text | un: robert.plant

[righteously]

So we're all just gonna ignore the whole 'getting pooped out by a dragon' thing?

whoever owns the giant chicken with the bow tie, I'm gonna deep-fry that bitch

3 minutes is not long enough to shower off egg membrane, that's freaking disgusting okay
just flat-out unhygienic, period
gross

the first time I hear somebody jerking off in a hammock I'm gonna set it on fire

this place sucks balls

as you were.

Comments

[unwings]

[ Shocked still, like a knife to the throat, as if moving would break the spell and he’d wake up, castiel forgets what breathing is. Hell, he forgets what being is - standing, speaking, seeing, any of it. It’s Dean’s lips pressed to his in no uncertain terms, and when the realization that this is no mistake, no spell or illusion (and who the fuck cares if it is - this could be his only chance) - castiel’s mouth melts against his. Softening, parting slightly to welcome the touch, to explore the feeling of dean’s lips on his, still unsure how necessary oxygen is at the moment.

It’s everything at once, the universe focused down to a single point. Dean’s kissing him. dean is kissing him. The fingers tugging him in at the back of his neck are the same rough ones used to cleaning guns and fixing engines, and the prickly brush against his chin is the same perpetual scruff that’s seemed frozen at the same length for the last decade. It’s dean, his closest and most beloved friend, and the entire thousand-eyed, three-headed, six-winged, wheels upon cosmic wheels that make up this being scramble down to that single fixation - dean, dean, dean.

Somewhere behind the pair of them, a set of lightbulbs buzz and abruptly pop, glass shattering on the ground.

A flip switches, and cas doesn’t care that he’s drenched in rain water and sand-turned-mud, doesn’t care that they’re in the middle of a scifi garden inside a dead dragon on an alien planet, doesn’t care that he can barely believe this is reality. he's greedy with it, drunk on the light of this soul he's trailed after like a mesmerized moth for years. yearning and wanting and calling himself 'content' with simply observing and being near. that was nothing, compared to this.

It’s desperate, a little awkward, probably not the most skilled kiss dean’s ever had, but all that’s made up for in passion and need. The fist curled tight at dean’s lapel, unfurling to press against the natural heat of his body (heart beating, lungs expanding), arm wrapped tight with a hand splayed at the small of his back, holding them flush, chest to chest. Castiel steps into Dean’s space, walking him a couple steps back against one of the lab counters, as if trying to share his space, mix up their atoms and molecules, like merging could be that simple (maybe it is for angels, who knows).

In the back of his mind, the old fear of will this call the empty, is this too much happiness, that deep dread that often accompanies any instance of joy in their lives, but the deal’s already been done. By whatever insane means, he’s here, dean’s here, and castiel’s no longer burdened with the knowledge that he sold the one chance they might’ve had at something. At this.

And this? This is worth every last instance of it, every century of waiting, every death, every catastrophic mistake and every vicious fight they’ve had. Cas feels like his entire body is singing, glowing from the inside out (it isn’t, though it could, but we’ve already wasted some lightbulbs, so let’s not be overkill here).

He’s alive in ways he never understood before, present in this vessel like Dean’s anchored him to his reality (a tether he's been for him in so many other ways), and when fingertips push up into dean’s hair, Cas is neither interested or entirely sure how to pump the breaks on this. Chuck himself could waltz in and declare an asteroid on a collision path, about to scatter the planet and everyone on it into space dust, and Castiel simply would not care. ]

[righteously]

( He expected that stone-still reaction, not that he had much time to think about it. He forgets for long stints what Cas is actually like, the way he was during the few times Dean got to see him shoot his shot. Definitely not a virgin anymore, definitely not a statue, not an awkward fumbling blushing sub. In hindsight, he should have known better.

Now, it catches him off guard - hell of an understatement, frankly. A lightbulb pops like a gunshot in a way that makes him jolt, but before he can peel back to look there are hands locking him in and feet stepping him back. Dean's eyebrows shoot up even though his eyes stay closed, there's a sharply audible inhale through his nose, and... yeah, don't worry about the skill level, man. All his finely honed technical prowess goes blank when his hips hit the table.

Wow. Um. Right. Yeah. Pizza man. Yep. That's. Okay.

Holy crap.

It's Cas, first of all. Second of all, he's always been an absolute sucker for somebody that takes the reins once in a while during times like this. There's a buried lifetime in the back of his head, but even with those memories floating around this still feels brand friggin new. Like it's freaking junior prom, a little blood starts redirecting southward over the span of a half-dozen heartbeats.

But look, he's Dean Freaking Winchester. He adjusts, and after his long staggered pause he seems to almost melt into it. He finds his grove, he tilts his head. He furls fingers in the lapels of Cas's coat, fists tugging him into space he's already occupying. It feels like making out with a lightning rod, and he's not sure if it's because it's Cas, or if it's because it's Cas.

He might have wings now, but he still needs to breathe. It's with the grip he's got on Castiel's coat that he ultimately pushes him back a little -- the few inches it takes for him to be able to suck down a real breath. Maybe slow his hammering heart rate before his poor lifestyle choices kick in and give him a damn coronary right here on the spot. )

[unwings]

[ Cas sways back - not far - a simple look of bliss in the clear blue of his eyes, lips parted while eyes trace the bob in Dean's throat, feel the push of his chest as his lungs fill.

