[10: video]
[OOC: So it's been forever since I posted! Please forgive me, everyone! Here is an attempt at getting Cas a little out of his box: I know he doesn't talk to many people, but it feels unlike him to be a meddlesome sort and randomly tag people, so this is me trying to get him to open up a bit. My absence has made me very much miss the usual few
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Trudging up to the roof - because even though he hates heights ohGod, it's the best place to watch the stars - Dean stops when he sees Castiel on the eave above the rooftop patio. He listens, quietly, as the angel speaks towards his comm unit...
...and then pads closer, looking up at the shingled slope. Even from here, it makes him dizzy.
"We got each other," he offers in the silence, fists planted on his hips.
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He looks away again, toward the horizon, if there is one. His voice when he goes on is even; he's not being over-dramatic. "It probably would have broken my mind."
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Dean glances to one side, grabbing a patio chair and dragging it closer before settling back on it. He checks his watch. It's 2:37 AM. Clearing his throat, he sits in the silence for another minute or so.
"Listen, Cas...you know my feelings on God and all that jazz-"
Dean will probably think even less of Him after he goes to Hell.
"-but have you even seen the guy?"
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"No."
Hastily, almost defensively, he adds, "I have never doubted His existence. I have had my orders and my brothers, and I know none of us, not even the archangels, have the power to create worlds. So I know there is Someone beyond us."
That's not really what this is about, though, at least not with Dean.
"Who am I, Dean? If you disappeared back to our world tomorrow, what would my purpose be?"
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"You're Cas," he says simply, with a half-shrug. "You're an angel of the Lord. You got a dad who doesn't keep in touch, and you got free will. Me?" Dean rubs the back of his neck, head lolling to one side. "I'm not your purpose. I'm just a guy who can't catch a break no matter what dimension he's in. Cas."
Dean stares at him pointedly, "You're your own man, now. You gotta take charge."
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"So I'm just me," he muses. "I suppose I must find out who that is." And perhaps that's what God wants of him.
He's quiet then a for a long time, long enough that by the time he speaks again, the stars have shifted in the sky. When he breaks the silence, he's not sure whether Dean will be gone or asleep in the chair.
"I... would like something to take care of, I think. Some small creature, perhaps. Yes." He smiles with the strange new feeling of deciding something for himself.
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Dean is asleep, curled up in the patio chair, because it's now 2:49 AM and he'd only gone to bed about two hours ago.
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"Hrngmmmhmph," he mumbles eloquently, twitching a little and startling himself back into wakefulness. Dean groans, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
"Totally," he agrees, and then wrinkles his nose. "...what were we talking about again?"
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Yes. The best faces.
As gracefully as possible, which isn't very, Cas clambers down from the roof. He just hopes there wasn't anyone trying to sleep in a room immediately below. He walks to Dean, crouching down when he gets close.
"I believe you were saying that we have each other," he remarks, voice low and meaningful.
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Stretching and groaning as a few of his vertebrae pop, he rolls over and straightens up in the chair. Leaning heavily on one of the armrests, Dean sports a lazy grin and cranes in to brush their lips together, mumbling,
"Couldn't sleep earlier. Came out t'see the stars."
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"Why couldn't you sleep?"
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Dean feels around for the lapel of Castiel's trench coat, clinging to the worn fabric.
"Can't be that bad," he mutters. "Anyway, doesn't matter, I need a...bigger chair."
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He lets himself be pulled down a bit by his lapel, but not far. "Mmmm," he breathes, "I disagree. You need a bed." He offers an arm up. "Come, let's go."
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"That thing," he flails at it with one hand, slowly getting to his feet. "I want on it. Help me get there, Casanova."
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In retaliation, Cas reaches down and unceremoniously scoops Dean up in his arms, and carries him bodily to the indicated piece of furniture. Upon which he sets him down, quite gently in contrast to his seeming brusqueness. He is in fact trying not to laugh.
"Who is this Casanova?" he asks, climbing over Dean and bracketing his body with his legs. "I do approve of the first part of his name."
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Dean takes in everything from his new vantage point, surprised at how easy that was. He's left with a view of the sky and a scruffy angel hanging over him, expression contemplative.
"Some Italian dude, he was really good with women," Dean states idly, line of vision past Cas' shoulder and up at the stars. Quirking another crooked smile, he makes eye contact with Castiel once more and folds his arms behind his head leisurely. This patio bed is the best thing ever.
Eyelid drooping, touched by fatigue but not drowned in it, he simply gazes for a minute. The great thing about Cas is that silences aren't awkward. The all-knowing, penetrating stares, however, can be.
After about two minutes, Dean looks away, swallowing hard. He's still self-conscious, and the scars are still reminders of how utterly stupid he is.
"...stop looking at me like that."
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