away from where he'd looped himself into Cas' hold, staring down at the touch as if it was his only liferaft available when he was sure it was only keeping him held fast in admittances he didn't know how to give. ]

[ Castiel hadn't loosened his grip at all. His hands held fast to Dean's, and since the hunter was refusing to look him in the eye, Cas just held their glances through the physical connection instead. ]

I can hear the answers even if you don't give them. I know your heart, Dean. I know that you are a miasma of guilt and regret and self-pity, underneath the face you present to the world, and I have never questioned or challenged you on it before. I rely on you, as Sam does, perhaps selfishly, without ever giving back to the things you need, or the things you feel, and you stand like a lighthouse on the rock and weather the storm.

But even the lighthouse needs the rock, Dean, and the storm is of your own making. Nobody expects you not to feel.

[ Dean wanted out, and he wanted out now. Fast and hard and frantic, he could feel the Earth already stomping under his nervous feet, the way he stormed about when he couldn't contain what it was that always lay frothing under the surface. Cas was hardly being fair, manhandling his feelings with pick and axe, tearing away at everything until Dean's teeth ground against each other, his muscles coiling in muted terror.

This wasn't what he'd wanted out of this, some introspective push and pull, and Cas was tapping on windows that Dean didn't want shown through. It made rage and terror and all manner of nerves come rushing up into the back of his throat and it swelled shut, words refusing to budge through the layers that Dean so often built against himself. ]

I don't need the rock, I don't- I'm not making anything. Not the storm, not this. [ It sounded so stupid on his tongue compared to Cas', words that came more fluidly from the angel when all he was, was awkward bumps in the road and twist-tied fury. ]

Don't make this more than it is.

[ And there it was. There it was, building right under his fingertips. All the thunder and the roaring winds, the scream of the storm whirling past the windows, slamming hard into the panes and rattling them as the pressure rose. Dean's self hatred, his fear of his own emotions and the potential that they could have power over him at any moment, make him weaker at any moment. It all roared at a constant echo under normal circumstances but now it roared into life until even Castiel could hear it pounding in his ears. He filled his chest, and almost felt the panic of it himself, his own fear tripping over Dean's rage. He tightened his grip instinctively, and for the briefest flicker his fear fed back into Dean.

Don't let go.

Back down he came, hard and tight as granite and steel, and he took in a hard breath, and fixed his eyes back on the corner of Dean's jaw, trying to urge him to look at him once again. ]

Look at me.

[ His blue eyes blazed the calm of a summer's day, the protection of a clear sky. If only Dean would look. ]

Why.

[ He said it before he meant to, a snap of words like the grind of broken glass, heavy in his throat. He didn't know why he was supposed to look, what it would mean, what terror it would bring, apart from the fact that he couldn't seem to manage it with any modicum of ease. The idea of connection tore through him like a gunshot and any real meaning sat there, shaking in his veins, telling him to just get it over with because like hell would he let this eat him alive.

It didn't have to mean anything if he didn't let it. If he pushed it all away and made everyone forget and let the ache be a thing that only consumed him. It was his to carry, his monster to fight, no one else's. Wasn't that the way it had always been?

His dirty stains, his tarnished mistakes, they were always there but he was the only one that could ever really see. ]

What's it gonna do, Cas?

[ He finally looked up, finally gave way and stared hard, like crushing stone beneath his boot, trying to remain stony when everything felt like the kind of overwhelming that he hated. The thing that burned behind his eyes and made his head pound, the kind of hurt that only grew like a vacuum, encompassing all the things he tried so hard to make vanish in the spaces between his ribs. He could take it all in, always, and he could give nothing away until it was finally just too damn hard to pretend he knew how to stand. But a broken spine was something he had learned how to walk with when he was old enough to count his age on one hand. ]

What're you gonna do to fix it. Because the way I see it, it's not going away anytime soon.

Do you hear yourself? You have never given yourself permission to express your emotion; to have them. You want to be perfect. The perfect man and the perfect brother. You want to be better than you think you can be at the neglect of everything you are. But you are Dean Winchester. You have come through so much, and you are still here.

[ He squared Dean off hard, leaving him no space to escape. His hands held him tight, unwilling to release him at all. ]

There is nothing to fix, Dean. As for releasing you from these burdens, you are the only one who can do that. But admitting that you see something that needs fixing, that you see something wrong to your approach to emotion, that is something I couldn't have helped you with. You had to admit it to yourself.

