driftfleet | Red Fish Mingle

Entry tags:

Red Fish Mingle

Who: The crew and (many) visitors of the Red Fish!
Broadcast: Nope
Action: Aboard the SS Red Fish
When: Nebulously after the Great Winter Soldier Violence Spree of '16

[it was bound to happen sometime. all three captains of the SS Red Fish are hauled back home in various stages of medical distress, and things have been a little weird since then.

one of these things is the super soldier with the busted metal arm that is brought in to be kept locked up in Coil's lab for a while. turns out those restraints he'd had installed did come in handy. that's a thing.

so, whether you're here to check on one of the various ailing people here, gawk at the guy chained up in the ~~dungeon~~ lab, or are just trying to live your life in relative peace and sanity, come on in!]

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[ Dean is more than well acquainted with this particular noise.

It's the first time he's clapped his hands against his ears because of it for what feels like a millennia, the angelic ripchord of a screech pelting the Red Fish with its enormity. It immediately strikes a chord in him, a remembrance of a moment in a gas station in the middle of nowhere, a time where things had been different, where he'd been someone else, someone who was broken in freshly scorched ways. But that's of utterly no importance now, because Dean is practically falling off of his bed in the urgency to react, to do something, to find the source of the eminence that he already's intimately familiar with.

At least he can be thankful that his head is mostly on straight for the time being. He's done no better, functioning no easier, but he's running before he can stop himself to the dim resonance of the light coming from Cas' room, booking his way on over because there's an utter absurdity in this that he can't quite fathom yet. Because what it means can't be true, can it? It could mean a million and one things and yet the likelihood that it means a specific one is ridiculous.

... Stranger things have happened, he supposes. The inexplicable is their goddamn life, and yet he's still in a rush because if it means Cas is awake then really, what else does it matter?

Slamming to a halt in front of Cas' room, Dean does the best he can manage for the time being, which is to stare, watching the now awakened Cas curiously, as if he might evaporate on the spot, go up in flames, do something cataclysmically terrifying. He doesn't know. But he's watching because Cas has been down for the count for damn near two months now and Dean has long since run out of words for what that exactly means to him. But maybe that doesn't matter either when Cas is staring at himself as if he's come back to a body he lost forever ago to the minefield of their lives. ]

[ cas hadn't exactly been entirely conscious for the flash and the shriek of white noise, but given dean's sudden tumble into his bunk, and the flabberghasted look on his face, he's guessing that it must've happened. it only makes sense, right? the power of his grace is coursing through his body like an electric current lighting him up, and it's.. strange that it feels more unnatural than it does normal, like it's something foreign and clumsy and not at all usual, even if it feels familiar, and sweet, like a breath of fresh air after living in a suffocating cave for too long.

cas swallows thickly, glances up toward dean with a cocked brow and.. can think of nothing at all to say. ]

Um.

[ okay, good start. ]

Mornin'.

[ nailed it. ]

[ Fuck You.

Why is that the first thing that comes to mind? Dean isn't entirely sure, but he swallows it back and stares for a good long while, coming to terms with his weeks worth of absolute terror (sleepless nights, drunkenness, paranoia) that Cas wouldn't be waking up again, not ever. That this would be the end of things, for good this time despite what Castiel had told him about being here, and he'd somehow have to watch him go, this time inches from his face. The cold hard facts of what he'd done would be there watching, wasting away, and now Cas is simply awake. And thrumming.

And god it's a good sight to see.

Dean doesn't realize he's holding his breath until seconds later and his shoulders collapse a little as Cas finally speaks, offers the smallest of greetings and its the best Dean can do to keep staring, inspecting what's in front of him as if he hasn't been to Cas' bedside a million times over while he's been down for the count, like he's seeing him for the first time again. Trying to brush aside his fears is a near possibility but Dean's buckling down - trying his hardest - trying to hold tight to what's left of his desperately stony expression. ]

It's been weeks.

[ You were gone. The hurt is somewhere there, but Dean stands taller, stiffly, uncomfortable. ]

You okay?

[ cas has no way of knowing how long it's been, though he remembers when sam slept, that it was weeks before he rose, and judging by dean's face, he can only assume it's been the same for him. honestly, if not for dean's clear concern and voicing how long it's been, cas might not have realized that he'd been sleeping for any longer than is usual, might not have realized that it's been any longer than a single night. ]

Yeah. Yeah, I'm..

[ trailing off again, cas glances back down to his hands again, before he's turning enough to throw his legs over the side of the bed, still slow, still unsure like he doesn't know what's going on, or where he is, or what could be happening. ]

I'm fine.

[ a beat, and he flexes his fingers back and forth, then lifts his eyes to dean again. ]

Better than fine, I think.

