perfectantidote | IC Inbox for deerington

[Skye really shouldn’t be up and walking right now, but there’s no way she could get rest without telling Dean’s roommate what happened. They never really delved into either of their personal lives, but Dean had mentioned that someone back from his home was staying at his house.

Banged up from the car accident and eyes raw and red from crying, Skye knocks on the front door of the run down home. Hopefully they were home because she has no idea how to reach them otherwise, and leaving a note just seems too impersonal.]

[ There's a knock on the door, and for the longest time, Cas can only squint into the darkness thinking... 'why'.

Dean doesn't knock. It's his house.

Castiel could certainly just drop in if he cared to.

Cas sure isn't capable of making friends and therefore doesn't expect anyone to show up. Well, plus, he's more used to not having a door to begin with.

Does this mean Dean's made friends?

huh.

He makes his way to the door, blue eyes glassy. He's wearing frayed jeans and some bandages around his torso, covering wounds and stitches he carried over from his death back home that are still healing, but nothing else. His feet are bare, and make little noise as he pads to the front door. There is a gun in his hand, because he has the distinct impression that Dean's gonna be really pissed if Cas manages to get himself killed by opening the door to some monster without a means of defense.

Do the monsters here knock? Well, no time like the present to find out.

Already forgetting about the existence of peepholes, Cas opens the door to... find a small distressed woman.

Huh... well, this is Dean's house, so that checks out. He blinks, slowly. She looks young for Dean, but then, who is he to judge. He's several billions of years older than anyone he chooses to sleep with.

Cas' lips twitch up into a humourless smile. ]

Ah... you, uh. He's not here. Dean, that is.

Edited 2020-10-19 21:40 (UTC)

[As if Skye wasn't already a wreck, his words are like a punch to the gut. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but she doesn't even know where to begin. If it weren't for the fact that she's been sobbing for hours, she probably would be crying again right now.]

That's why I'm here. Dean, he--

[She knows she has to tell him, but she really wishes she didn't have to. Just because he would be back in a week didn't make this hurt any less.]

He died.

[She breaks eye contact with him as soon as the words escape her and looks to the ground instead. She can't handle seeing the look on his face right now.]

[ Cas knows what falling feels like, in more ways than one.

He's fallen from grace, a freefall plummet towards the muck and dirt of mortality. He's fallen out of favour and fallen into debauchery, falling from the high of painkillers and alcohol, fallen from the easy floating that he grasps for in sexual relations. Fallen on his face, too, breaking bones and scraping skin.

Cas knows what falling feels like.

His tilts his head back slightly, stares into the middle distance. Understands now that the flood of bodies was merely a fucked up joke, a portent, a warning he willfully ignored.

His gaze drops. Toes curl against the hardwood floor. Eyes wide open and burning. He's tired. He's so tired. There isn't sensation enough to tether him anymore, and he doesn't understand anything in the flood that drowns out everything else.

Cas knows what falling feels like.

And now he knows what it's like to hit the ground.

There's nothing in him but the sensation of a long drop and sudden stop, the noose of freedom and rebellion drawing taut and snapping something in him.

Nothing works, for a moment, his thoughts, his breathing, his heart, they all just come to a stop.

Please, no.

He doesn't say it.

Please take it back.

He doesn't say it.

Dean...

He didn't even feel it. ]

I have wine.

[ Because all that's left to do, for now, is wash his own corpse down the drain. ]

[Out of all of the reactions she's prepared to see, that--

That wasn't it.

Skye looks back up at him, eyes still very swollen from crying.]

What?

[He heard what she said, right?]

[ He doesn't meet her eyes - not really. Oh, his eyes come back up and skim over her vaguely, but he doesn't look like he really registers her. ]

I'm, uh...

[ It wasn't supposed to be like this. Cas was supposed to die, letting Dean outlive him and take his shot.

All of this is backwards. ]

I... don't know how... hm.

[ He makes a vague gesture at himself. ]

I'll... drink. Now. Because he's... [ please no, nonono ] ... gone. You... can drink or not, I don't really, uh... care. But. You're gonna tell me. About... [ nonono ] it.