Dean--

[ How did he say this? ]

--To be human is to be emotional. It is only an expression of how much you care, and there can be nothing wrong with caring. Nothing wrong with needing. You are not inhuman, and it is this path, the efforts you make to be something other, which will lead you down that path. Demons don't care about their friends and family. Demons don't feel. But you do.

[ Dean didn't want to hear himself and he didn't want to hear this. Wanted to wrench his hands back and dig his fingers into his eyes, remove every inch of him that took in these words and digested them part by part. Cas was dismantling him, pulling down bricks that Dean so frantically put up day by day, blocking out Lisa and Hell and Lucifer and mistakes upon mistakes upon failures upon stains he'd left on the world. Every ounce of himself, every thing he'd given away, every part that had been stolen and taken and torn down was a gaping hole he'd been left with and Cas was prodding about, trying to force Dean to look, to take it in when Dean always tried so hard to shield his eyes from the disarray of the life he lead. ]

It doesn't have shit to do with being perfect, god- you think I actually believe I come close? That I think i'm some kind of- [ He grasped for words, wishing he could do more than pull on Cas' hands, shoulders escaping up towards his ears, a grunt of dissatisfaction forced against the world while he struggled against himself, against the offerings of his failures, of his needs, of his wants all splayed out before him like a waiting deck of cards. ]

Cas-

[ Don't do this.

Don't make me look.

Dean crumpled inch by inch, his expression turning into something twisted and pained, aching behind all his lies and machismo, his frantic humor that he threw to the wind, casting about as if it might catch as truth. Dean tried to disappear inside of himself, tried to tuck his feelings away so often that he often forgot what it meant to have them come raging back out but they were threatening to now, rattling the doors and echoing loudly in the cavity of his chest, begging to be let loose in a rampant fluttering of chaotic wings. ]

It's too much. Don't you get it? [ Dean tried to splay his fingers, tried to escape from the hold, but found himself clamping down, staring at their intertwined fingers behind eyes that glossed over, mind trying to wrench free from a body that had frozen itself to the spot, an immovable stone that was cracking by increments. Cas' blue eyes were too much, too deep, a spoken word behind them that Dean found too hard to stand tall against. ] I can't hold on to this. I can't feel any of it.

I understand better than anyone, Dean, how powerful and how terrifying emotions can be. I've faced them on my own. I have been torn open, raw, with no one to speak to about what I was feeling, no one who understood, no one who could explain why.

I know fear, and I know guilt, and I know what it means to hide from what I'm truly feeling.

[ Dean held him in a death grip, and that was connection enough, more connection than Castiel had felt to Dean since the very first moment he'd seen him, laying his hand upon his shoulder. This was a different grip now, but it was no less vibrant, no less needful. Dean needed his guidance and his protection if he was to face this, and the alternative? Running away from it again would only mean running into the face of what he was becoming.

Castiel wanted to save him from that. ]

I did not rescue you from one hell only to see you fall into another. You need this, Dean, and I can help you. I am your angel, your guidance, your guardian. You don't have to do this alone.

[ Words stuttered across Dean's tongue, unspoken and terrified, his parted lips giving way to none of the things he could manage to speak. His fears, soaked with his needs, laden with all the things he'd ever wanted but had dashed away because he knew they could no longer be his. He wanted to expel it all, hand it over to Cas and lay it in his lap, but he so badly wanted Cas to be able to come to him with his woes, to not let Dean's get in the way. He could shuffle his aside like so many poker games, forget it in chips they lay at their feet, and yet Dean was choking with it, drowning in the things he tried to keep at bay. He was up to his chin and paddling hard and he knew he was going to go under any day now. ]

If I feel, if I let myself-

[ Dean tried to shake his head but found himself rigid, body stolen away somewhere terrified and separate, as if the distance between them suddenly rang out hard and fast, as if Dean needed connection on a deeper level that he didn't understand. It made him want to push away that much harder, unable to connect with the things he felt in a way that made sense, trying to push back on a thing he couldn't wrap his mind around. It made him duck his chin, stare into his lap for a moment, mind dripping with the sacrifices he'd made, the things he'd given all away just for a second to breathe.

To think on his life and feel something other than pain. ]

It doesn't stop. There won't be anything left. I don't get to need, to- [ Feel. Be Human. Be a part of something more. Be anything other than lost. There was a million things he no longer got to have, but connection? That was something he wanted so badly it strung him up, sending him out to dry, left him reaching even when the space was too broad. ]

I was supposed to be saving you.