[ Dean is a myriad of things he wants to shake out of Cas, as if throwing his frustrations at him will fix the hours and days and weeks of endless inward hysteria stating that this would be the end. But Dean knows it's not Cas' fault, not in the slightest, and so he shuts his trap, keeps it to himself because it's the only thing he knows how to do.

Instead, he watches, curiously enough, because something has gone on here. Something that hasn't yet fully risen to the surface but has everything to do with the ear-splitting angelic noise that rose from... Cas himself? He's not entirely sure, but he's still familiar with it, knows what it means when an angel has set foot into existence and there's only one of those around here, which means--

Well, it means the obvious. Even if it's hardly obvious at all.

Still hovering, however, entirely unsure of what to do with himself despite the overwhelming urge to throw himself on Cas just to make sure he's whole and here and not dissolving on the spot, Dean just watches Cas inspect himself and tries to come up with something to say. Something that might be clarifying, might provide an answer to the question that's still lingering in the air. ]

Mean what I think you mean?

[ Because that's kind of a huge thing, monumental even, and Dean doesn't quite know what to do with it. ]

[ he's not really surprised by dean's restraint, he's long since stopped being the hugging type even if cas still remembers what a warm, touchy sort of guy he used to be, how he was always finding reasons to clap cas on the shoulder, or nudge him playfully. but hey, it's the thought that counts, right? or something like that.

at any rate, cas climbs up to his feet and finds that he's unsteady, his legs like jelly and he stumbles briefly, but soon catches himself and exhales hard, grinning. ]

I think so.

[ but, you know, just to be sure - time to flex his muscles a little. cas lifts a hand, and flicks his fingers, tightening up the energy in his core and honing it like a blade, and damn it's so simple, like riding a bike. the door behind dean snaps neatly shut.

cas looks shocked, for a moment, before he whoops loudly, all but hopping up into the air with excitement. ]

Hot damn. I think I'm back, baby.

[ Dean wants to be the hugging type again, painfully so. Wants to plunge himself into this and crawl under Cas' skin and wrap him up tight enough that he pops like a wayward balloon. He just doesn't know how to fit correctly into his own skin anymore, feels too lost to know even where his limbs are, and he's spent too many nights now staring dimly at what he's convinced himself is Cas' corpse to know how to go about this from the right angle.

But, he supposes, watching Cas will make do for at least a good few seconds.

Or maybe it more than makes up for it, Dean tipping his head slightly as he watches Cas stumble up to his feet and try to regain balance within whatever entity he's become once again and Dean has to refrain from stumbling forward himself to keep Cas from falling, protective instinct kicking in strongly. It's all alright though, and Dean leaves it be, watches Cas lift a palm and the air current strikes through the room like a smack to the face, yanking the door behind him shut almost too pleasantly.

Dean blinks, eyes widening in quiet surprise becuase-- he's back. Back. The angel is back in business and what the hell do you even say to that? To see Cas allowed to flourish once again into the thing he's been missing for years, the being he's always been filling out all the spaces he'd lost within himself. It's- a miracle is maybe a stupid word for it, but it's something and Dean almost finds himself more nervous within it.

Yet- it's the biggest thing they've been granted in too long. And because of that, perhaps, he quirks towards something that might be considered a worried twist of lips, not quite yet a smile but on the verge of one, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. ]

And all it took was a nap.

One helluva nap, apparently.

[ considering he's apparently been out for weeks. hard to believe, really, when it doesn't feel nearly so long to him, when he doesn't even feel at all tired and he can't help but wonder if perhaps he won't sleep anymore, if he won't.. eat. he's come to enjoy those things, and being an angel had always had its downsides.

but it might be worth it, just to be whole again, to feel like who he's meant to be, to feel whole and full again, to feel his wings. ]

Feels.. good.

[ Dean doesn't know what to say to that, finds himself too edgy and nervous for words when all he's doing is creeping up on solidifying his own terrified despair that Cas was gone gonegone. He's not sure Cas needs to hear it and he probably shouldn't lay it out on the angel now that he's just woken up but Dean is itching for it, the gravitational pull of his fear something that he doesn't know what to do with.

Especially now that Cas feels so damn good - it's not his place to ruin it, to break this down into something that's about him, but Dean is squirming with it despite his frozen stance. ]

Nothing weird about it?