[People deal with bad news in different ways, and Skye is the last person to judge about how chooses to handle it. But when he invites her in so she can tell him about it, she's not sure what to say.

She's been replaying the whole thing in her mind since it happened. Thinking about how maybe there was some way she could've changed things. Maybe she could've saved him. If she only reacted faster. If she didn't let him drive.

None of it changes what's actually happened though. He's dead and the guilt she feels is eating away at her.]

I don't know if that's--

[It was gruesome and she really doesn't want to relay the details to him.]

He'll be back.

[She should probably tell him that now.]

People don't stay dead here.

[It's the only thing she knows that's keeping her from going over the edge, and even then she's struggling.]

[ They don't. And yet... And yet... ]

I know.

[ Cas drags a hand down his face, fingers shaking.

He's not supposed to outlive Dean, even momentarily.

That's not what he signed up for.

Cas puts a hand on the doorframe, flexes his fingers against the rough wood. Tries to focus on the scent of incense in the air, and can't quite... quite pull his head together into something resembling proper thought.

He's not sure if he feels too much or too little. Feels wiped out in ways he can't quite put into words to parse for himself.

Cas steps back from the door. ]

You, uh... no offense. You look like shit...

[ There's no tease in his voice, no hostility. Much as he wishes shooting the messenger solved anything...

At least he knows, this way.

He doesn't wanna know. He needs to know. ]

I can, uh... [ He gestures at her. ] Dean's got supplies. I can... fix you up. A bit. But, uhm... you're gonna have to tell me... something. Shit.

[ His voice is rough, he squints, shifts. There's discomfort in his body language, and his face is blank in the way of someone trying desperately to process. He's a car crash in slow motion. ]

[She'd be offended if it weren't for the fact that it's true. She looks as terrible as she feels, and it's probably a good thing he can't see the rest of her body right now.]

No, it's okay. I--

Someone's already patched me up.

[She couldn't care less about how her body aches right now. All she can think about is how she should've done something different. Dean should be here. Deciding that he deserves the right to know at least how it happened, Skye lets out a painful sigh.]

I'll tell you what happened, but I don't--

[She really doesn't want to go into detail.]

I don't know if going into detail is a good idea.

[ Cas will be the judge of that. Dean is his... leader. Former friend. Somewhat ally. His to anger, his to vex, his to fail, his to disappoint.

She mourns him, and Cas isn't sure what to do with the hot surge of something over the fact that Dean keeps leaving, keeps doing things Cas isn't partial to, and gets himself killed, and then a stranger shows up on his door step to tell Cas that Dean died. A stranger who knows about him, whom he doesn't know.

Kept in the dark.

Left in the dark. ]

"Dean is dead" is not... not nearly a complete enough, uhm... it's not enough.

[ How, where, why, when, what's gonna happen now, how is this gonna shake out, what does he do, how does he keep breathing, why wasn't he there to help or throw himself between Dean and whatever went down? ]

I know.

[Skye drops his gaze and that's when she notices the gun in his hand. She can't even blame him for being cautious, but it does make her tense up.]

Can I come in?

[She doesn't think he'll use it on her, but she's definitely making him aware that she knows he's holding a weapon.]

[ Cas follows her gaze, small puff of breath falling from his lips. Right. The gun. He rolls a bony shoulder, not terribly apologetic. ]

Yeah, sure.

[ And it's bizarre. Letting someone into Dean's space who knows Dean but whom Cas doesn't even have a clue about. Dean's got a life here.

When he's not dead.

Cas almost wants to laugh. He doesn't. Instead he leads Skye inside, keeping the gun but holstering it. The house isn't... much. It doesn't look lived in except for the candles and incense. The stairs leading up to the second floor look newer than the rest of the house, as if someone put in work. It's dark.

Cas is about to lead her into the living room - with the stained glass window of Dean torturing souls in Hell. He... doesn't. Pivots at the last moment and nods towards a different hallway before moving there.

The house doesn't look lived in. It looks like a squatter's house.

Cas grabs a bottle of wine and puts it on the table. He doesn't offer Dean's whiskey. ]

So...

