ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛᴇᴏᴜs ᴍᴀɴ ( ᴊᴇɴɴɪғᴇʀ ᴀɴᴋʟᴇs ) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
righteously) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2024-05-14 04:50 pm
righteously) wrote in abraxaslogs2024-05-14 04:50 pm
ᴀʟʟ I ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ ɪs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟɪғᴇ's ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ (open.)
Who: Dean Winchester & Others.
When: Post-Event.
Where: Cadens, the Horizon, Nocwich.
What: A catch-all of open & closed starters.
Warnings: A little grief, a little alcoholism, probably canon-typical violence and suicidal ideation. Mentions of fruit turbo-hell.
I ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ sᴇᴇᴋɪɴɢ sᴀʟᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Nᴏᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴡᴏʀʀɪᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴅᴀᴍɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
I ɢᴏᴛ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀs sᴜᴄʜ I ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ ᴇᴀsɪʟʏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ
Aʟʟ I ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ ɪs ʙᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ
ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ sᴛɪʟʟ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ.
When: Post-Event.
Where: Cadens, the Horizon, Nocwich.
What: A catch-all of open & closed starters.
Warnings: A little grief, a little alcoholism, probably canon-typical violence and suicidal ideation. Mentions of fruit turbo-hell.
Nᴏᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴡᴏʀʀɪᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴅᴀᴍɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
I ɢᴏᴛ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀs sᴜᴄʜ I ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ ᴇᴀsɪʟʏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ
Aʟʟ I ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ ɪs ʙᴇ ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ
ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ sᴛɪʟʟ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ.
no subject
That's more than bullshit, that's such a blatantly transparent bad excuse he can't even find words about it for a second.
Throw yourself onto a nail. Like he did it on purpose. )
Don't change the subject. ( He snaps, his voice raising an octave. ) Don't- don't redirect this back to me, this ain't about that. Whether I lived or died, you didn't come back. I didn't see your face in Heaven either.
( Not that he has many memories of it there, just a few blurry, nebulous hours. Talking with Bobby. Driving. Now, here. Still, it was long enough for him to feel justified tacking it on there, too. If it had been the other way around-
But it wasn't, and here they are. )
You're either a coward, or you wanted an out. Which one is it?
( Because if it's the latter, this conversation is over. )
no subject
But it is, Dean. It’s been about you, it always has. [ since he touched his mangled flesh in hell and knew Dean was something beyond comprehension, since he threw himself off the cliff of God’s good grace and chose damnation in exchange for finding Dean Winchester still behind those eyes. Frustration carries him to swat the bar flap up and away, crossing the annoying, clunky barricade the counter creates between them. ] I didn’t come back because your fight was over. You had your chance at the peaceful life you always wanted, and that shouldn’t include a struggle between welcoming a friend and pitying a celestial mutation for its unrequited obsession.
[ Dean wasn’t here for how Castiel anguished with the realization of his love for him. For dragging himself across Free Cities confused and cursing himself for the weight he’d put on this mortal man’s shoulders. To be loved by something like him, some creature from the beyond, purposed to host a terrifying, merciless devotion so all consuming and immense it could drain the ocean and flood the land at God’s whim. Imagine being loved by that. Imagine the burden of it on anything less narcissistic than God.
Dean spoke of longing for a simple, tranquil, quiet life with a family like the one he lost, a nostalgic bar and vacations with toes in the sand. Castiel is anything but. A metaphysical horror that dragged him out of hell to fight and die, over and over again, until God was satisfied, or buried in his place. Even now, he’s not sure this thing they have will still work without Jo between them as buffer, lending some thread of normalcy.
He’s so wrapped up in the lingering panic of it, Cas nearly misses it. You wanted an out. As if the simple admission of his desire for Dean wasn’t the only possible thing that could bring him true happiness. The angel jerks suddenly to a halt, anger fading rapidly from his features as they give way to a stunned softness, a perplexed tilt of his head.
It feels so familiar he can nearly scent the ozone in the air again, the creak of old barn floorboards underfoot. You don’t believe you deserve to be saved. ]
You thought... I wouldn’t still want you. After everything.