I am saved, Dean. When I fell from Heaven's graces, you caught me. You were there, even if, I think, you didn't truly understand that I needed it. I learned everything that I know about...helping people, hunting things, saving the world--from you and from Sam. You taught me free will, and with my choices I have made mistakes. I have drowned myself in the guilt of them, until it was impossible even to move for fear that doing so would cause more harm than good. But I am still here, Dean. I have still done good. The people you've saved cannot thank you, as I can, but they would not want you to see only the harm, and the pain. They would not want you to be alone, or face this danger alone.

[ Castiel unwound his fingers, just about, enough to encompass Dean's hands entirely within the palms of his own. He stared at him quietly, and tried to close the distance between them simply out of his own vehemence, as though his gaze could dissolve the space between them. ]

You need to feel it again. You need to come to terms with it, be at peace with it, before all the things you've done and all the things you fear, come back to consume you.

Let me help you, Dean. If I can reciprocate even a fraction of how you've helped me, it will be enough.

[ Dean wasn't sure he knew how to believe it if he tried.

It wasn't that the words weren't meaningful - they held more weight than could be tied down in a scale, than could crush a man beneath them. And it was truly how Dean felt, as if Cas' words settled down across his shoulders and pressed hard, levelling him to the ground, forcing him to look at himself in ways he so often tried to escape from. This was an image he didn't want to face, a picture of himself cracking along the frames, a rotting image that lurked at all the corners and threatened to overtake the entire canvas. He was falling, again, faltering and caught in a net of his own creation. ]

Meditating isn't enough? This? This isn't enough?

[ Dean watched as Cas pressed in closer, capturing his gaze and taking it on as his own. He almost wanted to shove back in retribution, put space between them that he so desperately wanted to fill, to consume, to compress into nothing. It was impossible to take it all away, but Dean didn't know what was expected of him. What he was supposed to be trying so hard to give and he shied away, turned face and all but shuddered with it, his chest near to bursting with the breaths that wouldn't escape until he could look back, expression nothing but unspoken, faltering apologies. ]

If I let myself feel it- There won't be anything left.

That's what you feel about emotion, Dean, because it had taken everything from you. You love people, you open yourself to them, and then they leave you.

[ He tightened his grip firmly. ]

You're afraid of it, but the truth isn't anything like the reality. Emotion is a part of you, and it isn't that you don't feel it. It isn't. You feel more, so much more, than anyone I've ever met. Sam's feelings are warm and fleeting, like lightning, but yours...yours are physically intense, like thunder rolling and rolling. I thought, the first time that I felt it, that there was merely more of a connection between us than others. That perhaps when I saved you it somehow bonded us in more than just our fate.

[ He shook his head. ] It was whimsical, I know. Wishful thinking. Childish. But I was a child.

[ Castiel concentrated just on expelling warmth and reassurance. Dean needed him, and every word he spoke - and there were a lot of them - was heartfelt and grounding. Cas was really trying, putting every effort and strain into it. ] You're afraid of being hurt, so you're afraid of emotion, but you've already felt everything. It's already a part of you. But I am not someone you need to impress, Dean. I can be your sounding board, your confidente. I feel your emotions already, every day. But you, Dean, you need to express them. You have always been so strong, and I will not - I will never - think any less of you for expressing yourself when you need to.

I am not going anywhere, Dean.

Edited 2016-07-19 23:00 (UTC)

Cas-

[ Dean tried with his name. Tried to find the air required to get Castiel to stop before he even started, tumbling out words that struck him to his inner chambers, gears clanking and grinding, backpedaling desperately to get out of the quagmire Cas was putting him into. He felt as if he'd been shoved into his own emotional cesspit, Cas gently trying to put a name to the way he processed the world around him and it ached, tore him open, maneuvered his feelings until they sat at the forefront of his mind and Dean descended, trembling with it, somehow missing entirely the idea that Cas had once looked for something more.

Perhaps if he had thought on it.

Perhaps- ]

Cas-

[ Dean pleaded with the singular word, his name, tried to push desperate meaning into the single syllable. He was snagging on his own hurts, caught up in the things he couldn't forgive and he was dragging behind Cas' meanings until he felt himself going raw with it. It stung, scraped him until there was nothing left but the meat of him, flesh and blood and bone, exposed to the open elements. The world clung to his body, his mistakes fresh and hot and pointed, scalding him from the inside out. He wanted to run, wanted to throw himself away, and his hands felt as if they were burning up between the capture of Cas' palms. He was held fast and he stopped pulling so hard, instead his eyelids falling and a soft agony slipping over his features like a glove.

