[ Cas smells like freshly bagged dogshit, but Dean doesn't care. He's just glad to see him, feel that he's tangible; the heat of him against Dean's body, hard and solid and here. ]
I was stuck here. I couldn't get to you. I tried, I tried, Cas.
[ He is indeed freshly showered and deodorized; no teenage boy stink in this room except what's emanating almost visibly from Cas himself. ]
Viv said everything was messed up; if she tried to send me, I could've ended up anywhere. With you guys, in the water, in the middle of the volcano.
[ Castiel, being an angel, generally was never one to put much stock into physical reassurances, but the more time he spends here, adrift in the universe, the more he understand the value of holding onto someone you care about. It's nice to simply... exist together in one place, as much as he can, here with Dean. He doesn't pull away from the embrace.
He shakes his head, though, dismissive of whatever unnecessary excuses Dean is trying to make. ]
No, I'm glad that you were here, if that's all it was. I was worried you might be... anywhere else.
[ He does let his arms fall slack then, if only to lean back and meet Dean's eyes properly, and reassure himself that way, too. He sighs with relief, sagging slightly with exhaustion and the release of tension. ]
[ He's already in Hell half the time here, wouldn't be shocking if he got sent back early.
Still, he hardly lets go of Cas when the angels arms slip from around him, and he finds himself immediately missing the heat of Cas' body, the press of them together, arms tight around Dean's waist.
He doesn't get hugged very often.
So Dean leaves his hands on Cas' shoulders at least, keeping contact, searching his angels eyes, blue and penetrating as always. ]
Are you okay? I was worried sick, man. Your batteries were low and I couldn't get to you - why do you smell so bad?
[ Not that it's fair of him to call anything worse than Dean's experiences in Hell, but... Selfishly, Castiel would rather Dean was in Hell than in a nothingness space between dimensions. It would be far easier to retrieve him from the former. ]
I'm fine. I... Apologies. My grace should be recharged by now.
[ Castiel looks down at his mud and sweat-stained clothes, and in the next moment, he's completely clean. His clothing is pristine; he's clean-shaven and back to smelling like rain-heavy atmosphere and Jimmy's aftershave.
...He also feels very dizzy suddenly, and falls a step forward into Dean's lingering embrace, just barely catching himself on Dean's elbows, whoops. ]
[ That's fair of Dean to say, and Castiel doesn't argue with it even though Dean is, objectively, wrong. He doesn't have breath to argue anyway as he's momentarily knocked it out of himself. ]
I'm— I'll be fine.
[ He protests but nevertheless allows himself to be supported by Dean and led to sitting. ]
Thank you.
[ He doesn't reject the idea of a drink, even though it's unlikely to help or hinder him in anyway, entirely because he knows it'll make Dean feel needed, if nothing else. Speaking of— ]
When you'd described the mission and how best to prepare for it, I had no idea what the reality would be like. I think I can still feel the blisters.
Dean eases him down on the bed, a hand on his shoulder, brow etched in concern as he looks Cas over before letting him go in favor of fussing with cups and a handle of liquor. He hands Cas a filled cup before settling next to him with his own, reaching with his free hand to take Cas'. ]
Yeah...they're a real bitch. Lemme see your blisters.
[ He'll sit, only in expectation of that treat— the drink Castiel accepts and is ready to sip from, only to fluster when Dean takes his hand. ]
Ah— I... They should be healed now.
[ He was talking about his feet, also, and the damage his shoes had done, but... the handholding is comparably nicer, so he doesn't bother to correct Dean's assumption. ]
It's just a phantom pain. The excursion was incredibly uncomfortable for its entire duration. First heavy rain, then crossing deep water in handmade rafts, then marching through a jungle that felt oppressively hot through the day and deeply chilled at night, populated with bugs and large, predatory creatures...
[ Though the first half of that is just whining complaints, his voice drops quieter as he remembers the feeling that was far worse than the sunburn or bug bites or unquenchable thirst or blisters. ]
If not for the help of Natasha and the others... I wouldn't have survived it.
