heraldingangel | Inbox for deerington

[ The message from Dean's Castiel is the only information he's gotten since his death. In truth, he didn't expect any contact unless they ran into each other. That's how things had unfolded between them up until they agreed to watch 'The Thing' which felt like a lifetime ago now.

As it stands, his message holds a hint of urgency that leaves him worried enough to abandon what he's doing without a second thought. Rubbing his hands together to warm up his fingers, he sends his response, clear and to the point. ]

No.

Where are you?

Edited 2020-11-03 20:28 (UTC)

at the house

I've felt better

[ Typing out those last three words takes effort beyond what he thought he'd be capable of. It's nothing to do with the physical effort, but the emotional. The deep-seated need to keep going forward, to keep moving no matter how much everything hurts. The habit of saying everything's fine.

It's not.

And now Cas is the only person he's close to admitting that to. ]

[ Normally, Dean would hear the sound of wings beating against the air and find himself face to face with the angel, but these aren't normal times for either of them. Instead, he does some quick calculations in his head involving time, distance, and his own walking speed. ]

I'll be there in an hour.

[ A conservative estimate considering he's across town in search of any object with the aquarian star. He's searched less than a third of the town, a feat that would have taken him seconds if his grace wasn't a sputtering thing too weak to do more than keep him anchored to his vessel. Even with the stabilizing gem pulsing steady and strong beneath his shirt, it doesn't help regenerate his grace any faster, so he's forced to wait.

And walk.

It's been a challenging mode of transportation, but one he's grown accustomed to in the last few days. It's cumbersome and utilizes more energy than expected forcing him to stop and consume the necessary calories to keep going. Hydration has been another issue that he doesn't appreciate. Now, he understands River's hang-up with freshwater and makes a note to deliver it to her on a more constant basis.

With newfound respect for all Sam and Dean accomplished with their limited resources, Castiel finally arrives with some time to spare. Dean could probably spot him, a figure in the distance, beforehand. Remembering the warning of a younger Dean - Did you know there were bear traps all over the place? - he makes sure to slow down near the vicinity of the old house. Eyes fixed on the ground, he makes his way further into the lion's den, mouth set into a firm line, ever diligent of any traps. He knows, if sprung, he won't automatically heal and he doesn't have the time or resources to take care of a wound. So, he practices patience, despite the burning need to reach Dean and find out what's so important he couldn't tell him over the phone. ]

[ An hour? Four months of getting used to Cas having powers again and that's enough of a weird answer that it strikes him as odd. He's tired though, the Fluid in his hand wrapped around his wrist without a follow up question.

It's too cold to stay outside for any length of time right now with his body shaking and his bones rattling, but he's outside again, sat on one of the steps leading up to the front door when Cas finally appears.

Slowly.

Walking.

And that shouldn't be as weird as it is but Dean's looking at him with arched eyebrows. October was a lot, yeah, but this? One of the only points of familiarity he's got between before October and now is Cas' powers.

As for Dean himself he looks exhausted, pale, exactly like he's suffering from the very flu that's still gripping his every cell and making them ache. A spluttering cough catches in his throat the first time he tries to speak, and it takes a long few seconds for him to get it under control. A flask of water - just water, not holy - is plucked up from his side and he takes a long swig of it. ]

You found a new love for hiking or something?

[ He asks as soon as Cas has carefully stepped close enough to hear, because, despite the powers, in Dean's mind he'd still have to yell if the angel was too far away. Somewhere at the back of his mind he knows he doesn't need to, but that doesn't change things. ]

[ Castiel finds his new mode of transportation - aka his legs - slow and inefficient, but it gets him to Dean in the calculated time. His breathing is even at least. He adjusted his pace when he realized jogging for extended periods of time was both tiring and used up a lot of caloric resources. It also left him breathless, a state he did not appreciate. The experience was tiring but he was a soldier and so he endured without complaint. ]

No, I find it a waste of time and resources.

[ He's seen most of the forest and an even larger portion of the town from the sky above. His current earthbound status didn't endear him to sights that were less pleasant to watch than what his wings - now invisible to him - provided him. ]

What did you need to tell me?

[ He asks, a worried feeling knotting in his chest. The last time he received news about Dean, he hadn't... taken it very well. This time, he was better prepared. Watching him, he notices a few things that are off. First, his color is different, palor. And even his voice sounds off. ]

How are you feeling?