From behind closed eyes, it was only then that tears felt, hot and frustrated and slow, shaking his head as if he was apologizing for everything he couldn't face, all the things he couldn't give. ]

I can't do it, I can't- I can't breathe sometimes, Cas. The way it hurts, it's just too much.

[ Castiel loosened his grip minutely when Dean stopped pulling. Instead, his hands became an embrace, gentle and reassuring, as Dean stopped locking himself down on his control. Castiel could feel the whole of it swirling around him, as though he were standing at the bottom of a deep void in the ocean watching the water roar, circling him all the way up to where it met the sky. Standing there on the seabed, he felt as though the water could come crashing down at any moment, tearing and tumbling into him. This was what Dean's emotional plane truly looked like, and Dean knew it. That was why he'd built a raft made out of his own lies and ridden it to the top. But lies fell apart. Lies would eventually give way, and in this much water drowning would be inevitable.

Castiel breathed, slowly, and as he did he exhaled, pushed out just a little more of his own calm, the way that he had back in the temple, when Dean had most needed it.

He needed it now, but Castiel wouldn't let him hide from what he was feeling either. He remained impassive, mostly, not because he didn't feel misery for what he saw in front of him, but because he knew that Dean wouldn't appreciate his pity. ]

It's allowed to hurt. The pain of your experience, it's what has kept you alive; it's what keeps you fighting. You're allowed to feel it, Dean. You're allowed to feel hurt, and love, and fear, and sorrow, even if it's just here, just for now.

[ Castiel didn't push any more than that, and he didn't want to. Dean was already broken open, like an urn cracked in the sun. ]

[ Dean felt as if he was in a torrential downpour. As if his world was drenched, sopping wet with the kind of pain he so often avoided. It was torture, this conversation, this drag through the things he didn't want to face, the inevitable hurt that roiled under his skin like a disease. It was so much easier (so much harder) to push it all down when he couldn't face what made him tick and while he knew that his emotions were the things that stood him taller when he needed them most, they were what snagged him and pulled him down to the depths just as fast. He had to remove himself, all at the time, at all costs, just to keep moving, and this as the price he paid, this broken mirror version of himself, this jaded image that he couldn't walk past without holding up a palm to block his vision.

He couldn't stand himself, couldn't take it all in and keep going, and yet here he was, trying to absorb the words, trying to take the calm as if he deserved it, trying to be what Cas saw in him. And maybe that was the worst part of all, the fact that Cas believed he ought to have this when all Dean could feel was that he couldn't have any part. Not an ounce. ]

I'm not allowed any of it, don't you get it?

[ Dean's words were choked, heavy with the rain, and he wanted to wipe his eyes, to pull back his hands and run for the hills, but he was snagged in an embrace he couldn't refuse. That he didn't want to give up. He didn't even care that his words revealed more than he wanted them to - that he wasn't allowed, not that he wasn't allowed to feel. This world was not his to experience any more, not any of it, and he had taken himself and removed his life from the footsteps that so many others followed.

These paths were not his take, these lives were not his to watch, and his own was a farce constructed on pain and walls and boundaries he'd built to separate it all. He lived behind everything, in the dark where no one could see, and it's where his emotions lay. Somewhere cold and hidden, somewhere stark and without light, somewhere he could stand their existence without crumbling into pieces. ]

Sam is an adult now, Dean. He hasn't been six months old for a long time, hasn't needed you to sacrifice everything for him for a long time. You have hidden yourself behind the expectations of being stronger for him, but you no longer have that responsibility. He is his own man, and you--you are allowed to take your own life back, Dean. You are allowed to own yourself again.

But being allowed to doesn't make it simple. You find safety in hiding behind those things. You have found a way, through them, to distance yourself from your feelings, and you have grown used to the protection it yields. Not for the people around you, but for you yourself.

And now you're afraid, Dean; afraid not of feeling, which comes par and party to your existence anyway, but afraid of life beyond the barricade. You've lost, so you believe that you will always lose. You've hurt, so you believe that you will always hurt. And you aren't allowed to be anything than what you are because surely you will tear down everything and anyone who you try to take with you.

[ He was speaking because Dean clearly couldn't, and Castiel shifted his grip, ran his hands up along Dean's forearms, still looking into his face. ]

Forget everyone else, Dean. What do you want?