[ He looks up at Dean again, blue eyes gone wide in his search for answers. ]
[ He rubs his thumb over Cas' palm, taking a swig with the other before setting it down so he can further his inspection. He doesn't see any on his hands and in hindsight, it was stupid to imagine that's where they'd be. Of course Cas' feet are fucked up; the guy wears two year old loafers wherever he goes like a grandpa. ]
Jesus.
[ He shuffles closer, wraps an arm around Cas' shoulders, giving him a squeeze. ]
Well...one, Nat's a badass. I'm pretty sure she's a superhero. [ frfr, cause...Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff? C'mon, he's read the comics. ]
And honestly, the rest of us are used to shit like this. We're survivors, Cas. Every damn one of us.
[ There's people here a lot stronger than him, a lot more powerful. And yet, he's seen damn near everyone be brought to their knees in one way or another - but they always make it out alive.
Dean gives Cas a final squeeze before letting go, but he doesn't take his place back at the angels side, instead he's slipping down to the ground, taking one foot on his knee and plucking at the laces of Cas' dumb shoes. ]
[ The loss of Dean's hands on his is inevitable but expected, and Castiel tries not to feel too disappointed by it. ...Not that he has long to be disappointed anyway, because in the next moment, Dean's up against his side with an arm thrown companionably around his shoulder. It's as unexpected as every affectionate gesture Dean offers him, and just as wonderful.
Castiel's distracted by Dean's warmth. He can only nod in agreement at Dean's assessment of Natasha, and of "every damn one of us." Humans, Castiel takes him to mean, and nods deeply. . ]
Yes.
[ Their resiliency is one of their defining features. After the ordeal on this recent mission, Castiel only has a deeper appreciation for it. He's pensive as he stares into his glass, lost in thought as he contemplates mankind's fiercely competitive persistence against the planet that bore them, paired with Dean's overwhelming kindness. He's only finally pulled away from the thoughts when Dean's warmth is pulled away from his side. His eyes track up, following Dean's path... only to track down and watch, heart jumping into his throat, as Dean takes his foot and begins unlacing his shoe. ]
Dean... You don't have to...
[ Castiel's voice is gravel-rough even by its usual standards, and he trails off as his mind goes foggy with the rush of warmth such a simple gesture brings. ]
It's okay, man. It's my fault you're all dead in the water. Show me the tootsies.
[ Battery wise, he means.
He flashes a grin up at Cas, giving his ankle a squeeze before he unties the messy knots on Cas' loafer to ease it off, setting it aside. The other foot gets the same treatment, then he's carefully pulling both socks off and tossing them on top of his shoes. ]
[ Before Castiel can even argue that none of this was Dean's fault, he's struck dumb by the word tootsies. What the fuck, Dean. For something that feels intimate and holy in the way of a disciple bathing her messiah's feet with her hair, Dean's joking makes it feel equally casual. Is this what friends do for one another? Massage their feet when they're sore? The mixed signals are dizzying. ]
The perks are innumerable, I'm beginning to find.
[ Body odor was the least of it. The lingering sensation of the skin rubbing off his heels with each step will haunt Castiel for days. ...That is, if he can focus on anything other than this moment, with Dean on his knees in front of him, replaying again and again. Castiel sips from his drink just for some form of distraction and muses aloud. ]
I thought shoes were meant to protect one's feet, not injure them. No wonder so many cultures prefer sandals.
[ Castiel's eyes narrow thoughtfully as he considers whether he should be insulted on Jimmy's behalf or put more concern into the idea of metal toes. He goes with the latter. ]
That sounds uncomfortable.
[ But surely being without toes would be more comfortable than the pain he experienced so deeply and for so long that it continues to linger. The stroke of Dean's fingertips is comparably gentle and incredibly distracting. He answers automatically. ]
Everywhere.
[ Pity him, Dean. :( He had a rough time and now he has owies. :( :( There's no sign of it anywhere on his healed and cleaned skin, though. At least, almost nowhere. There are small red marks on the back of each of his heels, like the ones just barely visible on his right hand: scars that hadn't quite healed with the rest, and likely won't until the complete revitalization of his grace. And because "everywhere" is a melodramatic answer more likely to get him sassed than to keep Dean on his knees, Castiel focuses slightly. ]
[ God, he's cute sometimes. Dean's grinning up at him, rubbing his thumb over the delicate bones of Cas' little footsie. ]
To protect your tosie wosies.