[Following him inside, Skye stays behind him as he leads the way. The interior of the house is honestly what she expected if the outside was anything to go off of. Taking a seat in one of the chairs, Skye watched as he placed the bottle of wine on the rickety table. It seems out of place, all things considered.

Looking up at him, Skye played with the rings on her hand. Not knowing where to start.]

He’ll be back in 7 days. I know he shouldn’t be gone at all, but—-

[Even if she’s too exhausted to cry, it doesn’t stop the knot from forming in her throat again.]

[ Frankly, he wouldn't have bothered with the wine, would have dismissed it as just another trick this place pulls. He's already been lured in by blood, by straying too far outside in the dead of whatever constitutes night to really. He assumed the wine was a trick of this place, too, until he saw the white haired lady of blasphemy and little religious understanding on the network.

Now, the stuff could still be laced with something and not to be trusted, but Cas has lost the will to care and be careful. ]

Where's the body?

[ Cas' mind is skipping to a Hunter's funeral, but he doesn't know if the body needs to be preserved, if something needs to be done with it. Dean's been... vague at best in sharing details about this place, and Cas doesn't know if Dean doesn't know, or if he assumes Cas doesn't have to.

Now he has to. Life's a bitch like that. ]

[Skye looks down at her hands, only briefly looking up at him to reply.]

Gone. I don't know how it works, but, he just disappeared.

[And that alone was pretty traumatizing to witness. Is that what Bucky saw happen to her almost a year ago?]

But there's--

It's weird.

[How does she explain it without having it sound as awful as it is?]

It's like a projection. Of the last few seconds before he--

[It was like a punch to the gut anytime she thought about it.]

[ This place has a sick sense of humour. A... what? Projection, a ghost, of Dean's death? Wonderful.

Well, Cas needed something to do with his, uh... afternoon... day? night? Whatever. Nothing matters. He is so tired he feels like his own mind has been projected out of his skull. The upside is he's so light headed he barely needs painkillers to make the edges of his mind pleasantly fuzzy and numb the pain away.

Well. Except now... this.

Cas takes a long, deep swig from the bottle of wine - offers it to the girl after a moment, even though he's still not quite looking at her, more at the tabletop. ]

So. What happened?

[ Because Dean is... capable. Reckless, but not stupid, until he is. But like all of them, Dean's also been incredibly tired...

Cas steels himself. Does he want to hear it? No. Does he need to? Yeah. Because whether she tells him or not, he'll hunt down that projection and bear witness. ]

[Skye wasn't a huge fan of wine, but right now she didn't care what it was. Taking a swig from it, she winces at the taste before handing it back to him.]

Dean was gunning it back into town when one of those giant zombie dogs ran into his car. We crashed, I got out first and it came after me.

[Actually, she'll take that wine back from him for a second. Yep, still tastes just as awful as before, but maybe it will help.]

He died because he turned its attention onto him. He managed to take it with him at least.

[Skye takes one more long swig from the bottle of wine before handing it back to him again. She passes a glance in his direction before her focus too turns to the table.]

[ She might be surprised, when she looks over, to find a brief moment in which he meets her eyes. There's something deeply haunted there, something that doesn't translate to his features, as if manipulating the muscles of his face into a reflection of what's going on behind those too blue eyes is something he tries to mimic but that still doesn't quite come naturally.

That gaze only holds for a moment before he drops it to the table again. Something dark, bitter and ugly claws at his chest, makes breathing hard, and for a moment he's silent, just stares at the bottle.

So, he died for you.

Cas doesn't say it. He's become a cruel and twisted thing with a dark and blackened heart, who knows only how to weaponize emotion, not how to properly heal himself or others anymore. But he doesn't need to say it. They both know it.

She must be worth a lot, for Dean to throw himself away for her. And Cas remembers being sent to this death, a calculated plan that had no regard for his existence or lack thereof beyond being cannon fodder. Remembers, too, Dean kneeling in front of him, suturing a wound left behind by that very act, tears in his eyes. Remembers, too, Dean's refusal to share anything about the dangers out there, lest Cas leave and get himself killed.

It's too complicated.

Cas doesn't understand, just feels the way all of it hurts. ]

Yeah... Dean's good like that.