[ Dean didn't want to be read through under Cas' microscope, didn't want to be peeled open and have his layers inspected as if Castiel was reading Shakespeare, unfolding the words and finding meaning beyond the letters strewn across the page. He wasn't that deep he told himself a million times, he didn't mean that much, and yet here Cas was, uncovering all the things that Dean tried so hard to keep from frothing to the surface.

Sam maybe wasn't six months old any longer, and maybe he wasn't carrying his little brother out through the fire, but it had been his duty for far longer than that. Sammy had been his, his to protect, his to keep safe for his entire life and it was the mantra that Dean had become as much as it was one he stood by. Just like the fact that he was meant to be his father's man, the soldier in training, the boy who was nothing more than the path John laid out before him and Dean had forgotten what it meant to be himself long before he even knew there was anything else to be. He hadn't known he could become something other than the things given to him and so he merely hadn't and now he doesn't know who he is because all the rest has gone.

Once upon a time, he thought maybe he wanted Lisa back. Wanted back that life that he'd yearned for until the sky had fallen and the sun had set. The silly little things and the love within it, but even that- he doesn't know. It's not his to have and it never was to begin with; the fact that it fell to pieces proves that. But he wants love more than he knows how to write it on the page, over and over until the words are overflowing and desperate, an act he wants to commit so badly but tells himself he cannot take, cannot find, cannot live within. Love and touch are not his to possess, even with Cas' fingers crawling up his forearms, warm and settling deep, as if he can feel the expanse of the comfort beneath his palms overtaking all the things he never truly knows any more. He doesn't tear back but remains, breathing hard but deep, feeling nothing but the fingers against his skin.

But what does he want? ]

I don't know.

[ It's all he has to give, the only answer he can think of in the short term because he truly doesn't. He has no idea, no grasp of the concept, not when he doesn't give himself the room to dream, when the stars are too far away and the moon isn't something he can reach for because it was never his to take. ]

I don't know.

Then we'll work it out. We'll find it out. We'll take it, one thing at a time, and that, Dean, will be how you resist this tide.

[ His hands rest against Dean's elbows, and he closed his eyes again. ]

There was a time when you had a mother. She was your entire world. Your father worked, but he was a good father; he loved her, and she loved him. He loved you. There was curiosity, the new life added to your own, the expansion of your family. You didn't know it, but one day Sam would mean more to you than anything. He would save your life, and you his.

I want you to think back to a happy memory of those times, Dean, unstained by what comes after. I know those happy memories exist. I know you have hopes and dreams, too.

[ It was time to heal where he had ripped open. The wound had closed and festered over decades, and it would take more to clean it, to remove as much of the decayed tissue as possible; more pain, more tears. But Castiel felt, even in some small way, that he had Dean's cooperation now. Dean had to understand that there was nothing hidden before he could accept that Cas understood, and therefore had the ability to help, that he wasn't flying blind. ]

Your mother. She's beautiful, isn't she? She's burdened by her hopes and fears too, but when she looks at you, what is it you see in her eyes? What is it that fills her with the life that you remember?

[ Don't do this.

Dean wants to say it a million times the moment his mother is risen to the surface of the conversation, a suddenly violent wash of memories overtaking everything he could dare to speak of. It's pain, that's all it is, stark and real and vibrant and Dean can do nothing to stem the tides of the rising feelings that his mother used to bring. There are memories he can't bear to part with, can't stand the feeling of rising from the pit of his stomach and he swells with it, aching and broken and pained, wishing he could wrench back from the touch and cover his face.

It burns somewhere deep, the memory of his mother making him a sandwich, putting him to bed, the times that were just theirs, just theirs to keep. It was a life he'd led for four short years before Sammy had come into the space and Dean had become the proudest big brother made for mankind but his mother was once upon a time, just his own. She sang to him, made breakfast for him, lunch and dinner, and took up the expanse of all that he knew. She was all the things he had ever known and all the things he would understand of love, the feeling that somebody could offer him a life made of warmth and kindness. The kind of things he'd dreamed for, yearned for, wanted more deeply than even he understood.

Dean's gaze fell from Cas' face for a moment, stricken and terrified of thoughts he was so often unwilling to share and his lips parted with silent admittances before he closed back up, opened again, gritting his teeth and trying not to spill the time in Heaven where he had seen one of the very few things he believed to be his own. The things he didn't share with anyone else, the feelings that were his to keep and his alone.

