log; dean & cas WHO: Dean & Cas WHEN: August 7th, evening WHERE: Their room WHAT: A short, sweet log with some existential crisis and some fluff. Cas asks how to make friends. WARNING(S): None, unless you hate feelings.
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Things are… they're okay.
Nobody's dying (except Dean), nobody's miserable (except Dean), nobody's cursed (except Dean), and that works just fine as far as Dean's concerned. He gave up on thriving a long time ago and now he chooses to just appreciate the surviving. He and Cas are figuring stuff out, Sam's girlfriend moved in, even Charlie is flirting it up with someone.
In front of other people, Dean gets antsy if they get too close to calling him out for his relationship with Castiel. It's not so much a secret as just something he didn't tell anyone. It's personal, and Castiel goes along with it for his sake.
In private, it's much different. Dean's freer with affection, more than Cas is, and tonight he's dozed off in Cas's lap, snoring lightly with his face pressed against Cas's leg while Cas reads.
Castiel isn't picky about what he reads. He picks up the books that Dean takes out of the library, and he flips through them when Dean's done or not around. There's little else to do in his free time. He has no purpose beyond taking care of the animals, and while he's happy to not be responsible for the fate of Heaven and Earth, he does find that it frees up his schedule.
Then there's the matter of his grace.
Despite remembering getting it back, he's still effectively mortal. Only his memories were updated, not his physical state, and he still doesn't have his grace. Being human is an adjustment, and it's more than a little unsettling with the amount of upkeep. He's in a routine now, and it almost feels normal, but he's never going to get used to it when he's had millions of years living as an angel.
"I see why you like this book," he says flatly, turning a page.
"Mm?" Dean sleeps lightly and wakes as soon as he's addressed, lifting his head a little. With Kate having moved in, they spend more time in their room, so Dean is stretched out on the bed between Cas's legs, cradled between his knees. "Which book?"
"On the Road," says Cas, without looking up.
"Kerouac. Yeah, good shit." Dean rubs his eyes and does his best to stretch his limbs without getting uncomfortable or dislodging himself from where he's settled. "How long was I out? What time is it?"
Cas glances to the clock on the nightstand. "After ten. You've been dozing for almost an hour."
That Dean is tired is actually a good sign. When the Mark digs its claws into him, he barely sleeps, a feature that seems to only exist because it gives him more time to drink. In contrast, Dean hasn't had a drink since this morning and a day of work left him tired enough to nap.
He grunts and pushes himself up a little. "Shit. I didn't mean to be out that long."
"I've been alive since the dawn of mankind, Dean, an hour doesn't make a difference to me," he says gruffly, taking a moment to look at the back of the book and read the summary there. "If you're sleeping, you need it."
"Thanks, Cas, that was deep." Turning a little, Dean gently pushes the book away so he can lean in and press a kiss to Cas's mouth. Eventually he'd get comfortable enough to kiss him in public -- or, at least, where other people can see it -- but for now it's still only something he'll do behind closed doors. "Not all of us can be a billion years old."
"It gets tedious," Castiel admits, accepting the kiss. He's always a little late in returning it when Dean kisses him out of nowhere, like he's forgotten what to do in response. To some, Cas comes off as standoffish, as even a little bit cold when it comes to affection -- but those people just aren't used to him.
Dean's been around Cas long enough to know warmth when he sees it. That Cas isn't gushy or more emotional suits him just fine; he's more obvious when it matters. "What, being old?"
"Sometimes." Castiel really doesn't know another way to be. He doesn't know what it's like to be young, or to not exist, or to live a life that's only thirty, forty years. Sometimes he doesn't understand how his life could have changed so much in so short a time, and now that he's mortal, he's seeing the end of it.
"Too bad you look so damn young, we could've been getting the senior discounts at diners this whole time." Dean's always seemed to lean toward older men, but Cas makes that look… excessive. "So… not to be a nag, but how're you doing?"
Cas responds with little more than an inconvenienced sigh.
Dean frowns and takes the book out of Cas's hands to set it aside. "Cas."
"I miss my wings," he says. It means a lot more than that. He misses his grace, he misses his sense of self. He's upset that he remembers getting it back only to still be human. He's worried about Dean, he's worried about Sam, he's worried about what Crowley will do with Adina's grace. He's concerned Sam's girlfriend doesn't like him. He's concerned about the animals. He wonders how people make friends so easily. He wonders if the chickens are happy.