[ Because there's no reason he should be a whole angel again, and yet what is it they always say about not looking a gift horse up the ass? Who knows, Dean doesn't care but he does and he's worried and this is all somewhat suspicious. Not that he isn't glad for Cas but damnit, how is he supposed to find the words. Not when he doesn't even know how to express what all went through his mind to begin with, what he faced, what he found himself facing while he watched Cas sleep. ]

[ it comes as no real surprise that dean is suspicious, and honestly, he has every right to be - by all rights cas should be suspicious too, would be if he didn't feel so fucking good. and it might still feel oddly foreign and all, but every moment his grace hums beneath his skin it feels better and better, like he's fitting into himself all over again, a relief he can't even begin to describe washing over him like a warm tide, head to toe. he'd taken what he was for granted, his power, his energy, his sense of self. he was an angel, born an angel, why should he have ever expected that he would be anything but an angel? it wasn't until his grace had drained away that he realized how vital it was, that living without it was like living in a world stripped of color and sound, like missing half of his limbs, like being numb all over and having to stumble through life as half a being.

so it's hard for him to be suspicious, hard for him to be grounded when all he wants to do is stretch his wings wide and fly, feel his grace burning through him and over him, bursting with energy and force.

dean keeps him tethered, though, and he's grateful for it, really, even if it's a buzzkill, when all he wants is to revel in it for awhile. it can't bring him down though, nothing can bring him down, not yet, not right now, and he's all but grinning from ear to ear by the time he's wandering forward again, more steady on his feet now. ]

No, not really. Feels normal.

[ Dean's not truly trying to be a buzzkill. It's not as if he's searching for ways to smack Cas down, but it should be a reasonable enough question to ask why. To want to know the reason this has happened, to want to understand what it is that's gone on here. Because as rare as good things are for them, Dean can't help but think something like this will come at a substantial price - he doesn't know. It's what he's been trained to believe though, as if they're being dangled possibility on a string and now Dean will have to watch as it's torn back without payment. Something will happen, something pained and without warrant, just like this happened without explanation.

But until then, let Cas have his moment in the sun, he supposes. He hasn't seen him this happy in- god, he doesn't know how long. It feels too unfair or a thing to try and rip that from him, to drag his smile away when it's been owed to him ever since his grace left to begin with. Dean can only let himself swell a bit with Cas' happiness, even if he can't quite understand - Dean can still garner more than enough from the smile streaked across his face.

Which is maybe why he cracks as Cas moves forward again. He'll curse himself for it later, for being weak or not standing up to his own bravado, but it's when he finds himself moving in tandem, he just can't take it back and all but tumbles the rest of the way. It only takes an instant to sweep Cas up into a stubborn, furious hug, pulling him in tight and rigid and stern. Dean's nose immediately burrows down against Cas' shoulder, holding him fast and making it that much easier to not have to say a word yet, to merely make the point that Cas, his counterpart, was gone a little too long. ]

[ even for dean, it was really only a matter of time before he broke down into this, and even if it's a little unexpected, cas is still glad for it when he feels those strong arms and that sharp tug.

he can't remember the last time dean went out of his way to do something like this, broke through that cold wall he keeps around himself to reach out and find some human contact that's more meaningful than a casual nameless fuck, but in some ways, it feels a little like a victory. like cas has won something, here, in kicking a few bricks out of that wall, melting dean down enough for him to offer a gesture like this that feels so damned simple, even if it's anything but. it's a bridge to cross, a mountain to climb, but dean managed it anyway.

it's a shame that it feels a little less potent to cas if only because he hasn't felt the passage of time. months, dean's said, but to cas it hardly feels like minutes, though strange, stretched sort of minutes, like having a vivid dream that feels so real you don't quite grasp reality for those first few moments after you wake. so it doesn't feel to him like he's been gone, but it feels that way to dean, and that's really what matters.

so cas cracks into a grin, snags him with both arms and hugs just as tight because even if it doesn't necessarily mean the same thing to cas as it does to dean, it still feels good anyway, to squeeze him tight and feel that connection. grasping tight into his shirt with one hand, cas uses the other to clap dean hard on the back. ]

Thanks, big guy.

[ Dean's not thinking of who it means the most to here - this one seemingly insignificant hug - not in any way past the thought that somehow he needs this. This contact, this odd reminder that Cas is still solid and whole and here. It was his fault that he sent him away to his death, his goddamn fault, and to think what it would've been to realize the ramifications of that gesture where Cas to never awaken. His actions finally coming to fruition before his eyes. It was a thought he was stuck with on endless repeats while staring in the depths of his liquor, standing at Cas' sleeping side, terrified to face an existence that would have been marred with the blatant gash of Cas' loss. Even while he slept, right there, Dean could've sworn he saw him start to fade. To go, to be lost entirely.

Maybe he should tone down on the clinging, back off from the hug with some kind of normal ease that he doesn't possess, but Dean has always been a man comforted by intimacy even if he won't admit to it anymore. He just doesn't know how to find it in the right kind of ways and always ends up clunky and lost, like a child who's still left trying to decipher where emotions are meant to go and how one can hold them in the palm of your hands. He's forgotten some part of him that still needs, needs the things that contact brings and a hug is like a surefire punch to the gut, a shakedown of all the things he tries so hard to push away.

He told himself he didn't need this. He was wrong.