[ You don’t believe you deserve to be loved. ]
no subject
🎶 If it hadn't been for Cotton-Eye Joe
I'd been married long time ago
Where did you come from, where did you go?
Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe? 🎶
[ In the corner, where the jukebox with a very clear note has been shoved out of the way in hopes that no one will touch it, Nanaue stands with his fat finger on a button. ]
no subject
It roils in his chest, an ache, a yearning, a fear, and he opens his mouth-
If it hadn't been for Cotton-Eye Joe-
He fully jumps out of his god damn skin, whirling around like he means to karate chop somebody.
And there's
that fucking
shark. )
Dude! ( He snaps, the most affronted a human being has ever been, ever. ) We're kind of in the middle of something, could you- just- get the hell out?!
( Jesus. This friggin' guy. )
no subject
presses the button again, stopping the barrage of techno-country
and wanders out, followed by a scurrying trail of feety fish. ]
no subject
suddenly, a fucking shark. where did he come from, where did he go, why is he always precisely on time for their romantic milestones? cas watches dumbly as the parade of little mutant fish scamper after the giant mutant fish. ]
How does he always know?
[ is nanaue their personal discount cupid? also— ]
Were those his offspring?
[ is nanaue a dad now? cas has so many questions. ]
no subject
Dean stops for a full minute, pressing his fingertips to his eyelids, rubbing his eye sockets through what threatens to be an oncoming migraine. Just... really processing what a fucking joke his life is, and how stupid every choice he makes is, and how absurd the universe is, and the fact that this is reality.
And then he drags himself back to the present, frustrated and impatient. )
It doesn't matter, can we- can we get back to the whole- thing now, please? Jesus Christ, it's like living in some kind of aquarium soap opera.
no subject
you wanted an out. that short flash of terror he spotted just before cotton-eyed joe. They’d finally brushed against something real, under the centuries of bitterness and hurt. all castiel's frantic self-doubt, the indignant, wounded pride, it all dissolves away and washes out clear until he finds himself centered in front of dean winchester again. a terrified boy freshly dragged from the bloody jaws of the most horrific experience any single human can endure, faced with the threat of something good trusted into his hands. time condensces in a strange way angelic time travel never manages - a phenomenon only human emotion creates.
cas swallows thickly, looks past the wrinkles and weathered marks of age into the soul he'd been enraptured by since that first touch. ]
I didn't know I would leave you alone with this. [ an impossible task, forming words around the yawning ache of a love barely realized and abruptly striped away. the syllables don't exist in human langauge, so cas lays an open palm gently over dean's heart, carefully, like soothing a wounded animal caught in a trap. ] Dean, I didn't know.
[ The empty's darkness loomed like a tsunami and cas spent one final moment marveling at what accident of creation and inconceivable power of human soul shaped the man he’d fall for from any height, to any depth, before the wave hit and he married oblivion. In that final gasp of a moment, he knew, the last, singularly resilient pillar of his being was the love he carried for dean winchester. and for every second since their first meeting, he believed, without a shadow of a doubt, he was alone in that wonder and awe.
if the castiel of that world knew what this one did, he'd have dragged him, kissed him with the desperation of a dying man, and whispered i'll find you again before letting death swallow him. Abraxas was their concealed secret, if they'd been aware of it back home, it would've been in Chuck's purview to rob or weaponize against them. ]
Never doubt, no matter what cowardly, stupid, stubborn thing I do, that I don't love you with every singular atom that composes me. [ his brows furrow, eyes intense and focused as fingers curl into the shirt and scratch against dean's chest, voice edged with fierce conviction. ] And never, Dean. Never imagine for a moment you aren't deserving of every second and wisp of devotion from me. It's been yours to take or leave since the moment we met.
no subject
Part of him wants to cling to that hurt, and wield it like a weapon. Part of him wants to punish, to rip himself away from the possibility of getting left again; you wanted to be gone, be gone. Just like part of him has always wanted to be strong enough to do to John, to Mary, sometimes to Sam.
But at the end of the day, he could never be that guy. If he were capable of letting go of people their story would have ended over ten years before he actually died.