Tell me this is real, Cas wants to beg, but not half a second later, he supplies the answer himself - does it matter? hasn't that been the point this entire time, through the manufactured obstacles, the poorly drafted storylines chuck dragged them through, rabbits chasing a carrot on a string (horde of hellhounds charging behind clear enough motivation to keep going). the conversations they had, the moments they spent together, the pain they shared - it was all them, only them. all as real as the blood in dean's veins, the torture carved into his memories, the grace fusing cas to the vessel that's solely his own these days.

You asked, what about all this is real - we are.

we still are, and the certainty of the sentiment curves kiss blushed lips into a contented smile. somewhere among the pulling and gripping to dean's frame, a hand slipped under his jacket, and fingertips trace out from his spine in seemingly nonsensical patterns. eyes gently closed with forehead pressed to dean's temple, joining him in the simple act of catching up with oxygen, his fingers follow neuropathways, mapping them out from the vertebrae they're woven into along the trail under his skin. roadmaps cas once used for reassembly, more complicated than IKEA could dream of, and utterly, breathtakingly beautiful in that complexity. trenches set to spark sensation, knowledge, and command through. Soul to mind translated to body, and Dean’s so physical a thing in ways Castiel rarely is.

It feels genuine, and cas could swear he’d know this connection from any type of phantom or fake, but he’s been catastrophically wrong before. If dean twists into a malevolent shadow and the Empty cackles in his ear, it can't make this moment any less of a lighthouse in the dark of his mind trapped in a torturous afterlife. willing the fear of it away, soft lips brush another chaste kiss against dean's jaw, tip of his nose nudging the angle of a cheekbone. there's certainly other ways his body's reacting to the pressure and heat of dean's closeness, pooling low in his stomach making his slacks feel a bit too tight, but that's more a backseat thought to the angel now.

Fingertips light over the side of dean's face, tracings over long memorized symmetrical framing, until thumbs find his chin and the lower bow of his lips. Cas smiles, the lightest, easiest, most natural expression that’s graced his human features, eyes blinking open to find dean's, though lazily half-lidded, dark of his pupils edging away the thinning rim of cool blue. ]

Hello.

[righteously]

( It's an understatement to say Dean Winchester isn't used to intimacy, particularly of the physical kind. Real intimacy; he's had sex with more partners than he can remember, let alone count. 98% of the time there wasn't a scrap of intimacy to be found there. The few times he's had it were either genuine (Cassie, Lisa -- though Lisa presented her on set of complicated problems in that regard) or malicious, wielded like a tool against him. False visions of his mother delicately stroking his face, Amara preying on it to coax him into compliance.

Setting aside the fact that him and Lisa felt more like both of them trying to will something into being, she was a decade ago -- and still only one of less than a handful throughout his entire life. He's never gotten used to it, he's never really learned what to do in these moments, he can barely even grasp them when they're happening. Usually, and now is no different, he stills himself in a way that might seem passive. It's not stiffening the way an abuse victim might out of a lingering bad association; it's far more akin to being afraid of making the wrong move and sending someone running -- not that he knows it. Not that he's consciously aware of it, not that he can really think when it's happening.

It's like there's an empty basin in him, and it so rarely sees water despite being desperate to be filled that all he can do when he finally gets it is drink it in.

In other words, it's gonna take some work to get him to reciprocate with any kind of natural ease. Now, his only real outward reaction is a gentle parting of his lips, a raw look in his eyes -- only if you know what that looks like, a tip of his head just a little to accommodate the touch, and an unconscious tightening of his hands where they've settled at Castiel's sides. Gripping maybe a little too hard, but Cas can take it.

His heart hammers wildly in his chest, his lungs gently squeeze with every new place his lips land, with every shift in the tracing of his fingertips. He's a little bit on fire inside, and he can't breathe. Another difference between him and that man he'd been in the aerie: that guy grew up with love, and could express it to his fullest potential. It's not gonna be like that here, at least not for a long time.

You didn't make an easy choice here, Cas. He's got a minefield of issues and baggage in every other aspect of his life, this is no different.

Cas finally pulls back and Dean's throat works, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows down some of the sensory overload to try and wrangle himself back under control. You devastated the man with a kiss and twenty seconds of tenderness, the dude's a wreck, it's pathetic, sorry buddy. He does, at least, manage to get his shit together relatively quickly once he's put on the spot. Manages to find his voice, thick and a little croaky though it may be, so he can offer up an incredibly lame: )

Hey.

( This is not the brand Dean likes associated with his romantic life. He strongly prefers to put off the vibe he's more like riding a mechanical bull than crying in a rowboat.

And sweeping in at the heels of all that, the crushing re-realization that Cas died. That he's here now, but that he--

A firmness takes root in him, something a little too desperate to be steely, hard-edged but pleading -- and yet, no less unwavering and unquestionable in his order. )

Don't ever do that again.

( The closest to this he's ever sounded was that decade ago, coincidentally. Lisa and Ben, every scrap of their memories of him wiped clean, Sam in the passenger's seat saying Dean, you've pulled some shady crap before, but-

If you ever mention Lisa and Ben to me again I will break your nose.

