748. it's always darkest before dawn
HURT & COMFORT RP [EXPANDED 2.0]
Hurt/Comfort - Hurt/comfort is a fan fiction genre that involves the physical pain or emotional distress of one character, who is cared for by another character. The injury, sickness or other kind of hurt allows an exploration of the characters and their relationship.
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Shit. He's pretty sure he's crazy about his roommate. It was alright at first, this 'hey, I'd fuck him in the back of the Impala' feeling that was more physical attraction than anything. And then it progressed into, 'hey, I can tell this guy about my past because he's slowly turning into my best friend'. Which would have been fine, awesome, in fact, if it negated that first feeling.
But still, the two were tolerable.
Until they weren't.
He's not used to... like... wanting. And it's freaking terrifying. It's getting harder to live with, because he's got to physically stop himself from doing something stupid, something that'll fuck up this whole thing. And even that he wouldn't really mind ( ... )
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Denying the way that he's beaten off imagining Dean's mouth on more than one occasion. And that's not even beginning to touch the other, less physical things he tries to tell himself aren't really there. If it were just the physical, he could deal; hell, if it were purely physical he'd probably have done something about it by now. He's no prude, not anymore, and has absolutely no qualms about seeking pleasure, especially from someone as beautiful as Dean.
No, if it were only physical, he'd hit that like the fist of an angry god. Twice.
But it's... Decidedly not. It's gone past the point of constantly occasionally checking him out when he's not looking and wondering what those broad shoulders would feel like under his fingers, and has careened into things like 'hmm we're out ( ... )
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Son of a bitch. It was worse than he thought. What the hell is he going to do? Could he move out, ditch out on him? He thinks probably not- just like he wouldn't ditch out on Sam if he had the choice. That's just not... that's not supposed to happen. At all, ever. He doesn't do that.
And it scares the shit out of him.
Hell, if he could read minds, half of the annoying girly thought processes running through there at any given moment might just make him laugh himself into a hernia. Just little inclusive moments where he doesn't really consider doing anything alone anymore. And Cas is usually tacked on right after it. And that's just... Shit, man. He's got ( ... )
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A bell? What is he, a dog? He makes a face as he peers out into the dark.]
Yeah, I'll get right on that, Mr. Night Stalker. What're you doing out here?
[It's three AM, and also pretty damn cold. Cold enough that he wishes he'd grabbed a jacket. Or hey, maybe even just a shirt would have been good. It's too late now, though, and so he guesses he'll just tough it out. Stepping out of the window and onto the fire escape, and totally oblivious to the very serious thinking he's intruding on, he winces at the cold metal under his feet. Shoes, next time he thinks they're being robbed in the middle of the night he's gonna be sure to wear some shoes.
He runs a hand through his already-mussed hair and blinks out into the lights of the town, and he has to admit, it's a decent view.
If he were having a crisis, which he definitely isn't, this would be a pretty good place to go to try and puzzle it out ( ... )
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But that's a good attitude to have. Nobody steals their dog. Bitches will be choked at the attempt. Survivors will be choked a second time. Times like this, he wishes he'd have kept his Dad's guns somewhere other than storage.
Alright, Dean, quick, come up with a plausible excuse. Why would you be on a fire escape platform at three in the morning, without sounding crazy and/or revealing the fact that you're in mumblemumble?]
...Oh, I was just. Pfft. Ah.
[Yes. Nice one. That'll probably do. He waves a hand.]
Thinking. Just thinking.
[Shirtless shoeless psychic bastard's going to see right through him, and he doesn't even have a convenient cover story. And there's no way in hell he's falling ( ... )
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It's dark, and Cas's vision isn't the best, and so he can't see the expression on Dean's face that would probably be a dead giveaway that he's trying to come up with a plausible story. To Cas it just looks like Dean's distracted, or maybe that he's frozen to death or something.
There's a bunch of stuttering, which, okay, weird, but he doesn't press, only raises an eyebrow and waits for an actual response.
Thinking. Okay, thinking he can buy. He watches Dean tug and poke at his hoodie strings, and is about to ask if he wants to talk about it- not that he really thinks Dean will go for that, but he always offers anyway- when he's (successfully, if it'd been Dean's intention) distracted by the admonishment about his half-dressed state. He makes a face, though he's sure Dean can't see it in the dark.]
You would if you ever wanted to hear the end of my whining.
[Cas exemplifies the Man Cold. He's the person 'Man Cold' was coined for. It really ( ... )
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Move out- Shut up, voice in his head. Reasonable, sensible voice. If it were anybody else coming up to him, asking him for advice on the situation, that would be his solution. Move out, get away from it, stop subjecting yourself to something that's never gonna happen, you're just going to stretch it out and make it worse, and then it'll hurt in the end when it all comes crashing down. People spend years flopping around over other people. Dean is not one of those people.
