raianet | text | un: robert.plant

Vital insights.

We The Pooped thank you for your contribution.

While it was an oviparous birth, the pods remained internal. I don't believe we were 'pooped out' of anything, Dean.

where are you

( immediately does not give a single shit about any of that, that is clearly Cas, he's about to kool-aid man through the walls to track this nerd down )

you're welcome
if we haven't decided on a team name, I vote for We The Pooped
it works on two levels, because this whole thing is crap

What, you didn't wake up this morning hoping you'd be chosen to be one of the lucky few to get dumped lightyears away from Earth on Space Australia for God and the Glory of Rome?

Kids these days, I'm telling you.

Space Australia. Great.
The second I see a giant alien spider I'm burning down the camp
nope

So, masturbation and spiders really the lines you're drawing in the sand, huh?

[ oh no ]

Not where I’d expected the Empty would deposit me.

[ I’m sorry I unloaded all my gross intimate feelings on you and then peaced out to hell, I didn’t think I would have to actually answer for it?? ]

Transporting sandbags. I can meet you somewhere less, um. Flooding.

hydroponics
far end
now

( screw the sandbags )

Yep
gotta draw it somewhere, might as well be at dude grunts and 8 legs

[ shiiiiiit, here we go. music - facing. ]

On my way.

[ no argument or fuss or emoticons, castiel knows how serious this must be. even so, when he steps into the hydroponics lab and spots dean's profile at the far end, something that'd seized up in his chest sighs out in relief. he's alive, he's whole, he's here. even if he's about to be fire and brimstone pissed at cas for pulling the stunt he did, the truth of it is - it worked. that's all that truly matters. right?

water-logged yet still sensible shoes letting out a quiet squeak against the concrete as the angel approaches, he pauses to plant himself a couple yards away, voice not much louder than his shoes (and somewhat sheepish, if you know what to listen for in the otherwise monotone). ]

Hello, Dean.

( You bet your sweet balls it's music-facing time.

He's stone still with his back mostly to Cas as he approaches, soaked through with rain, somehow vibrating energy despite the fact that the only muscle moving in his entire body is the one thumping away at his jaw.

He hears the squeaking shoes, but doesn't look up. He hears hello, Dean and doesn't look up -- not for a few seconds, and when he finally does it's practically slow motion. All deliberately controlled movements, one slow step after another to clear the distance.

Until he's in punching range, at which point he swiftly throws one at Castiel's jaw as hard.

Does he objectively know punching an angel accomplishes practically nothing but bruised knuckles? Yes. Given the fact that one of Dean's side-hobbies is punching walls until he nearly breaks his fingers, that's hardly a factor at play here. )

You know what, fair enough.

I mean, most people would be more freaked out about 'woke up on another planet' but I'm digging the energy.

Yeah, well
That one's more of an annoying Tuesday situation at this point

You another one of those 'this has all happened before, this will all happen again' born-again interdimensional nexus walkabout guys?

（ bc... like. hard not to notice you lot. ）

You seen a lot of those?
Don't suppose you happened to keep a list
Phone book
Something?

[ the silence is always much more foreboding than the shouting, the throwing chairs and breaking lamps. at least that's past the boiling point, already tipped over into chaotic lashing out. it's the focused tension and fury that's uncertain, but cas doesn't move. remains where he is, allows dean whatever reaction he'll have. he owes him that much.

this scene's a little nostalgic, and just like the first time it happened, cas doesn't move to dodge the punch. dean's knuckles slam into his cheekbone, a sting but not so much as bruising his vessel's skin. his head turns with the momentum, and eases gradually back, eyes finding dean's and holding the gaze for a sorrowful few seconds.

cas had that coming, but even if he wished it could've happened another way, he can't regret the choice he made. ]

I won't apologize for saving you.

[ defiant as the words may seem, it's spoken softly, a gentle but nakedly honest thing, almost intimate. at least while they're discussing the sacrifice (cas assumes), they aren't discussing the Other Part. he'd just as well go without the rejection being voiced, or consider it bundled with the punch. with any luck, they'll skip over it entirely, as they tend to do with things that edge too close to the heart of them. ]

( There's a lot going on here. New Amsterdam is one thing, reconciling that with the quick detour back home, but first there's this. First there's--

First there's this.

There's too much he wants to say at once, which drives him to a rare point of speechlessness. Anger and fear and sadness and relief all jockeying for position, clawing at his throat and shining over his eyes. Clutching at his heart like a tidal wave; he almost can't breathe under the weight of it.

