Castiel nudges the curtain aside lightly, peering out the window of his hotel room that sits perched up on the second story of a old, crumbling building not an hour from The Men of Letter's hideout. He exhales slightly, a sigh, blue eyes searching the cool night in a thoughtful lull... it's frosty outside, twinkling almost like snow and beginning to get dark. He adjusts to pick up his jacket, slowly pulling it on as he moves outdoor onto the landing.
"Cas?" The gruff voice is muffled by the door. Castiel's arms rest on the balcony railing, listening to cars rumble by in the distance. His dark, low brows dip upwards in the middle. Across the way, through the window, a young couple are fighting.
Dean opens the door after a few minutes without a response. He pokes his head in, peering around, before scooting in with a take out bag at hand. "Cas? You here?"
The hunter tosses the Impala keys onto the small table along with the bag. He falters, taking inventory of his surroundings. "...Fantastic." Dean growls, looking ahead darkly, when he notices the curtain swaying in the breeze. He heads forward.There's a silence, before...
"Nice view." Dean comments, chin raised and arms folded.
Castiel looks over a hint at the sound, straightening up a little. "Dean." He reasons almost surprised to see him. "What are you doing here." He asks him with a crease to his brow of uncertainty, watching him for a moment.
The man with the odd, puppy-like mannerisms looks back towards the ... rather unimpressive view, really, of the building across the ways where the young couple argues and fights.
"Kind of felt like I overdid the dick act before, so..." Dean lets that trail off from there. The hunter looks beyond Cas to the view, and then the motel, with guilt seeping in. "Look uh...I'm sorry about this. I know grub's not going to make it better or even a damn apology, but...you just gotta trust me when I say this is for the best."
A moment passes. "I understand." The low voice responds in a rumble in return, sincere and honest, watching the scenery of the outdoors, feeling the cool air... he tucks his hands into the sleeves of his jacket for warmth. Its odd being cold.
The worlds linger with no further depth... but he straightens up with a slow exhale through his nose, peering out into the obstructed sunset.
Dean's not sure... actually Dean's positive Cas doesn't understand, but he goes along with it. As much as he appreciates the unequivocal loyalty, sometimes Dean just wished Cas would stand up for his damn self.
His eyes narrow, unsure whether to raise the issue or take this in stride by accepting what he wanted, without being a greedy bastard about it. "Alright, then. Grub up." The man slaps the door frame, turning to duck back inside.
"Dean" Castiel begins, before he can leave, intending to stop him. When he has his attention, he looks over. "I've been thinking..." The voice sounds oddly soft, for such a rough, gravel sound... and his profile looks uncertain. "As a human, I've learned sometimes you have...impulses." He tries to reason through his own deductions as he watches their surroundings. "Humans have impulses." He concludes, looking to Dean with a crease to his brow at his deduction. "How do you know which ones to fallow."
Dean parts his lips, uncertainty casting his gaze aside, then back. His brows furrow-he's not catching on.
Oh.
"Impulses?" Dean raises his brows and cocks his head back at the impact of realization. "Which impulses exactly?"
The unshaven man's lips pull to the side, looking elsewhere while searching for an accurate example. "Perhaps I'm wording it wrong." He contemplates aloud. "When you have no logical reason for wanting something, or the risk is greater then the act it takes to obtain it." Cas tries to explain. His blue eyes look back towards the motel across the street, where the young girl throws something at her significant other- an article of clothing, it looks like. "How do you know what's best."
That makes sense. Kinda.
Dean nods at the somewhat understanding. He approaches the balcony, folding his arms on the banister.
From behind, the two are washed out by the orange and pink glow of the sunset.
"You don't." Dean nods, speaking words of wisdom, or at least experience. "You shoot first, ask questions later. Sometimes that's all there is to it." He looks to Cas. "Humanity ain't a trip to Disneyland, Cas. You get faced with situations that most of the time don't have a good option. That's why when you make a decision, you don't back down. You stick to it."