The deeper sentiment is: if you go, I go. Otherwise, you're not saving him from anything, just because his heart's still beating. )

[unwings]

[ the stillness doesn’t surprise, nor is it off-putting. it wasn't dean's surface-level smoothness with women that cas fell for (even if it does have it's own amusing appeal). The kiss alone, Dean’s initiation of it without prompting, is plenty enough reassurance of affection. The word/action balance with Dean’s always been heavily weighted to one side, and he understands what real communication looks like from him. dean's already spoken volumes in the ways that matter.

Perhaps it’s strange that Cas finds such natural ease in the intimacy, but he's never developed the same wariness of it that the brothers possess, dean in particular. More so, a certain fascination that’s turned to awe with the actual experience. What dean calls “a wreck” cas sees as beautiful, rare, a naked truth that he’s privileged to be trusted with. If he could pause reality, curl some protective bubble around the both of them, to allow Dean all the time he needs to quietly wait it out and let it process, he would.

Unfortunately, they’re hanging out in a dead lizard’s vegetable garden during acid-rain monsoon season so, not the best timing, but Cas takes what he can get. The entire clan of space people could fuck right off the edge of this new-earth at the moment, for all he’s willing to split his attention from the man in his arms.

The rawness in his eyes, the slightest tilt into the touch. It tells him more than dean could push past his lips, bringing on butterflies doing barrel rolls in Castiel’s stomach. He never thought they’d be here. That this could exist in reality, alongside all the rest of their tangled up complication and obstacles, like there’s only ever been room for pain and strife, suffocating out the possibility of more.

But this isn’t Chuck’s story anymore. Endlessly running, trying to outpace their fears, isn’t the only option here. That realization keeps filtering back in, the corners of Cas’s lips instinctively pulling to grin so much he presses his lips together, trying to school the giddiness from his features. 12 years with this emotion burrowed deep in his chest has felt like eons, waiting, oscillating between foolish hope and resigned acceptance.

Loving Dean was never really a choice. The minefield and baggage haven’t intimidated him. Frustrated, confused or irritated at times, but never frightened, and after the Mark of Cain, Cas doubts any level of corruption or hurt-inspired damage could smudge away these feelings. He’d give anything to allow dean an easier life, with warmer, kinder memories, yet that isn’t within his current power, or ethical code.

The words that come after, don't ever do that again, echo back to April’s apartment, and all the times he heard ‘just don’t get dead again’, but this one’s different. This one’s a deathly, desperate kind of serious, and it’s clear why. Guilt gnaws at Cas, for leaving like he did, and his eyes fall to the floor for a beat, mind chewing on the command. Telling him ‘i can’t promise you that and you can’t either’ isn’t acceptable. This tone isn’t a voice you argue with, and as firm as it sounds, what cas reads underneath is please don’t do that to me again.

Some cynical part of Cas had taken comfort in the knowledge that Dean losing him - it wouldn’t be like losing Sam. it wouldn’t completely destroy him, he would mourn and move past it, even if that mourning took far longer than anyone would’ve liked. He’d thought. He’d told himself. Taking in the man before him now, it’s clear Cas was, once again, entirely and embarrassingly wrong in his assumptions.

He hears it, underneath the firmness and grit - If you go, I go. Cas can’t know what grief Dean went through after his departure, but it’s clear now how deeply it wounded him. For a man so pained by abandonment to watch his closest friend say “I love you, and goodbye forever”, both offering something precious and telling him he’ll never have it in the same breath... Okay, yeah. He gets it.

A warm hand finds a home over dean’s heart, palm flat against his chest, and cas stares down at the connection, as if he could look straight through the flesh, muscle and rib cage at the organ itself, judge how it beats and the relative health, where the cracks and fault lines lay. ]

I won’t. [ Cas tells him softly, sincerely, finding Dean’s eyes. They’ve made these claims before - no man left behind, we don’t make deals, whatever, but they always end up there eventually. Perhaps that was Chuck’s manipulation, or perhaps they’re far too comfortable with sacrifice, rarely truly acknowledging the cost of it on those left behind (you assume you won’t have to see it, or be around to watch later). They have to change, someday. May as well be here, now. ] If you won’t.

[ we both stop sprinting to jump on the grenade for the other. Dying for a loved one is relatively easy, he’s done it several times by now and found nothing truly difficult about it (until the last one, that is). Living and being present for those who need you there, and hurt for your loss, is maybe a new concept for them both. Perhaps they have to force self-worth on the other by holding their own longevity hostage. Maybe that’s how this works.

Or maybe dean’s about to be much more angry. Cas can only give him the truth, not dictate how he feels about it.

It’s in admiring the shifting colors and glow of dean’s soul that something new suddenly catches his attention, and cas can’t believe he didn’t notice earlier. Then again, he’d been pretty distracted. ]

Wait, do you —

[ pausing, cas pulls back a half-step to pan his limited human vision out, hands lingering on his chest and bicep to twist Dean partly to the side. Right there, arching over his back and extending across his shoulders - bright, ethereal wings.