[ Used to be. And Cas... stopped believing he still was.

And now it's all ash and ruins, and Dean rising from it. Right back to self-sacrifice over sacrificing others. Cas is no longer sure which version he prefers to handle.

He drinks, too, long and deep. Doesn't care for the taste, or the pleasure of drinking. Just wants the end result. Drunk, numb, gone. There's not enough wine in the world to scrub any of this away. ]

You got a location for me? Where it happened?

I didn't want him to. It happened so fast I didn't have time to--

[Skye looks up towards the ceiling, attempting to keep an eye tears from coming out.]

Not that far from here. On route 7 near the fire station.

[She had to pass it to get here, but she made an effort not to look.]

[ Oh, he believes her. Doesn't blame her... not really. Though truth be told he wishes he could. Wishes he could tell her to fuck off and never show her face again for getting his only person killed. Except... that's not quite what happened.

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose, then sits up a little. Puts his hands on the table, lets himself feel the roughened wood. His knuckles are white, he's curled his fingers in so tight. It's not anger, though. His profile, dimly illuminated by candles, is just... drawn. Cheeck bones a little too prominent, eyes a little too hollow. ]

Thank you.

[ For telling him. For coming here, when she's clearly not in a good state physically or mentally. Does he feel like he'd be owed the information? Absolutely. But then, outside of Dean, not many people know he exists in this place - or that they're...

They're...

Acquainted.

Cas presses his lips together briefly, and then glances over at her. ]

Did... everything on his body vanish with him?

[ If Dean loses the Colt, that's... shit news all around, truth be told. ]

Mostly, except for his gun.

[Skye watches him process everything she's told him. He wanted this, and yet she feels guilty all the same. Now he has a very detailed description of how it went down.]

I didn't think to bring it, I have it at home.

[ At that, his eyes flick to hers, a little sharper than the previously vacant look in his eyes. ]

Yeah, I'll, uh. I'll take that back for him.

[ The Colt is... well. Despite everything Dean's learned and told Cas about how useless it ends up being... the Colt is still important, and much too dangerous to be left in just anyone's hands.

Cas doesn't know her, or her relation to Dean, and while he has gratitude for her divulging what he didn't want to hear but needed to... it doesn't mean it sits right with him to leave the Colt of all things in her possession.

Cas licks his dry lips. ]

Uhm... trade you for a bottle of wine?

[Skye figures if Dean trusts him enough to be living with him, that he wouldn't have an issue with her giving him the gun.]

That's not necessary, and besides, that stuff is awful.

[And yet she's beginning to feel warm. It certainly doesn't help that she hasn't gotten a whole lot of sleep this month.]

I just need to get it from home.

[Speaking of, she's probably ruined his evening enough.]

I can bring it here tomorrow?

It is.

[ And yet he says it even as he raises the bottle back up. Down the hatch with it. What else is there to do - well. Plenty.

But he can't - not yet.

Tomorrow.

It means she'll be back, and it means he needs to be... well. Fucked up, but not to incoherence. Damnit. ]

Sounds like a date.

[ And he says it with the air of someone used to quipping it, like someone used to tossing his words out with an air of carefully curated ease.

Not so much right now. There's something heavy about it, about him.

Cas looks at her then, though, and nods a little more earnestly. ]

You, uhm. If you have... If you need... [ What? Comfort? Company? To not be alone and untethered and broken and unable to connect in meaningful ways? ] ... things. You can... y'know.

[ Since Dean knows her. Least Cas can do is not be a complete monster to her, even if there's little he has left to give in ways of care. ]

Thanks.

[She smiles a closed mouth smile that doesn't reach her eyes. She wasn't good at opening up to other people to begin with, the fact that she feels responsible for this makes her even less willing. Standing up took some effort, but she manages to with the support of the rickety chair she had been sitting on.]

Same goes for you. If you need anything, doesn't matter what time of day, call me.

[Skye realizes now, throughout this whole interaction, she has no idea what his name is.]

I'm Skye, by the way. Probably should've said that before I unloaded all of this on you.

IC Inbox for deerington

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cw: mentions of sex, substance abuse, hangings

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