When he moves again it might almost seem like he's going for another punch. It's not that. It's an embrace, still silent, with arms winding around Castiel's shoulders and fingers digging into his clothes in desperate bunches. Hanging on like a vice, like it's the only thing keeping Cas on the goddamn planet.

Maybe this should have been his first clue they were out of sync -- the touch doesn't summon up any empathy bond. No New Amsterdam facilitated emotion swapping. It's not even a blip on his radar right now, though. )

You're very eloquent.

[ the embrace winds him more than the punch ever could, the touch a shock of wonderful relief, and the solidity of dean's chest to his and arms around his shoulders is everything castiel's been yearning for since he started the speech that ended in their goodbye.

empathy bond or no, a dam of emotion splinters, cracks, and pours over in him, castiel's arms curling around dean's sides and squeezing back almost too tightly. a silent, constant ache of longing feels like it slots into healing place, a circuit that'd been just short of connecting clicking together, and the solace it brings gets caught up in castiel's throat.

he didn't want to go, of course he didn't. he'd wanted to follow dean to the ends of the earth. cas wanted to feel his warmth, like this, the steady thrum of his heart, to hold him close and safe, the most precious and treasured soul the chaos of chuck's universe had ever produced. but their story was never meant to have a happy ending - they must have both known that. letting dean go was the hardest thing castiel'd ever done, and to have even an ounce of that desperation to cling together reflected back to him is more than his supposedly-cold little angel heart can take.

inhaling deep, castiel's chin settles into the same curve of dean's shoulder it usually does, and the breath shutters out like a rattle inside an empty ribcage, both their frames feeling somehow delicate despite what both know they're well capable of enduring. fingers uncurl from his jacket, smoothing a palm down his mid-back and up again, the mildest shake to it, like he can't completely believe it's real. ]

I'm so sorry I couldn't stay. [ it's a small, quiet voice, unsteady as a shoddy raft in an ocean storm, and meant only for dean's ears. he wanted to stay. he wanted so, so badly to stay.

castiel's eyes sting, the prickling wetness and intense heat of emotion threatening to push it's way out of him churns up under his vessel's skin, and cas couldn't say if he stays clutching iron tight to dean for the sake of hiding his face, or the fear of letting go and losing the euphoric relief of this. returning back to that reality with no happy ending in the stars for them. ]

I do slam poetry on the side

The locals like that kind of stuff. You'll be a big hit with the theatre troupe.

( They've sacrificed themselves before on more than one occasion. Directly and indirectly, with or without foresight. It may just be that time has muffled the previous incidents, but right now he doesn't remember any of them feeling as permanent as what happened. Some part of him always knew, some part of him always held out hope that things could be undone.

But not that one.

He's a hypocrite, he knows. Not but months earlier he'd done something similar -- granted, it had been in an alternate life, but throwing himself on that spear so Cas could live would have wrecked him just as hard as what Dean's feeling now.

It's different. It's just different. At least then he'd gotten to say a proper goodbye, at least then they had more than a scarce handful of seconds to have even the mildest kind of resolution. At least there he'd had the ability to find goddamn words, and the feelings in his chest weren't really some shocking epiphany that robbed him of every scrap of that time.

He didn't even get to say it. It's that particular fact that decides which emotions get precedent here, and so it's not anger lacing his features when he finally does pull back. He doesn't go far. Doesn't take a step away. Just edges far enough that he can make eye contact, see the angel's full face when his throat more or less musters up the ability to make words. )

Cas...

( Maybe word, singular, because he doesn't get any farther than that one shaky, rusty syllable.

On another planet not so long ago they stood like this in their living room, a breath away from Dean sacking up enough to finally pull the trigger. He was a coward then, he was an idiot back home, and while he might still be an idiot here he at least knows better now than to miss out on a second (third?) chance.

One hand lets go of the back of Castiel's coat to instead find the side of his jaw, fingertips hanging tight around the back of his neck to hold him in place while his mouth clears the distance between them decisively. Not giving himself the opportunity to second guess it this time.

He thought you were gone. Really, really forever gone. )

Yeah that's not really my crowd

( yes it is he's a god damn liar, he straight up even lying to himself right now )

Think I'm just gonna save my lyrics for the shooting stuff troupe, if it's all the same to you

Gun club, huh?

text | un: robert.plant

text ↪ un: crowe

@clarence

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un: 76

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