For a single, horrifying second, castiel’s terrified that he’s looking at Michael-Wearing-Dean, until he studies the aura. He knows what looks like dean winchester, and how very far it is from his older brothers. No, these new appendages are possession free - all Dean’s own. A new and utterly baffling discovery, that leaves Cas blinking like a confused fawn. ]

Dean, do you have wings?

[righteously]

( I won't if you won't. That's a hell of a deal, isn't it? Of course there's a flair-up in him that wants to protest, a two-second gut instinct that says it's different and he deserves-- that Dean has to white-knuckle and shove down. If they're making a deal here, they're making a deal. He's so, so friggin tired. It has to stop somewhere, sometime. Why not.

He doesn't say anything, he doesn't even nod, but the shape of his mouth pulling into an unhappy, reluctant line is about as close to agreement as Cas is likely to get here in this olive vegetable garden.

And then Cas goes from Titanic to Brokeback Mountain in the span of a second, pulling Dean around to the side in a way that gets him instinctively grounding in through the heels. It's on his lips to say woah, now, not on a first date--

But the question wipes away his words. If he could go five minutes without being thrown for a loop today, that would be fan-freaking-tastic. The prickling awareness he's got of that weird ethereal space behind his shoulder blades makes them twitch in a way he can't even really feel exactly, and when he twists back it's to look at Cas like he's the one with new appendages. Sprouting from his neck, maybe breathing fire.

He's not a stupid man. His gut starts to sink because it knows what that means, even if his head's stubbornly refusing to process it outright. )

Yeah, but you knew that already. Because of New Amsterdam.

( Said slowly and firmly, as though spelling it out might, through sheer force of will, stick the memory in his head. )

[unwings]

[ Castiel's eyes narrow, less suspicion more intensely pondering, lips parting when he concludes that no, that does not make any sense upon further inspection, and tilts his head at him. ]

What're you talking about, Dean?

[ New Amsterdam, New Amsterdam? There's multiple problems with that sentence and Cas is pretty sure it's not just a him misunderstanding the world issue again. ]

I haven't been to old Amsterdam in decades, at least.

[ What happened to it and why did we need a new one and when did they have anything to do with it? There's a New Amsterdam in New York state (the colonizers were not very creative, were they), but they've never taken a case there, that Castiel's aware of. Maybe it's another reference he doesn't get, but even after frolicking through his Metatron gifted mind palace of pop culture and coming up empty handed, deep dread begins to sink in.

it couldn't be that easy. of course it couldn't. making out in this olive vegetable garden and going on their merry way, holding hands and taking dinner dates like one of Sam's romcoms. That simply wouldn't be their lives. there has to be some kind of complication, and castiel's bracing to hear it.

his grip on dean's shoulder curls in tighter, some symptom of the fear this, dean, will all be stolen away in another second, and cas turns his attention to the wings. his fingertips trace lightly around the edge of where they attach to the shine of dean's soul, trying to wrap his head around a (part?) angelic Dean Winchester, sans possession. the how and why are unfathomable to him at this point, but he's mesmerized. the concept of dean with wings had always been tangled up with Michael, he'd never put much thought into it.

they're quite beautiful, actually. it's seamless, how natural they sit on his back, as if they'd always been there. part of him wants to spend the next few hours inspecting, just to drag his hands through them over and over, though that fear-ridden, dreading part wants to demand what did you trade to get these? divine power doesn't come for free, not to humans. dean will explain, he's reassuring himself. though the troubled frown refuses to budge from his face, Cas keeps his focus intent on these new wings, searching them for anything that sets them apart from average angel wings (mostly just enchanted by them attached to this human boy he feels so strongly about). ]

[righteously]

( It's like a slap in the face. He reels back a little on instinct, and gives Cas only a few seconds to do his studying before evacuating the tender moment to pace four or five feet away. To turn his back. To press his hand to his mouth while it just... sinks in. Get a good look from a better vantage point buddy, they're on full display at this angle.

A lifetime or a year. It's not that the alternate reality they suffered through together changes anything, they only got- what- a few months together there? Long enough that things got real, real enough that things got complicated, complicated enough to lead to the entire... everything they went through after they got back. Maybe he should be happy about it, that Cas can't remember those weeks of Dean being a total goddamn coward. The running, the processing, the almost-kiss in their living room.

He doesn't feel happy about it. It feels like he's... alone, somehow, in this regard. Not just their whole thing, but the entire rollercoaster of bullcrap that was New Amsterdam. All the struggle, all the bad, all the good, all their moments leading up to Dean doing what he just finally managed to do, gone for anyone but himself.

(Well, with Lance and that hippy, but who gives a crap about that right now?)

He drags his forefinger and thumb down his parting lips, and clears his throat as it drops away. It doesn't matter. It's not a big deal. It doesn't change anything. He takes instead to tiredly rubbing at one eyelid with two fingers, speaking with both of them closed, without turning around. )

We- uh. We were somewhere else before... here. For... a long time, I lost track. Nine, ten months? Give or take? It was practically Cyberpunk 2077, except it was more like 2577. ( A dumb, conceding shrug. Hoarse-voiced and absent. ) Just as stupid and disappointing.