Love. The thing he wanted most. The thing that was never, ever his to keep. ]

She wanted something else for me. She wanted-she wanted me to know she cared. That I was hers, that she- she would have given everything she had. She was just my mother, Cas- that's all she was, that's all she wanted to be, she wanted me to know that.

That she loved me.

[ They were stupid words but they split open and cracked within Dean's voice, hurt and heartfelt and broken. Dean's eyes welled, and they were his own memories, his own feelings, his memories that pulled taut within his mind, ready to snap when there was nothing more he could give.

It was his mother, his love to keep close, and he did not want to share. ]

[ Castiel embraced all of it. He felt the love and affection just as much as the pain and misery that went hand in hand with it, but also he received Dean's protectiveness alongside it. This was personal; his personal recollection, his personal memory. Perhaps Sam had come along and made Dean feel as though he'd had some of that stolen away, but the truth was it was love which belonged to them both, and love that Sam simply accepted because he had never known her. He had been told, and that was enough for him.

But Dean had felt it. Dean had known love, and had it torn away, but he had known love, and it would be love that helped him beat the mark; it would be love that saved him, if only he could remember how it felt; be secure in it.

His voice was soft. He stayed a solid reminder, an anchor holding Dean in place, not allowing him to cover his face or wipe his eyes just as much as it forged a connection between them. There was no escaping it; no escaping him, or the pure affection and trust that Castiel was now feeding back through his fingertips. ]

Do you think that any of that has changed, just because she's passed away? She imagined a future for you, as well as Sam. That was her invention, what carried her through all of the discomfort and pain, the hard times, the low times. Her love, and the hope that she had for you, all of those things. She wanted something simple for you, in the end, and it doesn't matter how you come by it, how long it takes, or how hard it may be. It was her dream.

The question is, does her dream mean enough to you, for you not to give up on it? If you aren't going to live for yourself, Dean, then what about her? Why not live for her?

[ Perhaps Sam had stolen some of it away and perhaps, once, Dean had been bitter about it. He'd looked on a little brother that had taken his mother's love just as any child might do, wishing the full attention of a mother's focus back onto him. But his duty had been to Sam, his big brother livelihood resting on a type of protection that only a brother could bring. And it had been something that Dean hadn't shied away from, it never had, but his mother was still his own. A memory that he had refused to share because he didn't know how, because it was a love that he could justify. It was a thing that had belonged to him, a love that he could feel so deeply that it never shattered. Perhaps it was gone, perhaps it had been torn away, but Dean still felt it. Still believed that it was true.

Unlikely every other love that had gone away.

Fleeting. Love was always fleeting, always lost, always tossed to the wind. And he had never been allowed it again, never in the same light. Focus had never been given to him in the same way and he told himself again and again it was because he couldn't have. Because it wasn't meant to be, because he didn't deserve. He was nothing but a monstrous incarnation of the beasts he destroyed and the demon proved that in a million ways. He deserved nothing but the worst, but the things that crawled in the night and the shadows were as much a part of him as everything else. He walked in the dark and love was something that shone brilliantly. He could not be a part of it because he knew not of where it belonged, of how it was meant to fit under his skin. He was a puzzle that could not be filled and the piece of love that could find a home, had always been lost somewhere never to be found.

Dean still wanted to pull away, wanted his hands back, wanted to shield his face and pick up from Cas' nest. He wanted to hide, the thrust his fist into the wall, the duck away and never return from words that shattered inside his rib cage. And he cringed with it, buckled and nearly sobbed, tears welling and stinging behind his eyes. This was something he couldn't stand, something he couldn't take and yet it kept being shoved deeper inside the space beneath his ribs, tearing him into fragile pieces. ]

I've always lived for her, Cas, but that- it doesn't mean I deserve it. I might have then, when I was a kid, before all of this. Before everything. She couldn't have known, right? She's never been there to see all the shit i've done, all the things i've broken.

She wouldn't be proud of this. She'd hate it. Hate all of it.

[ Hate me. ]

That's only half of it, Dean. Only half. If she could be here she would see, too, the lives you've saved and the people you've protected, the miles that you've put under your wheels traveling from one side of the country to the other to save people whose lives you don't or may never know.

She would see the amount of times that you and Sam went to the wire, the ghosts and monsters who came close to separating your permanently. She would see your fight against all of the evils of Earth and Hell and Heaven itself, and she would marvel at your strength and your resilience.

