𝐼𝑛 𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑙, 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑦 ( open )

[righteously]

Who: Dean Winchester & Open.
When: April 1 - early May.
Where: Aquila; Cadens; The Horizon;
What: Demon shenanigans part 1 — featuring hobo'ing through the Horizon, hiding out in Aquila, and then returning to the Free Cities.
Warnings: Rated R for sexual content, demonic violence, psychological abuse, and suicidal ideation.

𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑙'𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠-𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠, 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑠
𝐼𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡, 𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑟𝑡, 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑠𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑟𝑡, 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑡, ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒
𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠, 𝑖𝑛 𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑦
𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑔𝑜 𝑛𝑜 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟
𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑑 𝑜𝑓, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑔𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑟
𝑃𝑢𝑠ℎ, 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑢𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑
𝑂ℎ 𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑, 𝐼 𝑎𝑖𝑛'𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢
𝑀𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒'𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟
𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟
𝐵𝑟𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑘𝑛𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟
𝑂ℎ 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑒, 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼'𝑚 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑑𝑜

Comments

[righteously]

He says I don't-, and Dean's smile begins to slowly widen, amused and thrilled with the emotional turmoil he can sense rolling off the guy.

"Oh, you sad son of a bitch," he muses sympathetically, though the expression on his face undercuts the gentleness of the words. "I'm not sure which of the two of us you're trying to convince, but you're not pullin' it off either way. You wanna know a secret?"

He leans in slowly, deliberately. The scruff of his facial hair rasps gently against Castiel's cheek as he brings his lips so close to Castiel's ear, they nearly touch down. There, he whispers, "I might have pity-fucked you, but I'd never love you."

He pulls back just to catch the expression on Castiel's face.

And then, in a blink, he disappears.

[unwings]

It makes no sense for Castiel's pulse to jump, his skin to prickle, a flush of heat to bloom down his neck and chest. Not here, not where his body isn't present, where this is all a mash-up of subconsciousness. And yet, Dean leans in close, five o'clock shadow rough against his jaw, breath hot on his neck, and murmurs low and graveled and cruel.

Sucker punched, with a barely realized, barely accepted dawning like an open wound doused with salt and lime. Dean twists the knife in him, and Castiel's breathless, eyes lost and unfocused over his shoulder, meandering somewhere in the distance between Dean's back and Kyle's eyes.

But I'd never love you.

It shouldn't sting like it does. There shouldn't be this shame that crawls along under his skin, making him cringe and squirm. The earth fell out from under his feet, it was a tornado that crashed down. Castiel's blindsided, and when Dean pulls back, it's unguarded, too vulnerable truth there in his eyes, a slightly glassy sheen. Wind knocked out of him. Confused, betrayed hurt and a sorrow bone deep he doesn't know what to do with, how to reconcile.

Not that he's given the opportunity, as Dean vanishes seconds after.


Shocked, empty silence settles in an oppressive cloud around him, eyes floating in the phantom space Dean used to be, the afterimage silhouette of him burned into retinas. Cas's stuck in a moment he can't define, process, swallow. He's vaguely aware he's still hanging out uninvited in Kyle's domain, with his nacho buddy awkwardly observing, but it takes a minute or so to jumpstart his brain again.

Eventually, he blinks rapidly, ducks his head, glances back towards the tall doors he didn't actually stroll through. His face is doing something weird, and Cas quickly, brief as a flinch, scrubs the back of a thumb against his eye like trying to brush a bit of dust away. He tucks his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched, and addresses Kyle, but doesn't meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that."

[ushiri]

Kahlil, for his part, has stood ready to eject Dean from this domain - or this Dean-shaped thing - if necessary.

He knows nothing about their prior relationship. He doesn't have to, though, to understand that what's being said is being wielded like a weapon against his new friend. He can see Castiel's face even though he can't hear what's being whispered in his ear, with such intimate proximity.

And then Dean's gone, vanished. Kahlil's domain is a quiet place, and for a minute after he leaves that quiet feels oppressive as he watches Castiel blink and duck his head in such a human reaction - in any other situation he might think on how different Castiel wears his skin from the way his brother does. But there's a visceral response to seeing someone else hold back pain that takes over, a mixture between embarrassment and empathy, caught between the two like a vice.