( The longer Cas looks, the more he'll probably be able to tell they're not actually angelic. At least, not the same kind as his brothers and sisters. Technically speaking, they did come from a god, but lesser. Less unfathomable, less twenty-dimensional or whatever real angel wings are. No roaring lions hidden in there, no extra heads, just wings that look like Dean probably thinks they should -- but just on the other side of manifesting. Intangible, invisible to him, he can only really feel them in the form of a chill down his spine or a weird awareness in his brain.

Maybe he can see the shard attached to them, that not-currently-glowing blue fragment of something acting as a power source, evidently inseparably tangled with him as far as anyone knows. Bigger than what would be necessary to just slap a pair of wings on him. Not attached to his soul, but nestled somewhere beneath his ribs near his heart. Not malicious, not sapping anything from him, radiating something pure - that's his seed, after all. Purification. )

[unwings]

[ his shoulder slips through castiel's grip, and that dreading part of him provides a sharp shock of panic.

it's clear whatever happened there was some level of important, enough dean's gotten emotional over the absence of it. if it were just routine missions and more fighting chuck, he wouldn't be doing this 'please only stare at my shoulder blades while i have feelings at the wall' thing dean's so fond of. what did he miss? it's a terrifying thing, realizing someone or something's stolen details from inside your head. a long silence sits heavy in the air between them, while cas desperately searches his mind. nine months is a long time to be missing from your memory. ]

But I don't— [ cas cuts himself off, impotent frustration curling his hands into fists at his side. it isn't there. it simply isn't anywhere to be found in his memories. defeated, cas lets out a deflating sigh, eyes on the ground and voice small. ] I'm sorry. I can't remember.

[ and that bothers him in an extreme way. the last time castiel was missing memories, someone with an eye-drill was behind it, and it all but broke him. there was already the gap in recollection of how he got to this place, and now this? a nine-to-ten month span of time spent in an alternate dimension, where Dean grew wings? this is only the beginning (that he knows of), so there's a chance he could lose more (that he's missing much more), a chance he could lose this moment, and that abrupt realization is utterly chilling.

perhaps this is the eternal torture the Empty had in mind. A slow and horrible degradation of all he remembers of the man he loves, the world he loves. Certainly sounds like a fitting hell for him.

It's all postulation, Cas tries to remind himself, to keep the dread in check and stay present, watching the wings at Dean's back. Which, now that he sees the full span of them, with a measure of distance, it's clear they aren't exactly angel wings, but close. like an imitation, which is a bizarre detail. The Empty isn't at any lack for angel substitutes, knows their biology well enough.

He's jumping to conclusions, there isn't enough information to make that call yet. What's clear is - this time was important to Dean, and Castiel's lost it. How does he fix that? ]

Will you show me? [ he asks quietly, shuffling up to the back of Dean's shoulder, blinking up from the wings to his profile, but not reaching out to touch yet. ] Some of it?

[ pulling the whole nine months from Dean's head would likely be painful for him and complicated, and still wouldn't be the same as living it himself. but maybe some of the moments he's missing, the things dean finds hard to explain beyond Cyberpunk 2077 and just as bad. If he's willing to, and Cas prays he is, because this missing nine months will nag at him in the worst way, the distance it's clearly putting between them just as frustrating. ]

[righteously]

( He's already steeling himself up and packing feelings away one cardboard box at a time by the time Cas manages his reluctant surrender. It's not news, god knows they know-- he knows the rules. The constants. He's seen it happen often enough, though he'd never been so directly impacted by it. On a comparison scale to the rest of the crappy things that have happened to him over the past... entire life, this one is relatively minor. Easy for him to steamroll through and lock down.

His resolve is back when he turns, face stoic when he meets Castiel's eyes again. The flicker of confusion is brief, until he remembers that whole thing Cas can do. He doesn't see that one in action nearly as often as your standard top 10 hits.

He licks his lips like he's looking for a reason to be reluctant. The hesitance is a habit, it's knee-jerk, and after a beat he can't actually find one.

He's not sure, right off, whether or not this will make things better. Sharing a memory means he won't be carrying it alone, though it feels a little bit like a hollow knock-off. Like a plastic version, almost, except it's... not, is it? It's just all from Dean's perspective, lacking in context, missing whatever Cas might have been feeling at the time.

Maybe he'll feel the same things. Maybe he won't.

The pros outweigh the cons, so he concedes with a half-nod. )

Yeah, fine, alright. Probe me.

( Hands up, palms out, let's get it over with. The one Dean summons up in his mind is the first thing he can remember after Cas got there. It ain't exactly among their greatest hits, but it's an intel-packed debrief that might help shortcut a few questions Cas is bound to want answered. )

[unwings]

[ aside from the squint received for probe me, cas shuffles close enough to reach out a hand and tap two fingers to dean’s forehead, the blue of his eyes flaring up with grace pulsing through him.

its bizarre to see himself from dean’s eyes, but a treat to experience his relief and joy when this other-cas shows up. It’s heartwarming, endearing. There’s no cloud of angst or anger over a recent self-sacrifice (also: no kiss), so perhaps the memory issues aren’t exclusive to Cas, or to this planet. Many blanks are filled in, though Cas catches on a detail. ]

I was human. [ he murmurs, refocusing on dean’s eyes from the far-away look he’d worn while watching the memory. A pinch of envy bubbles up in the back of his mind for this New Amsterdam Cas and his humanity and his nine months spent with a dean ready to pull him into a passionate kiss. The urge to push further and examine every flicker of memory Dean has from this place is intense, but he relents, pulling his hand back as he observes Dean carefully. ] Was that part of it? Why we—

[ a vague gesture between the two of them. Y’know, the kissing. Since it couldn’t just be that dean always wanted to, clearly. they had nine months of being human, together. the kiss he’d just given him seemed like a big deal, on the tail-end of Castiel’s memories, but he wonders at what motivation from this other life Dean came in with.

