( For nearly a month, Dean hasn't been able to stop. He could blame the Mark on his arm, and certainly it would warrant a little of that blame, but the truth is... the truth is, it's not the Mark. It wouldn't take anything external to drive him like this. It wouldn't take corruption to get him to sink to the things he did these last few weeks — not most of them, not the ones that don't involve the blood of his own family anyway. Torturing that kid, killing his mother, he'd have done all that anyway.
The truth is, their fate was sealed the second somebody decided to snatch an angel out of the desert, Mark or no Mark.
He's barely slept. He's busted his knuckles on rock and bone. He's scraped and bled and swam and fought, just to get... here. To right here, right now, the moment that cultist drops and hands touch his face, steering his vision, redirecting his gaze until he's looking into something familiar.
One long second later, it clicks.
There's a gentle clatter as Dean drops the blade — that toothy, cursed blade. It hits the rocks and bounces away, forgotten in favor of him winding his arms around the guy in front of him. )
Cas. ( It comes dumbly, distantly, a little dazed. Shocked to nearly numb, but he reels the guy in tightly all the same. His voice comes a little rough, hoarse with feeling or with the strain of the fight to get here. Both, probably.
Muffled in the filthy cloth Cas is wearing, somewhere between neck and shoulder, he mutters, ) I'm here. I got you. You're okay, I'm gonna get you outta here. It's gonna be okay.
no subject
The truth is, their fate was sealed the second somebody decided to snatch an angel out of the desert, Mark or no Mark.
He's barely slept. He's busted his knuckles on rock and bone. He's scraped and bled and swam and fought, just to get... here. To right here, right now, the moment that cultist drops and hands touch his face, steering his vision, redirecting his gaze until he's looking into something familiar.
One long second later, it clicks.
There's a gentle clatter as Dean drops the blade — that toothy, cursed blade. It hits the rocks and bounces away, forgotten in favor of him winding his arms around the guy in front of him. )
Cas. ( It comes dumbly, distantly, a little dazed. Shocked to nearly numb, but he reels the guy in tightly all the same. His voice comes a little rough, hoarse with feeling or with the strain of the fight to get here. Both, probably.
Muffled in the filthy cloth Cas is wearing, somewhere between neck and shoulder, he mutters, ) I'm here. I got you. You're okay, I'm gonna get you outta here. It's gonna be okay.