[ He's using his other hand to take hold of Cas' pinky toe and give it a wiggle, but then he does take pity and settles cross legged in front of the angel, foot in his lap. ]
Figured. Looks like you had some blusters on your achilles tendons too. Sucks.
[ He presses his thumbs gently into the balls of his foot, rubbing in small circles. ]
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I was stuck here. I couldn't get to you. I tried, I tried, Cas.
[ He is indeed freshly showered and deodorized; no teenage boy stink in this room except what's emanating almost visibly from Cas himself. ]
Viv said everything was messed up; if she tried to send me, I could've ended up anywhere. With you guys, in the water, in the middle of the volcano.
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He shakes his head, though, dismissive of whatever unnecessary excuses Dean is trying to make. ]
No, I'm glad that you were here, if that's all it was. I was worried you might be... anywhere else.
[ He does let his arms fall slack then, if only to lean back and meet Dean's eyes properly, and reassure himself that way, too. He sighs with relief, sagging slightly with exhaustion and the release of tension. ]
It's good to see you again, Dean.
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[ He's already in Hell half the time here, wouldn't be shocking if he got sent back early.
Still, he hardly lets go of Cas when the angels arms slip from around him, and he finds himself immediately missing the heat of Cas' body, the press of them together, arms tight around Dean's waist.
He doesn't get hugged very often.
So Dean leaves his hands on Cas' shoulders at least, keeping contact, searching his angels eyes, blue and penetrating as always. ]
Are you okay? I was worried sick, man. Your batteries were low and I couldn't get to you - why do you smell so bad?
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[ Not that it's fair of him to call anything worse than Dean's experiences in Hell, but... Selfishly, Castiel would rather Dean was in Hell than in a nothingness space between dimensions. It would be far easier to retrieve him from the former. ]
I'm fine. I... Apologies. My grace should be recharged by now.
[ Castiel looks down at his mud and sweat-stained clothes, and in the next moment, he's completely clean. His clothing is pristine; he's clean-shaven and back to smelling like rain-heavy atmosphere and Jimmy's aftershave.
...He also feels very dizzy suddenly, and falls a step forward into Dean's lingering embrace, just barely catching himself on Dean's elbows, whoops. ]
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[ Suspended in the as of yet unknown Empty would be far, far preferable. That's true peace. ]
It's okay, I just couldn't-- whoa, whoa, dude.
[ He grabs him up, steading him carefully, arm around his waist now, the other squeezing his shoulder. ]
I'm thinkin' you're not quite there yet. Maybe you should have a seat, I'll get you a drink.
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I'm— I'll be fine.
[ He protests but nevertheless allows himself to be supported by Dean and led to sitting. ]
Thank you.
[ He doesn't reject the idea of a drink, even though it's unlikely to help or hinder him in anyway, entirely because he knows it'll make Dean feel needed, if nothing else. Speaking of— ]
When you'd described the mission and how best to prepare for it, I had no idea what the reality would be like. I think I can still feel the blisters.
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Dean eases him down on the bed, a hand on his shoulder, brow etched in concern as he looks Cas over before letting him go in favor of fussing with cups and a handle of liquor. He hands Cas a filled cup before settling next to him with his own, reaching with his free hand to take Cas'. ]
Yeah...they're a real bitch. Lemme see your blisters.
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[ He'll sit, only in expectation of that treat— the drink Castiel accepts and is ready to sip from, only to fluster when Dean takes his hand. ]
Ah— I... They should be healed now.
[ He was talking about his feet, also, and the damage his shoes had done, but... the handholding is comparably nicer, so he doesn't bother to correct Dean's assumption. ]
It's just a phantom pain. The excursion was incredibly uncomfortable for its entire duration. First heavy rain, then crossing deep water in handmade rafts, then marching through a jungle that felt oppressively hot through the day and deeply chilled at night, populated with bugs and large, predatory creatures...