And still no chuck. They’ve been bouncing around dimensions like a pinball, without any apparent divine intervention. How the hell does that work? Whatever caused it remains outside both their worlds’ power and New Amsterdam’s. ]

This- between us. [ you know, the thing where we shove our faces together and get really handsy. ] Did we have this in New Amsterdam too?

[ either way, cas isn’t sure how to feel about it, despite the dismay in lacking those memories, and worry over what that implies. ]

[righteously]

( It takes him a second -- why we what? -- before he understands what exactly Cas is asking. Look, it's new and he's flustered, and besides that he's hardly the sharpest bulb in the knife drawer anyway. Cut him some slack.

He starts shaking his head before Cas even gets out the follow-up question. )

No- that's not- no. Not-- not exactly. It's complicated.

( Because that alternate universe doesn't count, it wasn't them, it was just... kind-of them. Not-Them. Almost-Them.

He doesn't wanna go down that rabbit hole at the moment. He'd rather be awkward and hate everything about himself really quick, thank you Cas for this fine opportunity. )

That was technically the first... thing. Just now. If that's what you're asking.

( First Kiss. That's what they just had. Officially. Somewhere in the universe Sam Winchester gets an itch and doesn't know why. )

[unwings]

[ ah yes, words. forever their downfall. they don't need an eyefuck or empathy bond to get this communication down, and manage to stumble through it with only middling levels of awkwardness. ]

Oh. [ Cas nods, like he's just received an interesting update on a case, but that awkwardness gradually pulls into a warm, soft, mild smile. ] Good. I'm glad I could be here for it.

[ rather than review it by proxy through dean's memories. whoever's messing with his mind - naomi or chuck or someone else entirely - will have to pry this bright spark of memory from him. it's a hearth spreading life through a man who'd been resigned to an afterlife of hell and regret, still not quite able to believe it completely. ]

I am sorry, Dean. [ he shifts, shuffling from dean's side to the front of him, a hand reaching out to briefly skim over his forearm, urge to touch and comfort swelling up in him. it's a complicated mess in his head right now, with hesitant excitement hinged on dreading joy - happier than he has any right to be but terrified of when the other shoe may drop. ] There's nothing I would trade my time with you for.

[ aside from, you know, keeping you alive to save the world (or keeping Jack alive to also save the world). clearly he traded that, but that doesn't seem like it should qualify. besides, they just made an agreement for no more self-sacrifices, so it's all off the table anyway (hahahaisittho). ]

[righteously]

( Cas earns a soft scoff of an almost-laugh at that first bit, a sound that makes it clear he's thinking about what a huge freaking dork Cas is. Of all the things to say...

(Pot, kettle, whatever, shut up.)

Look closely enough and you might see just a little genuine warmth hidden in there among all that telegraphed deadpan. He's fumbling to get his game-face back on through all the weird, trying not to overcompensate for the fondness he feels by veering too hard in the opposite direction for some reason. Sounds a little bit like John Winchester in his head, he's plowing through it. ​)

Yeah, well... this is me officially being at max for goopy heartfelt confessions for today. Also, maybe for the next... six or seven years. Let's switch back to the whole... dungeons and dragons and aliens thing.

( Dismissive as he sounds, he's making a deliberate, concentrated effort to not... move his forearm. Even though the touch has the hair on the back of his neck standing up and awareness itching at his skin. )

[unwings]

[ cas has never been lack for sincerity and uncomfortable directness, though he knows there's a limit for how much dorky bareness Dean's willing to participate in, so it's a content nod when dean requests that the Feelings be moved off center stage for now.

the touch drifts down his arm, settling over dean's pulse and giving a short, subtle squeeze before letting go. right, back to business. tucking hands away into his soggy coat pockets, cas turns his attention to the "building" around them, skimming the ceilings curiously. ]

Is there a dungeon in the dragon as well? [ he knows what 'dungeons and dragons' is, he's just being Cas about it. ] They're very efficient.

[ the dragon-corpse living people. they certainly know how to survive and make the best of a catastrophic situation. it's a good quality to find in new allies. ]

I've heard about these aliens. An aquatic kind of species?

[righteously]

( That squeeze to his pulse point makes something jolt in his chest, and it's quite possible his hand absently chases the retreat for an inch or two before falling back to baseline. Could be a trick of the light, you can't prove anything.

It's starting to hit him right about now that this is gonna be, like, a thing. Them, touching, the way that... people... touch. Like, the way that couples touch. The anxious tension he feels buzzing like background static somewhere around his sternum isn't actually entirely bad, it's just... different. A little mind-boggling.