[ Opening his mouth like he wants to ask why Cas is doing something he thinks is a waste of time, eventually Dean realizes he's too tired to ask. He doesn't understand half of what Cas does sometimes and maybe that's okay. Maybe the dude was out looking for more bees or something. That's going to be his guess for now.

With both forearms slung over his knees, he frowns and realizes that he has to clear his throat and for once it's because it's sore. Because he's sick. He hates being sick.

He hates asking for things too, for help, and that's exactly what he's about to do. But Cas and him, they've been on more even ground lately. And there's nobody else in this whole town he'd want to ask instead. ]

Pretty much how I look.

[ Which amounts to not much better than a reanimated corpse, but he looks better than he did a couple days ago, he can feel that at least. He's given up trying to look at himself in mirrors. Never wants to see what's staring back at him anyway. ]

Not tell you, exactly. Ask for you to do something. For me.

[ Even sick as a dog and hurting in so many ways, this is hard to ask. Like the words refuse to even be pulled together and formed into a sentence. He can't even look at Cas when he starts, chooses instead to stare at the ground covered in rotting leaves from the trees wilted under the shift to autumn. ]

I uh... I get these nightmares. Since I got back.

[ Burdened by his humanity and unable to verify that statement with his usual methods, he's forced to interpret it by the way he looks. The way he holds himself and counters it with his usual stance. There's notable differences, mainly in the way he conducts himself. There's no sharp look, loose shoulders. Slack. It's unusual for him, at least compared to what he's seen before. Mudding up the waters is the pulsing pain that still grips him with cold invisible hands. ]

You don't look... like you. Well.

[ He adds. It's all he can really say without a proper assessment which he can't make in his current state. He holds back, blue eyes roaming over him searching for signs he can no longer see. Still, he tries while his grace sputters inside him, closed off in self-preservation which he stops trying to pry open when Dean speaks up again.

Quietly, he turns away from his grace to let it regenerate undisturbed, and looks at him. Dean's never asked him for anything before. Not even when he lay dying. No prayers for help. Only a silence that echoed endlessly during his absence. His jaw tightens, biting down on his molars as he reigns back that feeling. It's stronger now, in his presence, than he anticipated and he pushes it down beneath the waves of his conscience, drowning it before it stirs into another torrent. ]

Of course. What do you need?

[ Militant in his stance, he nods at him. Awaiting orders. This he can do. It's easier than dealing with the latter. Gave him something to focus on other than the puzzle of the key he threw himself into just to keep himself from drowning. ]

Nightmares? [ His head tilts, bringing up the list of symptoms he's been able to piece together from the recently revived. ] What nightmares?

Edited 2020-11-08 16:19 (UTC)

[ Shifting his gaze to Cas from the corners of his eye, he frowns and licks his lips again. This is so hard; harder than he thought it would be even with somebody he's learned to trust in the time he's been here. Leaning forward he picks up a twig from the ground and fiddles with it, presses the end of it into the pad of his thumb like he needs to force himself to continue with something sharp. ]

About the dog that killed me. About hellhounds. Every time I close my eyes...

[ There's no sense of relief once it's out, just the mounting sensation that he's asking too much. That he should be able to take care of this himself. What he wants is for Cas to knock him out so deeply that he won't have those dreams. Just for one night. Just so he can get his freaking breath back. ]

[ A feeling, deep and aching, starts to bubble up from the depths of his subconscious. He's held it under for far too long and having witnessed his admission to the nightmares, it's impossible to hold back the tide. Worry fills his chest and he steps closer, the guardian at the forefront willing to do anything to help. Despite splitting timelines, he still cares, still feels this deep-seated pull to throw himself into the line of fire to protect the soul he once raised from Hell. ]

Dean.

You aren't alone. You don't need to face it by yourself.

[ Frowning deeply, he rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, nostrils flaring and tension lining his frame even sitting down. Not alone. He should be. That's part of the problem. He'd gotten used to it; leading a camp full of refugee survivors, life is lonely at the top. And he'd embraced it because he didn't have time for anything other than survival long enough to kill Lucifer.

Getting pulled into Deerington hadn't meant anything at first other than another freaking obstacle between him and Lucifer. Despite nothing ever seeming to change in his world, things had changed here.

Lifting his hand to scratch at an eyebrow, the move is to try cover his expression up. To try shielding the pain he feels at everything he'd cut out and buried deep starting to regrow. It hurts. All of it hurts. ]

Look, man… I'm sorry I'm askin' you this. Can you use your mojo to knock me out or something? No dreams. Just for a couple hours.