God damn it, but he can't, when all he wants is to love and be loved in approximately equal measure — and here's Castiel, trying to convince him of that reciprocity being real for the first time in Dean's idiot life. The desperate desire to believe it lines up with the shape of Castiel's palm over his heart, and it stings at his eyes. They shine wet and shameful, because he's always been too easy to push to the edge of tears, despite his entire stupid fucking life hardening him against stuff like that. No amount of callouses have been able to rival the depth of how much he always feels.
And he feels so, so much for this stupid god damn angel.
And he felt so, so much for Jo, whose loss feels like a gaping wound glaring betrayal at him from beyond for daring to feel loved right now without her — a guilt that's entirely self-manifested, that Jo herself would never actually saddle him with.
And it all comes together, all of it, in a thick and heavy blanket of too much at once, and he can't keep blocking it all out with his deliberately obtuse denial anymore. The floodgates come down.
So he reaches out, and he reels Cas in against his chest, hanging on too tight, fingers digging bruises into the backs of his shoulders where the wings would be if they were real. )
Don't you ever do that to me again, you hear me? Don't ever do that again.
( It's a harsh and furious order half-whispered near Castiel's ear, because his throat's too thick to snarl it the way he'd wanted to. It comes out weaker than he intended, but no less steely for it. )
no subject
castiel thought he knew his friend inside and out, every carefully guarded secret, every dark corner locked away where it couldn't harm him anymore. through his own conviction, cas was blind to what precious, fragile thing lay beneath their bond. somewhere along the way, they grew the same skeptism from any glimmer of happiness.
after the onslaught of eight centuries of jumbled memory, and the years spent in desperate denial and longing at home, those first acts exploring their love in Abraxas seems so far away. this volatile, charged moment peeling back the layers on an old truth that wrought such pain in it's denial feels new, fresh. Electric in it's anxiety and long withheld catharsis. Almost unreal.
Dean's in a storm, overwhelmed and exposed, vulnerable to a pain that's already devastated him once. it echoes scattered arguments and harsh lectures recieved throughout their history when cas would strike out alone. the where the hell were yous and you can't just go dark like thats, speaking in 'we' and 'us' disguises. it was there and he never saw it. castiel does what he knows now he was made for, in spite of the story chuck tried to write them. ]
Never again. [ he murmurs against Dean's cheek, feeling the curve of ribs under his hand and tension strung tight through Dean's shoulders as he wraps him up into his chest. he sighs out a surrender, dropping himself into the unknown waters of true happiness they weren't supposed to have. cas listens to the thrum of blood in dean's veins and frantic pulse of a heart he loves so dearly he'd give the world for it. the weight of dean in his arms, the delicate, rasped fury of his voice rumbling a wave of sound over his skin, feels right. puzzle pieces connecting, his ragged edges softening against a second half he's utterly incomplete without.
the force of emotion, made foreign in that alternate future, shakes cas, uncontrolled in a manner astonishingly human. his true form flickers and flashes a hazy aura of white light around them, wings taking spectral form folding in to hold them in a protective, warm, silent cocoon. there's an intimacy to the brush of his being against dean's soul that far outpaces the physical. ]
You and I, [ voice a low, secret rumble between them, ] We belong here. Together.
[ fingertips card, adoring, possessive, through dean's hair at the nape of his neck. ]
You're my home, Dean. I will always, always, find my way to your side.
i think we can maybe call this one wrapped?? unless u have anything more!!
He remembers sitting in the bunker, in the vacancy. In the empty space Cas left behind. How that moment stretched, and stretched, and stretched, and how he lingered in it. How he never wanted to leave it. How he wanted to drown in it, how part of him wanted to end there, too. To just stop, to never move on.
The hand print on his jacket.
The cruel stab of hope when Cas's name showed up on his Caller ID. The cruel stab of hope when Bobby said his name, in heaven. The cruel stab of hope every century in that alternate universe.
The emptiness that swiftly followed behind each of those moments.
We belong here, together.
He presses his forehead to Castiel's.
And they stay there. For a long time. In this moment, this new moment, this better moment — not of something lost, but of something gained. They stay here longer than he was allowed to stay in the bunker. Just... standing, and breathing, and being, and holding on to one another.
And it's enough for him to at least begin to consider that maybe this is something he gets to have, for as long as the both of them can manage to stay alive here. This is their second chance, and god damn but they're not going to waste it this time. )