[ Though the first half of that is just whining complaints, his voice drops quieter as he remembers the feeling that was far worse than the sunburn or bug bites or unquenchable thirst or blisters. ]
If not for the help of Natasha and the others... I wouldn't have survived it.
[ He looks up at Dean again, blue eyes gone wide in his search for answers. ]
I'm not sure how they did.
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Jesus.
[ He shuffles closer, wraps an arm around Cas' shoulders, giving him a squeeze. ]
Well...one, Nat's a badass. I'm pretty sure she's a superhero. [ frfr, cause...Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff? C'mon, he's read the comics. ]
And honestly, the rest of us are used to shit like this. We're survivors, Cas. Every damn one of us.
[ There's people here a lot stronger than him, a lot more powerful. And yet, he's seen damn near everyone be brought to their knees in one way or another - but they always make it out alive.
Dean gives Cas a final squeeze before letting go, but he doesn't take his place back at the angels side, instead he's slipping down to the ground, taking one foot on his knee and plucking at the laces of Cas' dumb shoes. ]
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Castiel's distracted by Dean's warmth. He can only nod in agreement at Dean's assessment of Natasha, and of "every damn one of us." Humans, Castiel takes him to mean, and nods deeply. . ]
Yes.
[ Their resiliency is one of their defining features. After the ordeal on this recent mission, Castiel only has a deeper appreciation for it. He's pensive as he stares into his glass, lost in thought as he contemplates mankind's fiercely competitive persistence against the planet that bore them, paired with Dean's overwhelming kindness. He's only finally pulled away from the thoughts when Dean's warmth is pulled away from his side. His eyes track up, following Dean's path... only to track down and watch, heart jumping into his throat, as Dean takes his foot and begins unlacing his shoe. ]
Dean... You don't have to...
[ Castiel's voice is gravel-rough even by its usual standards, and he trails off as his mind goes foggy with the rush of warmth such a simple gesture brings. ]
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[ Battery wise, he means.
He flashes a grin up at Cas, giving his ankle a squeeze before he unties the messy knots on Cas' loafer to ease it off, setting it aside. The other foot gets the same treatment, then he's carefully pulling both socks off and tossing them on top of his shoes. ]
Perk of being an angel - no stinky feet.
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The perks are innumerable, I'm beginning to find.
[ Body odor was the least of it. The lingering sensation of the skin rubbing off his heels with each step will haunt Castiel for days. ...That is, if he can focus on anything other than this moment, with Dean on his knees in front of him, replaying again and again. Castiel sips from his drink just for some form of distraction and muses aloud. ]
I thought shoes were meant to protect one's feet, not injure them. No wonder so many cultures prefer sandals.
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[ He holds Cas' foot up to examine, look for blisters and bruises, running his fingertips over the top of his right foot. ]
Where's it still hurt? Head, shoulders, knees and toes?
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That sounds uncomfortable.
[ But surely being without toes would be more comfortable than the pain he experienced so deeply and for so long that it continues to linger. The stroke of Dean's fingertips is comparably gentle and incredibly distracting. He answers automatically. ]
Everywhere.
[ Pity him, Dean. :( He had a rough time and now he has owies. :( :( There's no sign of it anywhere on his healed and cleaned skin, though. At least, almost nowhere. There are small red marks on the back of each of his heels, like the ones just barely visible on his right hand: scars that hadn't quite healed with the rest, and likely won't until the complete revitalization of his grace. And because "everywhere" is a melodramatic answer more likely to get him sassed than to keep Dean on his knees, Castiel focuses slightly. ]
The heels, mostly.
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[ God, he's cute sometimes. Dean's grinning up at him, rubbing his thumb over the delicate bones of Cas' little footsie. ]
To protect your tosie wosies.
[ He's using his other hand to take hold of Cas' pinky toe and give it a wiggle, but then he does take pity and settles cross legged in front of the angel, foot in his lap. ]
Figured. Looks like you had some blusters on your achilles tendons too. Sucks.
[ He presses his thumbs gently into the balls of his foot, rubbing in small circles. ]
You good otherwise? No other injuries?