[ His jaw tightens at the request and his mouth presses down looking like he's been asked the impossible. ]

Dean, I--

[ His stomach churns at the realization that he can't do it. The first time he's asked for his help and he can't do a single thing. ]

I don't have my powers right now. I can't put you to sleep.

[ Eyebrows raise and green eyes widen. Disappointment is inevitable, but mostly he doesn't know what to do with that information. It's complicated in ways that start to thread panic through him. God he's not strong enough and he knows it, but he's pushing himself upright anyway and walking the distance between them. ]

What do you mean you don't have your powers right now?

[ Last time Dean watched a Cas lose his powers... the result of that is the ex-angel somewhere in the house. Broken in ways that nobody can fix. Dean knows he never held a hand out to help him up from the mud, knows that he looked away one too many times until all that Cas knew to reach for was numbness in the bottom of a bottle - alcohol or drugs. Sex. He couldn't miss whose coping mechanism Cas had learned if he tried.

His throat is still dry, too scratchy with flu and he turns his head to cough against a balled up fist, breath catching awkwardly in the back of this throat before he turns his gaze back on familiar blue eyes. Something occurs to him belatedly. ]

Did you walk here?

[ The idea of Cas powerless and walking through the town just because Dean had asked him to show up makes his skin prickle with guilt. ]

[ There's a dissonance here. A miscommunication. Where Dean considers his counterpart broken, Castiel does not. He's different in obvious ways but the ones that matter - the ones that make him him - are still there. He's seen it. How deeply he cares. Lay witness to his grief only a week ago not to know when he watched over him on that first night of Dean's death. It was enough to cement a truth he'd always known when Dean talked about sacrificing him to kill Lucifer. It wasn't a sacrifice but mercy. They both knew that now.

The disappointment he expects and tackles it head-on. What he doesn't expect is Dean's reaction. Not disappointment but an emotion he can't quite pinpoint. One he quickly sets aside the moment he breaks out into a coughing fit that has him struggling for air. ]

Dean? [ Why does he sound like - ] Are you sick?

[ Worry takes over and he's hovering because he can't do anything else. He knew what it meant to be sick, felt the weakness, nausea, and all the little aches that piled up that soured the experience. Was that what he was feeling now? Why was he out in the cold then? The nightmares, his mind supplies which only adds to a sense of guilt lodged deep inside. ]

Yes, I was at the fire station. [ He answers, before letting his concern take voice. ] Do you need to go inside?

Edited 2020-11-14 19:44 (UTC)

[ Waving a hand to try gesturing it doesn't matter, he takes a couple attempts at clearing his throat. His eyes are watery with residual fever, but mostly he's just tired. Avoiding the sleep he'd been craving in October hasn't made November much easier. ]

No. I've been in bed for days. I have to look at those four walls anytime soon I'm gonna lose it.

[ Not that anybody gets to hold onto their sanity all that long here. Though maybe he lost his a long time ago, his brain just hasn't caught up with that fact yet. ]

Doesn't matter, Cas. The hell happened? Your powers just disappeared?

You look sick, Dean.

[ He counters, not to mention that coughing fit. He knew what that burning sensation felt like. The one that clung to his chest every time he coughed. ]

I used up too much of my grace.

[ He answers, clearly not happy with Dean's dismissal of his current state. He doesn't believe him, but he doesn't know what signs to look for other than the obvious ones like coughing fits. ]

I have to wait for it to regenerate. Until then, I'm human.

[ Just like him and most everyone else here. ]

You're human?

[ The statement about how shitty he looks - he's aware, he feels like that too - is ignored. It's always been easier to focus on other people and this isn't an exception. Even less of an except because it's Cas.

Emotions a maelstrom in his chest, somehow he's paler than he was a few minutes ago, white as a sheet, and he doesn't know how to fix this. That's his purpose here, right? To fix things, like he used to. Concern laces through his expression, and if he didn't already look older thanks to the Death Flu gripping his body, he definitely does with how much he's frowning. ]

Please tell me you have a weapon.

[ A plea that sounds exactly as desperate as it is, his heart is beating uncomfortably fast in his chest. He hates it, hates that this is even a possibility here. Crap. ]

Okay. Uhhh, where are you staying? You're not just hanging out in the forest, right? Tell me you're not doing that, man.

Yes.

[ He repeats, patient, knowing how slow the brain addled when sick. It happened to him the last time he was human. The world seemed rather large when simple acts required so much of your concentration to get through them. ]

I found a blade in one of the abandoned shops.