He just... happens to be very bad at letting people go. That doesn't mean it's the same thing.]
Touche.
[The look he shoots Cas at the question can't even really be put into words- Are you seriously asking me if I, Dean Winchester, want a cup of tea? He decides to let the look do all ( ... )
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Suit yourself.
[He steps back inside, padding as silently as possible over to the kitchen to turn the water on. Turn your nose up all you want, Dean. Tea is amazing.
He turns the coffee pot on, too, because he's awesome like that and is pretty sure Dean's gonna need to up his intake at least threefold to survive the day; there's nothing shittier than being exhausted at work.
Shivering slightly, he decides that now is probably a good time to get a shirt or a hoodie or a maybe even snowsuit. Meandering back into his room- quietly, so that he doesn't wake the sleeping ball of energized death curled up on the couch- he digs up one of his thickest shirts and a sweater best described as a drug rug; from Mexico- he's really into the whole authenticity thing. He also tugs on a pair of fluffy woven socks-- grandma image be damned, it's fucking cold. Satisfied that that the threat of freezing to death has now been dealt with, he makes his way back into the kitchen, ( ... )
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He knows that's not the case. Hell, he probably knew when he brought Colt home- he hasn't been making a friendship, he's been making a family. He's been bedding down, setting up ties, staking his claim. Roping Cas in with more and more connections in the hopes that he wouldn't be able to disentangle himself. A dog- a mutual dog- a puppy. God, if he moves out, who gets the dog? Cas loves that dog. He loves that dog. Stupid fucking god damn dog.
And then, god bless him, Cas comes back out wearing the ugliest fucking sweater he's ever seen, in those ugly fucking socks, with tousled hair and a cup of coffee, and Dean just ( ... )
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He's about to comment on the view, just to cut the tense silence that he's only just noticing, but then Dean saves him the trouble while simultaneously causing his stomach to drop to somewhere around his knees.
Did he hear that right? Because he thinks Dean's just said I think I should move out, but that can't be right, it just-- What.]
What? Why?
[He has to have heard him wrong. Everything's been going so well, they get along, neither of them has burned the place down yet, as far as he know the rent's covered... They have a puppy for fuck's sake.
This is so far out of left field he actually can't form a coherent thought past What?He can't look Dean in the eye, either, and so he stares at his tea, watches the steam rise and disappear into the air that feels ( ... )
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And, shit, he doesn't have an excuse prepared just like he didn't have one for why he was sitting out on the fire escape. He's usually a pretty good liar, but not with Cas- has he lied to Cas? Not really. Not in a long time. Though- well, kind of every day was a lie, considering his feelings, but nothing so pointed as this?
What could he even say that would compare to being in love? What is a comparable move-out worthy reason? And he's not going to pin this on Cas- that's just not even- feelings or no, Cas is his friend, and, frankly, the best roommate he's ever had. He doesn't deserve some lame excuse, some bullshit answer made to pin the blame on him. Nope, this is all Dean ( ... )
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Cas was looking at him like he was fucking retarded, which only really served to make him feel even more fucking retarded. His heart beat fast and hard against his chest, hyper-aware and still somehow surreal in a way that only happened when he was freaking out. He kind of wanted to punch himself for it- it was only Cas, he was only losing Cas, it wasn't that imperative, it wasn't that big of a deal. Except that it was. Still, this was pathetic- if you don't calm down right this fucking second and stop looking so pitiful-
And then that gravelly voice cut in, with his name, with hesitancy, with I don't-. Yeah. He gets that. That's why he's moving out, isn't it? It wasn't like he expected a freaking ride on ( ... )
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Maybe Dean'd just written it off as that stoner staring thing he does sometimes when he's really baked. That has to be it, because damn, he'd thought it'd been pretty obvious.
That face is still there, and fuck if Cas doesn't want to lean forward, kiss that confusion away...
He doesn't, though, because talking should probably happen first. God, first, look at him go, just assuming things, assuming that because he'd thrown it out there it's all going to be smooth sailing from here on out... Right, because that's how his life goes ( ... )
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And Cas was... Cas. Despite his narcissistic tendencies, Dean's got one hell of an inferiority complex. Why anybody would love him is just... man, it's beyond him.
Except that Cas apparently does- holy fucking- are you- is this seriously happening? Is the universe punking him right now? Because if so, this isn't a fucking funny joke. If he gives in to this and it gets taken away from him in the next step like everything always does, he's going to have a serious bone to pick with the universe, because this is ( ... )
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