Dean sighs sympathetically before finally moving out of Cas's lap to sit at his side. "I know, buddy." Bracing a hand on the back of Cas's neck, he pulls him in so he can kiss his hair. "Being human's a bitch. I wish there was more we could do for you."
Cas looks thoughtfully down at his hands, letting Dean touch and kiss. He's quiet, sorting through his troubles and trying to find the one that feels the most relevant.
"How do you make friends?" he asks.
Dean's taken aback by the question and he goes quiet for a few seconds. It isn't something he can answer with a quip, not really.
"Well… just talk to people. You're pretty likable, they'll come around if you let them."
"What do you mean, if I let them." Cas had friends in Heaven. He'd had a group of friends, and all of them were dead now. He thought he knew how to relate to people, but he'd had millions of years to make those friendships, and now he's realizing he is … awkward, and strange.
"If you keep talking to them instead of ducking out. You keep to yourself, so it's hard to get to know you." There was only so often he could push Cas at people, and he sometimes worried that Cas was overshadowed when they were in groups together. Ultimately, Dean knew that Cas was more genuine and likable than he was.
Cas huffs. He gets irritable when he can't understand things, or when human interactions seem more complicated than they need to be. "I don't have anything in common with anyone."
Dean shrugs. "That's probably not true. You find things if you talk long enough, or you just find things you like, even if you don't share them. We don't have much in common, and we get along just fine."
"I pulled you from Hell. It's different." Cas can't explain how, but something about Dean is special. It always has been, and Cas just knows that he's a very bad angel because of Dean Winchester.
"Yeah, but that's not why we get along, that's just why we're stuck together." And it was always an odd thing to explain to people, which is part of why Dean usually doesn't bother.
"Why do we get along?" Cas asks.
"'Cause you're funny," Dean says with a bit of a smirk. "You give a shit. You're generally pretty good. And you're interesting."
Cas raises his eyebrows. "You think I'm funny?"
"I think you're fucking hilarious."
Cas starts to smile. He rarely ever grins, but he has a faint smirk that usually makes it clear that he's amused. It's almost like he's laughing. "I lied to you, when I told you Uriel was the funniest angel in the garrison."
"I figured. Uriel was a dickbag." A drama queen, too, if Dean is remembering right. He'd been genuinely sad to know that Uriel had kicked it when he wasn't there to see it happen.
"He was my friend," Cas says sternly, before giving in. "But … also a dickbag."
"Ain't we all, though." And that's the nicest thing you'll ever catch him saying about Uriel. "Just… be yourself. Everyone here is weird, there has to be someone who comes close to getting you, you know?"
Cas nods, but it's half hearted. He likes the people here, but he feels out of place -- even with Hannah. He's never had to sit and socialize with a group of people before, not to this extent, and he finds himself on the outside of a community looking in, wanting to assist but not knowing how to handle the day-to-day interactions that are so vital for human beings.
"Worse comes to worse, you've still got us," Dean adds, giving Cas a nudge. "And I'm endlessly entertaining. Lucky you."
Cas leans in, and he finally presses a soft, brief kiss to Dean's mouth. "I am lucky."
"Damn right." It's said with enough snark that he doesn't have to admit that he doesn't believe it himself. He nudges the underside of Cas's chin with his fist. "Don't stress over it. People will like you if you don't try too hard."
Honestly, Cas is listening, but he catches Dean's fist with his hand, stopping him so he can steal another kiss, a little more insistent.
It's rare that Cas takes initiative when it comes to physical affection, so by the time Dean catches on, he knows better than to waste it. He forgets the conversation to return the kiss, moving in a little closer. There's always a little desperation with him, even when he's trying to seem cool or in control; Dean's always been easy to emotionally manipulate with the promise of some affection, like he's making up for something that's missing.
Cas tugs Dean in by the front of his shirt. He doesn't need to move much, not when Dean makes up for it, and all he has to do is pull a little here, tug a little there, and he knows Dean will come follow. And right now, Cas just wants to kiss him, wants to express that he does feel lucky.
And he wants to tackle Dean down onto the mattress, so he does that, too.