[ More of a pocket knife. Without his powers, he can't materialize his angel blade, but it's enough. He's done more with less. It's not his powers that mark him a soldier but a keen intellect for strategy and tactics. He's not defenseless. Only human. Dean should appreciate the sentiment. ]

I have a sleeping bag. [ He answers, aware of what he's getting at. ] I borrowed it from another 'you' but never got a chance to return it.

[ So he kept it both out of practicality and sentiment, though he's not fully aware of the latter. He only knows Dean gave it to him and it's warm enough to keep him from getting sick this time around. ]

Edited 2020-11-21 14:42 (UTC)

A sleeping bag?

[ Yeah, okay. Some intervention needs to be run here and Dean's just about got enough energy to run it. Shaking his head no, he squints at Cas like he's trying to work out how exactly he's been dealing with the situation up until now. ]

It's November. In... [ He gestures, his hand waving to their surroundings ] dream Maine. Or whatever. Sleeping bag's not gonna cut it, Cas. How are you not already a block of ice?

[ It's easier, sliding into a version of himself that actually extends care through a freaking lecture, with Cas. ]

Stay here. Look I know it's not the Ritz but it beats being out in the cold.

I was told it's rated for winter. I believe that was an accurate description so long as it's zipped up all the way.

[ He's been careful of that and has spent warmer nights than his first round of being human. He's rather proud of himself. He failed miserably the last time, but he learned from his past mistakes. This time around, he made it his priority to find food and shelter. Made sure not to get sick. Hence why Dean's lecture mode doesn't sit well with him. ]

Dean, I'm not out in cold. I have a sleeping bag.

Edited 2020-11-21 19:03 (UTC)

[ Blankness makes Dean's expression slack for a moment, like he needs an extra moment to keep up. Is he talking a different language or something? Squinting in confusion, he glances aside as though he needs to just think about what it is he's got to say next.

Right, the cold thing. ]

Uh, sleeping bag's not just a bullet proof method of avoiding the cold. If you're human that means hypo-- the cold thing... [ He knows the word hypothermia, it's just not supplying itself right now ] that's a thing. For you now.

[ Or something. Why is it so hard to think? ]

I'm just sayin' if you need a place to stay you got it.

I'm aware that people aren't equipped to handle the cold. I witnessed the first Neanderthals skin the animals they killed for their meat and fur.

[ He didn't have the same acquaintance with the harsh winds and frigid temperatures as he does now, but the concept isn't lost on him. He's aware of the dangers that now face him, but it seems, it's not exactly what Dean means to say, and it takes him a moment to process the offer before he slowly nods, acknowledging it. ]

Thank you, Dean.

I'm watching over the bees right now. I suspect they might need to be moved before the month is over. If that happens, I'll need to find shelter for both of us.

[ But by then, he'll have found the bunker and wouldn't need to burden him. ]

Edited 2020-11-21 21:12 (UTC)

[ For a second, Dean's half-wondering if Cas means he's going to skin some deer. The messy squint he sends in Cas' direction is all of that with the addition of feeling like he might be about to hack up a lung. Face turning away again, he raises a fist and coughs, the wheezing unmistakable as his eyes take on a glassy, barely suppressed stinging.

It takes almost a full minute for him to pull himself back together, a hand scrubbed over a decidedly tired face. He just wants to sleep without the nightmares. ]

You still got them under that tree?

[ He hasn't been to see those bees since August, but he remembers where they are. Had swung by and checked in on them while Cas wasn't exactly... himself. ]

[ The cough raises his concern and he steps forward, stops. Indecision creeps into the groove of his temple and his mouth flattens into a thin line ignoring the awkward press of dry lips. ]

Dean. [ A worried look. ] You should go inside. You're sick.

[ The follow-up question distracts him and he stops searching for signs of a fever and looks back at him instead. ]

It's their home. I won't move them unless the hive is in danger.

[ He wasn't supposed to interfere at all. Every creature had its time. He knows this, yet something is different now. He doesn't understand it, but it drives him to act. To put disrupt the natural order for creatures so much smaller than what he is, what he truly is. He can no more turn his back on them than he can on the man struggling to simply hold a conversation. ]

Dean. [ Sliding a hand into his coat pocket, he pulls out a small rectangular box. Inside is a packet of gel-like pills meant to reduce fevers. Castiel offers them to Dean. ] Take these. They helped me feel better when I was sick.

Edited 2020-12-02 01:48 (UTC)

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