She would love you, because you loved Sam as she would have, because you still loved your Father right up to the end. She would love the man you've become, and the man you will still become. She would love you for the choices you've made, for better or worse, love Lisa and Ben, even though you let them go. She would love you because how could anyone look upon your body of work and fail to, but she would also love you because she is your mother, and it is her duty to love you and her right. If she were looking down upon you now, Dean, she would touch your face, and look you in the eye, as though you'd simply grazed your knee, and there would be such love in that alone that it would evaporate every pain in your path. That is the power that mothers have; it is something that no one will ever be able to replicate, and it is something which, if you believe in it, should be able to lift away the pain even now.

She loved you. She loves you. She is proud of you. There is no room for a mother to hate anything but the cruel hands of fate and adversity that try to teach you that there is anything but love in the world, because if she could she would keep you by her side forever, where her warmth and light could never fail you.

I have never had a mother, Dean. I don't know my own father. But I know that love because I have seen it in you; in everything that you are and everything that you try to be.

[ His eyes had opened, and his hand had slipped away from Dean's elbow, and now he placed it firmly against his cheek, mimicking the action he'd implied with his words. ]

You are loved, Dean. Nothing can be simpler than that. Nothing could be more pure.

[ Dean listened and he absorbed and he wanted to fall apart. He was being crushed under the weight of the kind of love he so often abandoned in favor of pain, in favor of holing himself away and refusing to face the world surrounding him with a face of emotional bravery. He was nothing but fearful of himself, of he way he felt, of the way feelings felt and bubbled inside his chest, spilling over and begging him to please make it stop. He never wanted to feel these things, to acknowledge the weight of what it used to mean to be cared for, cherished, loved. His mother had provided once upon a time and Dean had never felt it again, never allowed himself to think past the pain of loss and the spinning sensation it set inside of him, the dizzying need to remove it all in favor of carrying on.

Because that's what it was, the need to move and sprint and let the echoes of past needs settle in the dust at his feet. He was always left running, left trying to shed skin that contained his wants, as if he could no longer be the person who cared for others. It was the only way to get by, the only way he could breathing when love siphoned away the air from his lungs and left nothing but a gaping hole in its wake. He was terrified of what it would mean to feel, of what it mean to be in a place such as the one he'd possessed with Lisa and Ben and while he wanted it back, it would no longer ever be with them.

Or anyone. Or anything.

Dean was convinced, deep down, that he was not worthy of the way that this felt, of the warm palm that Cas had settled on his cheek, of the companionship budding into things he couldn't define. Cas had pressed in close with his words and offered something poignant and Dean was trying his hardest to bend with it, sway before breaking like a greenstick twig, fibers spanning the distance and snagging, refusing to snap. He only molded himself to his pain, shaped his limbs and his body and his feelings to the confines of his emotional walls, strong armed his way through the pain and vacated what was left of his needs.

He ran. Every time. He ran and he ducked and he pushed his way through the empty caves of where he once used to feel until it swallowed him whole and he ducked his face, bowing into Cas' palm, shaking his head as if refusing what Cas was trying so hard to give. ]

Then why don't I deserve it.

Nobody deserves it more.

[ Cas didn't know why he was touching, or how. He half expected Dean to tear away, or tell him off, or just evaporate on the spot. He didn't do it, however. Dean stayed right where he was, and Castiel crossed himself that he'd stay, at least long enough for Castiel to comfort him, put the first stitch across the wound. Dean needed to be fixed up now that Castiel had turn him open, before it was too late to even try. ]

Is that what you want? To feel like you deserve it? Is that what you want, Dean?

[ Castiel kept his eyes on Dean, even though his eyes had flicked down. They were both there, both present, even if Dean wasn't looking right at him. The moment was held together in Dean's needs and Castiel's attempts at reassurance. He had to protect him. What was a guardian angel if he couldn't do that?

He kept his hand in place almost because he didn't know what else to do with it. ]

[ And Dean? Dean didn't know why he was allowing himself to be touched, why he hadn't run yet when the opportunity kept opening up before him. He could jerk his head back, grab for Cas' wrist and shove him off, but the comfort gained was too much to part with. It was so much to be given, to be offered that it seemed the only thing that kept him from tearing in half and so he remained, terrified and latched on to the simple palm against his cheek, desperate to feel as if it wasn't the strangest thing in the world. Willing to accept it for what it was and nothing more.

But the question lingered, once again poking at what lay underneath. What he wanted. What Dean couldn't seem to uncover on the best of days, when he so badly wanted to know who he was, raging beneath the surface. It stormed inside of him, ached and begged against the sky and still Dean did not know.