"You don't have to apologize," he starts slowly, unsure if Castiel means to make a quick exit. He wouldn't blame him for it. After a second he steps forward, closer but not as close as Dean had gotten.

"I should apologize, I didn't realize you two were - " Something. He winces, immediately regretting saying that, and shakes his head.

"The way he's acting, it's because of a curse?"

Lucifer had explained something about it to him, in what feels like decades ago now.

[unwings]

The urge towards a quick exit is strong. Embarrassment runs a tense line through his shoulders, indignation curling in the pit of his stomach. He's left feeling stripped down, exposed, seen entirely too closely. Running from it would be easier, but his stubborn nature gets the better of it. Kyle deserves some kind of explanation for all this, besides.

"We aren't." Castiel's quick to correct, perhaps too harshly, a minute winch at his own words, and the next set are gentler. "There's no need to apologize. We're friends. He and his brother fight monsters. I help."

The simplest explanation for it. After Dean's words, he doesn't want to voice more about their relationship, their bond, or whatever misconceptions of it Cas might've been harboring. It strikes him a frivolous and naïve in the moment.

"One could assume." Because of the curse. Before his untimely demise, Dean's harshness and cold attitude had already been interfering and upsetting others enough, this does seem like an extreme of that. He searches, looking for somewhere to park himself that isn't awkwardly lingering in the middle of the hall, rooted to the place Dean left him like a sad dog waiting for an owner to return home. Cas wanders to the nearest seat he finds, and heavily slouches into it.

"The Mark of Cain, yes. I'd— we'd told him we'd protect him from this. But then the pit happened, and his control began to slip. Dean rescued us, but sustained a fatal wound. The Mark must have healed him."

He supposes he ought to be grateful that Dean's at least still alive. But the cost of it was so steep.

"He's changed. Those eyes - it means he's a demon now."

[ushiri]

Kahlil winces himself at the harsh edge to Castiel's tone when he answers, but he understands and takes the hint. He won't pry into that part of what just happened.

There are alcoves with benches in the walls, and while Castiel sits Kahlil stands in front of him, arms crossed as he processes the information.

"His eyes were normal when he walked in," he says, a little hesitantly. As an excuse? There's a tinge of guilt to his expression that he tries to banish, eyes fixed on the stone ground.

"I thought maybe he'd been found alive and I just hadn't heard through the grapevine. We've only met once or twice before."

And he'd listened to his cock instead of his instincts, so there's that. He grimaces slightly, then shakes his head before glancing up at Castiel's face again.

"What can be done to... restore him?"

Angels don't exist in his world, but demons did.

[unwings]

"Demons hide in plain sight. There eyes won't show until they announce themselves." Cas scrubs a hand over his face, weary, but none of it Kyle's fault. He shakes his head, dismissing Kyle's need to explain. "You couldn't have known."

He doesn't blame him for any part of this. Kyle's far from the first or last to be charmed by Dean Winchester, Dean's demonic state is news to Cas as much as it was Kyle. His friend's guilt is misplaced.

"It's alright, Kyle. Truly."

Cas intends for the smile to be reassuring, though it's more hapless. The words, at least, are sincere. As for restoring Dean, the angel's earlier assurance was mostly wishful thinking and bullshit. A Knight of Hell is a whole different creature from what Dean was before.

"I don't know. There's possibilities, maybe." None of them will address the Mark as well as the demon. "A ritual with human blood, perhaps, but it won't fix the root problem."

Sam's trial with Crowley does come to mind, back when Castiel had been busy being tricked by Metatron into booting all the angels from Heaven. But that still doesn't solve the Mark.

[ushiri]

He won't linger on his own discomfort then, brushing aside the rest to get to what the heart of the problem seems to be. The root problem.

"The mark?" Lucifer had said even removing the offending limb likely wouldn't do the trick. In his own world, a curse affects the physical body and the spirit. The strongest of curses could destroy the spirit entirely, though no one is current times could be capable of that - except Jath'ibaye.

A god.

"There are old powers in this world. If all else fails..." he trails off, not really sure this is good advice. But there are creatures here who work in bargains, if only by sacrifice. And there is magic here powerful enough to bind divine creatures, like Castiel himself.

He shakes his head, taking a small step forward and tentatively putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder.

"You'll find a way to remove it," he says, then nods toward the doorway. "Go."

There must be others he needs to tell about this.