Castiel's brows crease, looking to Dean thoughtfully, then back ahead... he feels a cool gust of wind and its a little chilly. "I see." He reasons back, although he doesn't entirely... not knowing is frightening, but being responsible for your own journey and the outcome isn't something humanity has to teach him... he's already learned that lesson.
"Then I'd like to say something to you." There's a odd feeling inside, looking over to Dean affirmatively, with a newly acquired goal.
Dean relaxes at the sight. Maybe it's not the best, in fact it's pretty much crap. In some weird way though, that sunset's almost a representation of the Winchester's own silver lining. A life of motels with that one object in the distance to keep pulling them forward.
'Stay golden, Ponyboy.'
Dean snorts softly through his nose at his own musings, glancing down, then up to Cas. His expression shifts, a silent tell that means Cas has his attention.
Castiel stifles upon catching the others eyes, and words fail him a moment- but with Dean's advice in mind, 'once you make a decision, don't back down...' he flexes his fingers, his hands half covered in his sleeves, against the railing and uncertainly looks about the view in front of them. This seemed much simpler a moment ago-... now his stomach feels somewhat nauseous and unsettled- like eating something that was past it's due date.
It seemed the longer he waited, the more uncomfortable he was becoming... and the silence was growing more and more awkward. "Uh." He begins... looking to Dean again, this time in a hesitant glance. There's an impulse, but he does not act on it. It gets stronger, but he's too unsure-... he moves his hand on top of Deans with a great amount of debate...
...and he squeezes it.
Dean's eyes remain on Cas' even as the hand rests on his. His chest is on fire, constricted, icy, and everything. Everything conflicting, contrasting, stifling. His eyes are wider than that lacquered cool, and a million thoughts, reactions, ignite behind one stare.
At some point, he has to look down.
"Cas?" Dean breaths, unsure if he wants to speak and he finds it so damn hard to follow his own advice... but the hand isn't wrong, and that scares Dean more than the fact that it's Cas who's made the move. It's something he hasn't thought of before- he hadn't even given it a moment's recognition.
He's not straight?
Dean swallows, flustered, lips moving wordlessly. He licks them, brows screwing...testingly...he hooks his thumb around to grip back. He exhales, finding that balance again. That relaxation. Maybe he doesn't have it figured out, but it wouldn't be the first time. For some inexplicable reason holding Cas' hand felt...right.
Cas's knotted stomach slowly soothes itself-... when Dean's hand adjusts to grip his back, he can feel the fear suddenly melt away- fear that, from something so simple, was alarmingly intense. He was fearful of losing Dean, perhaps or-... maybe of making the hunter uncomfortable around him. He didn't know what he was afraid of besides the fact that Dean may not want what he wanted- but such a silly thing, a difference of opinion or interests inflicting so much emotion and fear? He realized then that That was vulnerability- and he'd only felt it a time or two before.
Now he feels his teeth show and a pull of a slight smile at the warmth from the grip on his own metaphorically and physically... he looked to the view then back to Dean in a glance. "Thank you, Dean." He reasons- but what for is unclear. The advice? some unspoken answer to a question he hadn't asked? He releases the other man's hand, and moves to return inside-... he's hungry.
Dean watches as Cas disappears back into the motel, lips lagging-open, trying to catch reason. He looks forward, rubbing his hands down his face as he tries to figure out what just happened, and what the result later is going to be.
"You're welcome?" He breaths, shaking his head to himself. The hunter looks back again, scoffing, eyeing Cas through the window as he pokes open the bag to find whatever drive-thru mayhem Dean brought him.
He focuses on Cas, watching how timid and utterly innocent he appears doing the most mundane actions. The guy looks like an angel without being one. You can see it in his mannerisms, in his posture, even in the way he pulls out the damn chair to have a seat. There's something so pure about Cas. So honest despite how many lies they'd passed between each other.
Dean's eyes flicker, unsure where to lock his gaze. He sees it all (too much, even) while seeing nothing.
He scoffs, and...hints a smirk.
He pushes off the banister and heads inside, closing the balcony door behind him. -