And didn't everyone know what they wanted? What they were so badly searching for? Didn't everyone have their dreams and hopes laid out before them like a map? So why had all of his disappeared, why were all of his so clouded over where he could not see. It was as if vaseline had been rubbed across his inner most desires, fogging them over and marring the surface until Dean had lost access like radar gone blank. He couldn't find himself, and so perhaps, he couldn't find anyone else. ]

I can't have it again until I deserve it, can I?

[ He flicked his gaze back up, miserable and questioning, offering what he could give - a question. That perhaps until he believed himself worthwhile, that no matter what he found would glide off him, unable to be accessed. It was the only thing he could imagine, could grasp on to in all of this, the idea that no matter what he touched, it would all be lost until he could believe himself worthy. ]

No.

[ Dean caught his gaze, and Castiel held it. He tried, now. His mouth quirked very slightly as he tried to smile, just a little, a gesture of reassurance. Castiel had more to say, and 'no' wasn't the entire answer, because he wasn't agreeing with Dean at all, it was negative to everything that the statement had to say. ]

You don't get that choice. How other people feel about you isn't dependent on how you feel about yourself; love is inherent, unjustified, without reason. It is not guided by whether or not you think you deserve it. It is love, Dean, and it doesn't make sense, and in some ways it's not about you.

[ Like Castiel's love. Castiel's affection. Dean had it whether or not he wanted it. The same applied to Sam; he was family. ]

You haven't forgotten how to love either. It's in you. It's tied into that fear but it's there, none the less. Opening up to it...is up to you.

[ Castiel let his fingers drop away. Suddenly the touch seemed much too intimate, presumptive. ]

It's never been anything but yours. It has never been anything but deserved.

[ For a startling moment, Dean just stared. Stared and stared and stared, fragile and unkempt, lost to himself and lost to Cas. Because somewhere in there, Dean saw something sharp and loving, something bright that he'd felt somewhere else along the line. Perhaps the moment that Cas had reached for his soul, a feeling he'd never been able to replicate again, something so searing that it had left a scar upon his skin, indelible and aching. Cas was pressing upon something that Dean could only see into the depths of his eyes, finding look a person gave - like the way Lisa once looked upon him, a certain breed of softness that could be found in nothing else.

And it was terrifying.

Dean almost shook with it, nearly trembled, and finally he tore himself away, scared to witness a thing that meant so very much. He was unsure and didn't know what it meant and hadn't seen such a thing for years, didn't now how to face it because he was sure it wasn't his to keep. And yet there it was, vibrant and real in front of his eyes and all Dean wanted to do was understand more of what it meant. Understand how it could be his, and whether or not he was willing to feel it in turn. But even that was terrifying, made him want to stumble away and his palms fell to the floor on either side of him as if he needed to find peace in the feeling of the world beneath him, before his hands moved to his knees again, scrubbing the life into himself, unable to keep still. ]

Course it isn't up to me, if it was-

[ If it was, he'd know what to do with it. If it was, it would've stuck around. If it was, he'd have seen it in Castiel's eyes and been able to do more than hurt. ]

Cas, can we call it quits?

[ Dean finally lifted a palm and scrubbed at his eyes, before looking back at Cas, desperate and pleading. He needed to breathe for a moment, needed to escape this and plunge into something that didn't sting, that didn't burn against his ribs and make his heart sear with agony. The words begged behind a 'please', begged with everything he had, even if Dean couldn't say the words himself. ]

I kinda need a second here.

[ If Cas had still been holding his hand, he'd have squeezed his fingers firmly in response. Instead, he only reached out and brushed his fingers against Dean's shoulder. He didn't know what Dean saw in his eyes, but the love was there, the trust and affection, all the feelings that burned beneath Castiel's surface and meant nothing less than everything. Castiel had only ever known this kind of love, and he gave it freely.

He left the words with Dean. It was a stitch; he had to do the healing himself. His smile hung, very slightly, and Castiel pulled himself up to one knee, first, and then up to his feet. He left Dean where he was. ]

Stay here with Sam and Dean, [ He told him, softly. ] If you let them, they'll comfort you. I'll...mmm. I'll go to the bar and fetch you something in a to go cup. You look like you need it.

[ He was fetching Dean alcohol. If that wasn't love, then what was? ]

Everything will...everything will be alright, Dean.

[ He vanished, before Dean could be expected to reply. ]

Take him by the hand, make him understand

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject