[ Dean's not sure - he's guessing that somewhere out there are people that know what it is they're looking for. Really and truly know; haven't somehow gotten all fucked up in all the other crap. Someone has to at least, they cant all be floundering in the way Dean's always seen. But maybe that's just a dream, and idea of a life he never got to lead. Dean doesn't know.
Considering he's fairly sure the real problem is whether or not you deserve whatever it is you need. And in his case, he's not so sure he does. But that's always been the case, for his whole damn life, not just since the Apocalypse threw down on their world. He wasn't sure he deserved any of it years ago, but now? No even more so.
Rolling his eyes, Dean bumps back, putting his weight behind the gesture- fully aware that he's not always the best at keeping things toned down. But he can attempt it, at least. ]
Yeah, well- I gotta worry about something.
[ He's spent the past five years worrying relentlessly, he doesn't know how to stop. ]
[ maybe that's true, but cas doesn't think it's most people, thinks the majority of humans just stumble their way through life, trying to do their best, to achieve what they can, to live up to some sort of code. there are likely the privileged few with conviction enough to know exactly what it is they want, but in the end, human beings are so complex, there are so many moving parts..
well, he has to commend those that do really know what it is they want out of life, though he thinks perhaps that is a less colorful way to exist.
nevertheless, dean's not so far gone that he can't be a little playful, at least in his own begrudging way, and cas smiles again when he feels that rough nudge, then exhales hard and rattling, like he's dropping a weight. this conversation might not have been easy, still isn't settling right in his ears, but at least it's done, and he knows everything that he needs to know. ]
Or what? You gonna implode if you don't have something to fuss over, huh?
[ It's true, Dean isn't completely frozen solid, though at times he'd much prefer if everyone thought he was simply for his own benefit. It makes it easier on him to believe it just as much, to convince himself he's the big man on campus that doesn't have to feel. It's simpler that way, everything hurts less, and he wouldn't have to be sitting here steeping in a mess of his own emotions.
And yet here he is, doing just that. A thing he used to do by far more often.
But sometimes, Dean forgets just what a comfort Cas is. What a comfort he's always been, and has only grown to become even more so. Dean gets a little too dead behind the eyes some days, convinces himself a little too well that he doesn't need to feel and always ends up in the wrong place because of it. He can't help but curse himself for it now, hear the heaviness in Cas' breath and tell himself that he did this. He built these walls and he buried himself within them.
Which is why he feels the impetus just that much more loudly to do something about it, lifting a careful palm to Cas' shoulder, touch smoothing sideways. It's meant to be something of an apology, all the things Dean hasn't said yet, the things he probably missed, fucked up, and everything in between. ]
[ not that cas is really one to talk, worrier that he is, but he likes to think that there is a healthy medium, a sound place somewhere in the middle where one can worry enough to be effective while also not driving themselves (and their friends) out of their minds. dean lingers on things, cas knows it, he's always been that way, long before the apocalypse, likely long before cas even knew him, but there's a difference between holding loosely onto some regrets, and beating a dead horse until it's a bloody heap.
but he won't lecture dean. not really. never really would. he can only plant seeds and nurture them, hope they take root, and if they don't, he tries again.
for now, though, cas just yawns and stretches his arms out ahead of him until his spine gives a satisfying pop, before he's unfolding himself to rise up to his feet again, but not before smiling warm and patting dean's knuckles where they linger on his shoulder. ]
Anyway, I'm beat. I'll leave you to uh, settle in.
[ Dean has always been and will always be one to think something over until he's decimated it completely. And even then, he'll continue, worrying and mulling and regretting until there's nothing left, until all he's left with are the remnants of what he was so upset about to begin with. It's in his nature to find ways to blame himself, to take on the weight and the guilt, a well worn path that was constructed for him in his youth and he simply took on because what else was he supposed to do?
And all of this is no different. He's still regretful, still apologetic, still wondering why he feels like the world has ended despite how they're both right here.
But Dean finds himself self conscious in an instant as Cas begins to move about, feeling far too big for his own skin and quantifiably nervous. He finally pulls back his hand to plop his palms against his knees, staring off at nothing in particular for a moment before he nods and looks to Cas. ]
[ it's more than obvious to cas's eyes that dean's jittery, and cas can easily commiserate with the sensation of not fitting into your skin, feeling that itch; sometimes he still feels it, isn't sure it'll ever go away.
so he finds it difficult to resist the urge to reach out and touch, to smooth a hand through dean's hair in a way he knows might be comforting, but dean's edgy, he's tight and wound up, like a cornered animal, and cas knows when not to overstep his bounds. there was once a time when dean was a touchy-feely guy, when he was always clapping cas's shoulder or tugging at his tie, being physical in a way that just seemed so natural and cas was too awkward then, too clumsy in his vessel to be able to properly appreciate it.
sometimes it still comes through, dean's warmth, but it's a guttering candle flame in comparison with the inviting, roaring hearth it once was; dean's gotten colder, distant, gone to places even cas can't reach. but then, they all had, all of them back home, no one could live through what they endured without losing something important and precious along the way. ]
Yeah, yeah.
[ he says, shrugging boneless and easy, before he's meandering to the door and pausing halfway through to glance back toward him. ]
[ Sometimes Dean feels as if he's two people. The man he used to be, the one that came before, and the thing he is now, a man who no longer knows how to move through the world in quite the same way. And Dean is sure of it, knows that at times they compete for space in a way that leaves him to flicker between worlds, leaves him uncomfortable and exposed, not knowing where to put his hands or which words he should let slip free. It's as if it peels back spaces that haven't been seen for years, only to have them shut down again in an instant, Dean left with nothing but the remnants of actions he used to slide into out of sheer habit.
But it makes him uncomfortable, pulls him too tight, and he always ends up right in the same place that he'd left. The one where he simply doesn't. Doesn't know how or what to do or how to respond, and so he holds himself back, amplified and waiting for the next opportunity to do it all over again. To fail and close himself off, to where he doesn't have to question his motives simply because they weren't there to begin with.
It doesn't mean that he doesn't want. Because he does. Prolifically. He just doesn't know how to say it when he gets caught up in the delivery.
Lifting his gaze back to Cas, all Dean feels is that incremental creeping of implosion, the one where he wants to bury himself somewhere deep until it dies down. He never quite knows what it is, just knows he can't do anything about it, and so he nods and tries to push his own thoughts away. ]
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no subject
Considering he's fairly sure the real problem is whether or not you deserve whatever it is you need. And in his case, he's not so sure he does. But that's always been the case, for his whole damn life, not just since the Apocalypse threw down on their world. He wasn't sure he deserved any of it years ago, but now? No even more so.
Rolling his eyes, Dean bumps back, putting his weight behind the gesture- fully aware that he's not always the best at keeping things toned down. But he can attempt it, at least. ]
Yeah, well- I gotta worry about something.
[ He's spent the past five years worrying relentlessly, he doesn't know how to stop. ]
no subject
well, he has to commend those that do really know what it is they want out of life, though he thinks perhaps that is a less colorful way to exist.
nevertheless, dean's not so far gone that he can't be a little playful, at least in his own begrudging way, and cas smiles again when he feels that rough nudge, then exhales hard and rattling, like he's dropping a weight. this conversation might not have been easy, still isn't settling right in his ears, but at least it's done, and he knows everything that he needs to know. ]
Or what? You gonna implode if you don't have something to fuss over, huh?
no subject
And yet here he is, doing just that. A thing he used to do by far more often.
But sometimes, Dean forgets just what a comfort Cas is. What a comfort he's always been, and has only grown to become even more so. Dean gets a little too dead behind the eyes some days, convinces himself a little too well that he doesn't need to feel and always ends up in the wrong place because of it. He can't help but curse himself for it now, hear the heaviness in Cas' breath and tell himself that he did this. He built these walls and he buried himself within them.
Which is why he feels the impetus just that much more loudly to do something about it, lifting a careful palm to Cas' shoulder, touch smoothing sideways. It's meant to be something of an apology, all the things Dean hasn't said yet, the things he probably missed, fucked up, and everything in between. ]
Haven't had the chance to try it out.
no subject
[ not that cas is really one to talk, worrier that he is, but he likes to think that there is a healthy medium, a sound place somewhere in the middle where one can worry enough to be effective while also not driving themselves (and their friends) out of their minds. dean lingers on things, cas knows it, he's always been that way, long before the apocalypse, likely long before cas even knew him, but there's a difference between holding loosely onto some regrets, and beating a dead horse until it's a bloody heap.
but he won't lecture dean. not really. never really would. he can only plant seeds and nurture them, hope they take root, and if they don't, he tries again.
for now, though, cas just yawns and stretches his arms out ahead of him until his spine gives a satisfying pop, before he's unfolding himself to rise up to his feet again, but not before smiling warm and patting dean's knuckles where they linger on his shoulder. ]
Anyway, I'm beat. I'll leave you to uh, settle in.
no subject
And all of this is no different. He's still regretful, still apologetic, still wondering why he feels like the world has ended despite how they're both right here.
But Dean finds himself self conscious in an instant as Cas begins to move about, feeling far too big for his own skin and quantifiably nervous. He finally pulls back his hand to plop his palms against his knees, staring off at nothing in particular for a moment before he nods and looks to Cas. ]
You know where the door is.
no subject
so he finds it difficult to resist the urge to reach out and touch, to smooth a hand through dean's hair in a way he knows might be comforting, but dean's edgy, he's tight and wound up, like a cornered animal, and cas knows when not to overstep his bounds. there was once a time when dean was a touchy-feely guy, when he was always clapping cas's shoulder or tugging at his tie, being physical in a way that just seemed so natural and cas was too awkward then, too clumsy in his vessel to be able to properly appreciate it.
sometimes it still comes through, dean's warmth, but it's a guttering candle flame in comparison with the inviting, roaring hearth it once was; dean's gotten colder, distant, gone to places even cas can't reach. but then, they all had, all of them back home, no one could live through what they endured without losing something important and precious along the way. ]
Yeah, yeah.
[ he says, shrugging boneless and easy, before he's meandering to the door and pausing halfway through to glance back toward him. ]
Anything you need, you know where to find me.
no subject
But it makes him uncomfortable, pulls him too tight, and he always ends up right in the same place that he'd left. The one where he simply doesn't. Doesn't know how or what to do or how to respond, and so he holds himself back, amplified and waiting for the next opportunity to do it all over again. To fail and close himself off, to where he doesn't have to question his motives simply because they weren't there to begin with.
It doesn't mean that he doesn't want. Because he does. Prolifically. He just doesn't know how to say it when he gets caught up in the delivery.
Lifting his gaze back to Cas, all Dean feels is that incremental creeping of implosion, the one where he wants to bury himself somewhere deep until it dies down. He never quite knows what it is, just knows he can't do anything about it, and so he nods and tries to push his own thoughts away. ]
I know.