There's a different kind of keenness around his eyes when he looks at Cas that didn't exist before -- well, outside of those eyefuck moments, the intense exchanges where he'd studied Cas's expression looking for something hidden behind it. It's not quite as deep as that, but it's definitely sharper.

Doesn't even realize he's doing it. )

Yeah, I got a bestiary from one of the local nerds. Not as good as the one we wrote--

( It's only a second after he says it that he remembers Cas doesn't actually know about that one, and the flicker of a wince only lasts a second before he's moving swiftly along. )

--but apparently it's some real The Shape of Water crap, minus the gill-frenching. Yet.

[unwings]

[ the air around them holds a different charge to it now, as the reality of it starts to sink in. as they move from revelations and confessions to average(ish) life and day-to-day commentary. the scenery doesn't fade to black ooze, he doesn't abruptly wake in a torture chair staring at naomi, dean doesn't morph into Lucifer - no other manner of hallucination or illusion.

it's real.

after a decade and change of being drawn together, years of dancing around the subject neither dared to give voice to, here they are. cas can practically feel his atoms and molecules humming. a pleasant, floating feeling that's entirely new and curious to him, but not unwelcome. it's a bubbly kind of high that cas is content to simply experience in dean's company for now. so this is what allowing happiness feels like, huh?

Dean may not realize he's doing an eyefuck stare, but cas feels it like a tap on the shoulder, turning back to meet it and calmly hold the gaze as the conversation goes on. just two bros, standing in an alien garden, eyefucking over gill-frenching because they just realized they're kinda gay.

except, it's more arresting now, a level of it raised from passively soul-staring to actively searching, castiel's head full of thoughts and ponderings, wondering at how this will go, what dean wants and what dean will actually be willing to voice a desire for, what brought him to return castiel's feelings and how long the sentiment may have been there, partly or fully formed. cas is never wont for questions, and even if the short affairs he had in the past might've prepared him for this, it still feels entirely new. a different kind of connection in total, a new level of intimacy, not in the physical sense, but the two of them have already shared so much more than one average human could with another. it's dizzying, but exhilarating.

cas stills, tilting his head at the mention of a bestiary they made (would've liked to see that, at least for the names), and chewing on The Shape of Water crap. ]

How exactly does one 'french' with gills if there's no tongue appendage associated?

[ clearly the most important detail the new bestiary is missing. he has to admit, cas isn't in a great rush to get back to productive conversations and kicking it in the ass. ]

[righteously]

( Another concept occurs to him, because apparently it's revelation on the heels of revelation today: they're gonna make out in the Impala. There's a teeny, tiny little quadrant of his brain working in the background, thinking - as men are wont to do - with his downstairs-brain. He's not actively imagining it, but... you know. Maybe a little. It's background-vivid. A stencil he's sure he could see clearly in his mind's eye if he let himself jump tracks.

Which he isn't.

But it's gonna happen eventually, and that's... that's something. ​)

Half of the happy couple was human, tongue intact.

( A beat, and then a reluctant admission. )

I think. Believe it or not, I never got around to watching that one. I'm just picturing fish loves girl, girl loves fish, somebody cries. Guess I'll catch it in real time.

( Is he lowkey hoping to catch someone playing tonsil hockey with a fishman? Maybe, but it's not because he's into it, it's just because -- come on. Who among us can honestly say they don't have a morbid curiosity what that would look like? Novelty would probably wear off in about two minutes, but it's on his alien bucket list for now.

This is not necessarily the deviation from second base in his car that he was hoping for. )

[unwings]

[ the longer he's looking at dean and talking about fish making out, the further his mind dawdles, eyes flickering to dean's lips as he speaks, and then again to the side of his neck. not because of gills, though thinking about gills would be a nice cover story, it's just mindlessly pleasant to watch the subtle shifts under his skin as he speaks or turns his head. let's be real, Dean Watching has always been a hobby of Castiel's and practically everyone knows it.

it's a little different now that he knows exactly how kissing dean feels (lower lip rolled between his teeth momentarily as he thinks back on it), but it does lead to an expansion of Wondering. For instance - where else dean might like being kissed, location-wise or on his body (obvious places aside). What other forms of touch, sexual or simply affectionate. He’d caught the way the man leaned in to those touches, but couldn’t quite bring himself to fully embrace it. Comfort and confidence takes time, especially for Dean, Cas reminds himself.

This mind-wandering anytime dean opens his mouth thing is going to become problematic, isn’t it? As much as dean may have pulled focus before, it’s nothing compared to now. Somewhere, an Adamant crewman is wondering where that hulk that was carrying 8 sandbags to and fro wandered off to, but that crewman is just gonna have to wait. He’s busy. ]

I'd hope the tears weren't for the biological incompatibility. [ that's very sad. the girl should get to consensually love the fish if she wants, or vice versa. since we're on the topic of odd couples, cas cas-rambles on matter-of-factly - ] Humans have a multitude of erogenous zones, if the extremities don't match traditional methods, there still remains a wide variety of means to physically express love for one another.