But just like he doesn't know how to give a hug, he damn well doesn't know how to let go of one, and if anything, he's burrowed in tighter, finding respite against Cas's shoulder and cursing himself making it about him. Because this is about Cas, about him being alive, waking up, returning to himself. Filling out once more with his grace. Isn't it? Not about the things Dean wants to shout, the desperate, terror laced words that he can only detail how sure he is he'd lost something these past few weeks, and he knows now where every inch of it is.

And just what he's no longer capable of letting go of. ]

It's all you.

[ if the clinging bothers cas in any way, it certainly doesn't show.

he gets it. he knows what it's like, what it must mean. for cas, this all might have passed rather quickly, but dean's been sitting around fretting for weeks. and sure, cas could take into account the fact that dean sent him to his death, wrote him off, wrote them all off, and if he's being perfectly honest.. he's not sure that's something he'll ever entirely forgive. but he understands. it was necessary. or if it wasn't, it was time to finish the damned thing.

but that was another world. they're here now, and dean's remorse has shown, clear in his actions, in the tightness of his voice, in all the subtleties that only cas would notice. this is a new place, a new time, and like home, they're really all they have here. he has friends, and he appreciates and cares for sam and sye and all the others he's come to know here, but dean is home, and it must've been pretty damned frightening to watch him waste away here in this bed for months. that dean's relieved he's back, needs the closeness of a tight hug - cas isn't going to deny him that.

so cas allows it, doesn't pull back, doesn't loosen his hold, only rubs between dean's shoulderblades and allows him to stay as long as he needs. ]

What's that supposed to mean, huh?

You're always-

[ Dean so badly wants to clamp down on stupid words (his definition of any words at all, truly), in the same way he always does. Say nothing at all, admit to nothing. Force meaning out from behind dark stares, hope that people understand the demands he doles out in miniscule sentences, gravel toned offerings. Because putting voice to things is a struggle, a pain he gained somewhere along the way, because why speak when nothing comes out right? When words are a tangle, a mess he can't unweave himself from.

But Cas was asleep for weeks and somewhere deep down he felt an agonized pull he couldn't escape from. Stark apologies ripped from his tongue while he sat bedside, hoping that maybe if he confessed to it enough times, if he spoke words of terrified grief, Cas would sit bolt upright and come back to him. What else could he do but worry, but tell himself that this was the life he would've given himself, this was the pain he provided through his inability to come up with a solution that kept the one thing he needed by his side.

Dean knows he should probably let go, should probably step away and collect himself and brush off the weeks of dust that collected under his skin while all he did was watch and tear himself apart with aching remorse. But he can't, not yet; Cas' shoulder is too warm and present and alive and all Dean can do is collect his mistakes and hold them that much closer, that he tried to let go of the one thing he know he needs.

Cas is his safety, his place, and he thought he knew how to give that up, only to realize in the tearing of the knots between them, that all he wants to do is hold on. ]

I didn't do anything.

[ honestly, for all cas seems to know dean better than most, even he doesn't always completely understand what's going on in dean's head, or parse what it is he's trying to say. he has good ideas, most of the time, can more or less surmise what's likely going on behind those hazel eyes, but even then he can never be sure. dean's closed off, and cas isn't a mind reader. well, not anymore.

either way, maybe it's because he's been asleep for weeks, but cas isn't really sure what it is that dean's going on about, but it's clear enough that he's upset, and it isn't too difficult to understand why. ]

Hey.

[ cas pulls back, but just enough to look into dean's face, to dip his head to catch his eyes, one hand sliding back enough to grasp his shoulder, strong and solid. ]

Look, I'm here, all right? Don't worry so much.

[ Sometimes Dean hates the way Cas looks at him - the way he knows how to peel him open without any work at all. More often than not it's useful, sure, the kind of stares stuck between them that makes it so much easier to understand without the words Dean no longer knows how to say. Cas can simply unwind his head as if there's nothing to it, can lift open the lid and uncover whatever it is that Dean's so furiously trying to keep to himself.

But at times, it makes him want to squirm, writhe away and cover his face. He doesn't want to be the open book that Cas can see and yet at times, he knows he makes it impossible to even manage that. That he's wound so tightly that even Dean isn't sure where to find himself amidst it all and so he struggles within his own silence, not knowing how to express whatever it is he's feeling when he's spent his entire life trying to shove it all so far away, into the frantic depths of wherever he cannot reach.

And yet, as Dean is at least still an infinitesimal part of the same creature he always was, it never fails to bubble its way back to the surface.

You were never supposed to go, he wants to say. You're always meant to stay. With me.]

You were gone. [ Is what he says instead, flicking his gaze down to meet Cas', managing eye contact in the way he only really ever does with Cas, with a certain level of clarity he offers to no one else. ] Kind of my job to worry.

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Red Fish Mingle

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