Sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀɢᴏ → ( ᴏᴘᴇɴ )

[righteously]

WHO: Dean Winchester
WHAT: catch-all with open prompts; the mark of cain is beginning to take a toll on Dean, resulting in some violent altercations and moodiness. also included: a quick trip to the naked werewolf baths.
WHEN: november-december
WHERE: cadens, nocwich, horizon
WARNING: alcoholism, corruption, violence, brutality, suicidal ideation, nudity

Tʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴀ ᴄᴀʟᴍ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴏʀᴍ
I ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ɪᴛ's ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴ' ғᴏʀ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ

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[righteously]

( Another tense beat passes. A sigh breaks it, and only then does he finally fully round to face Sam head-on. Eyes flicker from him back toward the direction of the gate — not that there's anything to see there anymore, the guys who could still walk scattered, dragging their unconscious mates along with them. The dust has swallowed the blood spatter by now, even. Nothing but the ghost of a fight, but Dean glances at the ghost of it anyway, like it might tell on him. )

I got jumped. By those douchebags from the other night. I handled it.

( Which is, at its very core, the truth — and yet it still somehow feels dishonest to a small, deep part of him. That inherently good moral compass that judges himself relentlessly calls himself a liar, if only because he's being withholding.

Got jumped doesn't feel like a fair descriptor for how that fight ended. It doesn't paint a clear enough picture of when the gauge started to turn from right to wrong, and which side of it he was on.

He feels guilty about not feeling guilty enough. He feels defensive because he knows he should feel worse about it, but he doesn't. He knows, deep down, there's something wrong with him, because he imagines he can see the whole thing through Sam's eyes, and he doesn't like what his imagination is telling him. )

[falcony]

[ sam can only pick up what he's seeing before him - the tension coursing through dean, the feeling of a dam creaking and moaning under an invisible pressure. sam refuses to budge, a kind of inherent stubbornness that has served him well over the years, as he waits for dean to make the first move.

and he does - turning and facing sam fully, though his attention moves towards the gate for the briefest moment. sam steals a glance in that direction too, though he knows he won't find anything when he looks. it's the stillness of the after, the knowledge that something happened there, and it wasn't necessarily good.

he brings his eyes back to dean, waiting for an answer that he knows won't be enough. ]

Handled it how?

[ because he has to ask - it's not accusing, not exactly, but there is some amount of disbelief in the question.

except that is when sam sees it - a flash across dean's eyes that he may or may not have been intending to hide. it catches sam off-guard, that brief moment of honesty, and for another second or so he's not quite sure why it trips him up as much it does, why it feels a bit like it takes the knees out from under him.

but then he realizes it - the guilt he sees there, hidden somewhere under the depths of acceptance, of knowing what he's already done and the choices he's made. the fact that it can't be pushed too far up to the surface, because what good would it do after everything? sam blinks, and for a single breath, he sees bucky. and then it's dean again, shoulders tight and fists clenched and sam has that feeling like he knows what happened.

which is why he exhales, shakes his head, pushes out his own stubborn tension that had riled up in response to dean's. when his eyes meet the other man again, the look is less accusatory, which really only leaves the concern. ] Actually, I don't want to know. [ a beat, just long enough for sam to make a decision and shake his head. ] You coming back to Mag's?

[righteously]

( Actually, I don't want to know; it catches him off-guard. Leaves him suspended there for a moment, torn between relief and the knee-jerk desire to explain anyway. To correct an assumption he thinks Sam might be making, an urgent need to say they're not dead.

He's not sure if Sam would believe him. Maybe that's what stops him. Or maybe Sam isn't assuming the worst from him the way Dean thinks.

Maybe he's happier not knowing one way or the other. Not having that damning confirmation.

His shoulders slump. Something gives. That tense resignation, that tightly wound string, snaps and leaves only exhaustion behind. )

Yeah. Yeah, I just wanna... clean off first. Don't wanna track blood all over her floors.

( What he means is, he doesn't want to cause a scene. He doesn't want more wary eyes like Sam's tracking him on his way in. )

[falcony]

[ dean always could offer that fact up, to reassure that they aren't dead, no matter what the feeling of the space might be. but truthfully, sam is making a choice here - not to ask, to trust the man he knows, no matter what his gut might be telling him.

he's unsure, yes, and that probably reads clear in his body language. but he doesn't ask, he won't ask, because dean does deserve sam's trust here. why? well, call it a feeling. a feeling like he's been in this place before, that he knows where it goes, and that it's on him to choose to face it.

for the span of a breath, sam wonders if dean will answer him anyway. but then the breath is over, and something in dean snaps. breaks. and behind is...what, exactly? sam's not sure, but it does hold sam's attention, something that he thinks maybe shouldn't be left alone. not that it's dangerous, not like the tension in the air before, but... ]

'course. You need help? [ it is a good thing that dean wants to clean off, a good thing that he's aware of how it is he looks and how it comes across. sam latches onto those good things. ] I was just gonna go grab a drink, so... [ sam shrugs, casual. friendly, despite the lingering shadow of what he'd originally walked in on. ] I got nowhere to be.

[righteously]

( He contemplates the offer for a sparse few seconds, and then nods — more at the ground than at Sam. )

Yeah. Sure.

( He's not really accepting for himself. He neither needs nor deserves help, he knows, but something in his gut says it'll make things somehow... better, if he just lets it happen. That it'll make Sam feel better, that it'll smooth out this otherwise fractured interaction if he rolls over and accepts the offer.

And, of course, there's always that little part of him deep down that just selfishly, childishly, doesn't actually want to be alone. )

Thanks.

im good to fade to black here if you'd like! UNLESS you had more fun stuff planned c:

[falcony]

[ he's not wrong - the fact that he does accept the help makes things better. makes things for sam better. it gives him something to latch onto, a feeling like maybe (maybe) there is something in this that he can help with.

so dean says yeah. sure. and sam doesn't exhale, exactly, but there does seem to be a softening somewhere in his spine. something that fully relaxes when dean offers the thanks. it's enough that sam's able to give a small smile, a shrug of his shoulders. ] 'course, man. Let's get outta here.

[ nevermind that sam doesn't really want dean out of his sight, nevermind that in a way this is more selfish than it is helpful, but dean doesn't push back and sam counts it as a win. ]