[ ahem. just saying. in case... anyone might've been worried... about traditional methods. With fish. ]

Fortunate we don’t have that problem.

[ the biological incompatibility cross-species. Castiel’s body feels more like home than it ever had before, and humans have figured out sex between two men at this poin. Judging by the impressive array of niche porn dean’s reviewed, Cas is guessing he understands the basics. No need to unravel the mysteries of gill-fornication.

But that, the sex part, is skipping a couple bases Cas would rather linger at with Dean first, so consider it a problem for another day. ]

Though I’m sure gills would compliment your new wings nicely.

[ cas, shut up ]

[righteously]

Alright, man, you're gonna have to pick a lane.

( He blurts it out abruptly and emphatically, because ya boy's filter is only capable of so much restraint. They're crossing too many wires right now. )

Either we're talking about erogenous zones or we're talking about gills, but we are not mixing the two. I got enough problems without developing some kind of weird... Pavlovian fish boner association. Leave the body horror out of the bedroom.

( Wait- )

Hammock.

( No, correction again- )

Car.

( A beat. )

Wherever, everywhere, just... ground rule, no neck flaps in the unresolved sexual tension.

( Apparently he's only capable of acknowledging things out loud with direct people words when he's facetiously ranting about something stupid. )

[unwings]

The car's here?

[ completely flying over all the fuss about fish boners and pavlovian kinks (ignore the small, bemused smile going on during the facetious rant). sounds like a personal problem, bud. ]

The Impala?

[ so we're missing memories, but we're gaining cars? of all the things that could've traveled through the wormhole with them... huh. well, he won't complain about that. unresolved sexual tension in a car definitely beats unresolved sexual tension in a hammock. that's just awkward injuries waiting to happen. ]

What about the wings? [ what exactly are we counting in the body horror category here, becaaaause... ] Are they allowed in the car with the unresolved sexual tension?

[ it might be an honest question, or it might just be prodding dean for another rant, who knows, it is a mystery. ]

[righteously]

( See, this is one of the many reasons they work out - Cas glosses over his bullshit and focuses on actually relevant information hidden in his rant. Pointing it out makes for an excellent segue without getting too caught up in the rant itself. )

The wings are already attached.

( So, yeah, little too late to ban them from the unresolved sexual tension mobile.

(Just pretending like this isn't a totally loaded conversation, don't mind him, this is normal, he's not feeling anything creeping along the inside of his chest.)

He casts an absent glance over his left shoulder like he's looking for them, but unfortunately (or fortunately? jury's out) Dean's eyes haven't been celestially upgraded to match his back. )

Or... not attached. Fake-attached. I don't know, I can't see 'em so. Doesn't count. Wings get a pass.

( Which is a little funny, considering they're matching his body language for a second there by getting a little twitchy somewhere on the ethereal plane or Narnia or wherever the hell it is they exist. )

[unwings]

You can't. [ don't brag, cas. almost as an aside - ] They're lovely.

[ wait. ]

Impressive. The most majestic set of ethereal wings I've seen attached to a human.

[ the only ones— shhhhh. with his eyeline past Dean's shoulder, it's clear Castiel's watching the wings and expressive twitches, with a small curve to his lips. he's like a newly minted little celestial not quite sure how to fly yet. castiel's certain this observation of dean's preciousness won't be well received, so he keeps that one to himself.

his fixation with dean's new wings hasn't passed yet, and cas paces around dean's side, hand on his shoulder to keep him from turning with him as he pauses at his back to get a better look. of course, cas likes to look with his hands, so a moment later, a palm rests in the space separating the wings, between dean's shoulder blades, over his spine, and sweeps downward, just bordering where the ethereal meets corporeal. not quite angelic, but close enough to be deeply intriguing. ]

Anything else I should be aware of that's outlawed in the car?

[ the unresolved sexual tension mobile. is 'in the car' going to be their code for sex now? ]

[righteously]

( His mildly flat expression communicates clearly that they both know it's the only set of wings the dude's ever seen on a human, and frankly it's easier for him to focus on that part than the part about them being lovely or whatever. He doesn't feel any particular kind of pride about that like some people might -- he can't freakin' see them -- if anything, it might make him just a little self-conscious. Cas looking at them and complimenting them hits like a softcore version of whenever he talks about seeing Dean's soul. It's slightly less intense, but still a little intense.

Couple that with Cas getting handsy again, and the lump's forming itself back in Dean's throat again. It's just his shoulder, it's just his back, it's nothing Cas hasn't had a hand on a hundred times before.

It's different, and though he stays obediently still his jaw tucks and turns in Cas's direction a few inches to better watch his profile. )

I'll write you a list.

( It would sound more effectively dry if his voice didn't get a little quieter, a little lower.

While they're on the subject: )

It's not just wings.

( Not the car thing, he's jumped tracks a little. Shifted gears toward his whole thing in general, since Cas seems keen on studying his business. Plus, he's suddenly curious as hell about the reaction he'll get when he does it -- moves back just a few inches, not to pull away but rather to reach up and press two fingers to Castiel's forehead.

Blue glowing chest. Gentle rush of pure energy. Near-invisible shimmer in the air. Hashtag blessed, enjoy your stab-free 8 hours. )