entrancelogs | if i'm going to scale the highest wall

Dean's been taking advantage of the lull. Where he might otherwise have been forced to call a meeting together, forced to prepare for the next inevitable horror they were going to be faced with, he's instead staring down the barrel of a peaceful, easy weekend. Which... frankly, is kind of boring, all things considered. He's all caught up with his notes, the bar's clean, his room's clean, the patrols are done and the planning's finished and all that's left to do is mindless, meaningless prep that isn't even really all that necessary. Cleaning guns that don't need cleaned considering he could walk to a damn closet and pull out any kind he wanted. Making salt rounds that don't need made considering the relative neutrality of their demon population.

Busy work.

Which means that, no matter how affronted he might act when Cas suddenly appears in his room, he's actually relieved. He settles back in his chair, eyes tearing from his disassembled glock, brow raising.

...He's been doing that a lot lately, popping in all the damn time. Morning noon and night, multiple times a day.

...It's weird, and Dean's not quite sure why. Truth be told, it's reassuring to have him on lock, to know he's still there without question, know he's safe and sound, but damn if it's not freaking him out a little.

"Hey." Cas gets a nod in greeting as he reclines a little in the desk chair. Eyes flick over the angel, top to bottom, and he finally comes to a conclusion. "Cabin fever?"

When Castiel arrives unannounced like this, Dean's usually doing any number of things. Writing in his journal, using his phone, taking a nap, sometimes even reading. It's not at all uncommon to find him at his desk, and so Castiel hardly skips a beat. Neither does Dean, he notices. It seems that he's gotten used to Castiel's surprise visits. Good.

Dean manages to work out the reason behind his visit in a matter of seconds, and Castiel has to wonder what gave it away. He looks himself over, as if wondering if there's some flashing sign that says he's restless.

But no, Dean can just tell. Most likely because he's feeling the same way.

"This place is too small," he says with a sigh. "I'd been hoping you were doing something of interest." But they seem to be in the exact same position. He slumps a little, moving to sit on the edge of Dean's bed.

It's not physically obvious, Dean just knows Cas pretty damn well. And, okay, so maybe he's feeling the exact same thing himself. It's not hard to guess. For all their differences, they've always had a hell of a lot in common, too. Soldiers don't do so well when they're cooped up without a goal. Without something to occupy their hands.

He snorts at the obviously false follow-up sentence and sits up slowly, flopping his notebook closed. "Hate to break it to you, but we're in the same boat on this one. I've read and reread and run the drills and put this gun back together more times than I can count. If I watch Star Wars one more time, I might actually puke."

He emphasizes that with a serious hand gesture, a sweep of his palm, before he rocks forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Guess we shouldn't be looking a gift horse in the mouth, though. If the alternative's a death fest, I think we can figure out a way to cope with a little boredom."

Wishing for an event of some kind is hardly what Castiel means to do, but there's no denying that he doesn't do well when he's left idle like this. At least Dean has a few hours of the day that he can pass with sleeping, but angels don't sleep, and the nights tend to be the most boring of all.

It's approaching sunset now, but there are still a few waking hours left, and he might as well make the best of Dean's company while he has it, seeing how they're both suffering from this boredom. Time does tend to pass more quickly with company, especially good company. Despite all the baggage that exists between the two of them, Dean still fits snugly into that category.

"No movies, then," he agrees, though he still needs to look into the Alice in Wonderland film. According to Gabriel, the Disney version is the best. "We could go to the library," he suggests. "Do some research." Castiel's well aware that research is one of Dean's least favorite things, but desperate times call for desperate measures and he doesn't have any better ideas.

Dean likes to think he's the best company, despite his general curmudgeonitude and seventeen thousand pounds of baggage. Then again, considering he's in the exact same predicament as Cas, that might not actually be the most accurate thought.

He pulls a face at Cas's suggestion. Granted, he's been picking up a hell of a lot of slack in the research department, really buckling down with his nose to the grindstone. Especially during those first few months wherein Sam wasn't here and he had to fill in that little area himself. Still, with the amount of time he's spent going over his notes again and again and again, he's not exactly eager to relocate and do the same exact thing.

No, the only thing they'd accomplish by going to the library is Dean effectively pissing off everybody in the library by making noises, throwing shit, and generally being a nuisance. Around this time, he'd be calling a meeting together. He'd be gathering the troops and heading off to the-

"...I think I've got an idea." He shoves out of his chair, heads for the closet and tugs it open. From it, he pulls a couple of flash lights- one of which is tossed in Cas's general direction. Without bothering to make sure he caught it, he dives back in, tugging out a couple of super-thick couch cushions.

From Dean's expression alone, Castiel can tell that his suggestion isn't going to hold any weight. It had been worth a try, but seeing how Dean's got another plan in mind, he's willing to set it aside and take the next suggestion.

Or he would have, had he any idea what it was. Castiel watches as Dean starts pulling a number of items out of the closet, but no matter how hard he thinks about it, he can't come up with any possible way that flashlights and couch cushions go together.

He catches the flashlight mainly because he's too baffled to do otherwise, squinting down at it. It's not as if he has any difficulty with seeing in the dark, but chances are that Dean's forgotten that.

Castiel steps forward nonetheless, putting a hand out to take some of the cushions. Whatever Dean's got in mind, he may as well be of some help with it. "What are you doing?"

"We," He responds, glancing over his shoulder as a hand wraps around a grocery bag he'd stuffed full of crap while half in the closet. "Are gonna go check out the digs."

He steps out, adjusts the couch cushion beneath his armpit and kicks the closet door shut gently. Cas hasn't seen the safehouse yet, and they need to fix that. When shit gets down, he shouldn't have to depend on Dean or anyone else to get there. Matter of fact, if Dean kicks the bucket somehow or leaves, he's hoping on Cas, Sam, James, and Blake stepping up to keep the whole operation running. Cas should have a working knowledge of every aspect of the resistance.

"Get the door, wouldja?" He nods toward it, hands full of flashlight and bag and cushion and not really in the mood to juggle it all to get them outta here. Granted, Cas could flap them there, but with the nature of some of these events, he doesn't need to count solely on his grace to get him there. He should be able to navigate the maze of trees and ridges and slopes on his own, so they're making this trek on foot.

Between everything Dean's pulled out from that closet in one fell swoop (and it really is impressive; Castiel can only imagine that it's drawing from some other pocket dimension to procure the items), he's definitely burdened, and so Castiel doesn't mind moving to open the door for him.

He does think that it would make more sense for him to fly them to wherever they're going, but Dean's being tight-lipped about their destination, and Castiel can't take them anywhere if he doesn't know where they're headed. With a sigh, he tucks the flashlight into his trenchcoat pocket to be forgotten and takes another cushion from Dean, tucking one under each arm.

He takes down after the hall after Dean, keeping pace with him. He does what he can to speak up only when they're not too close to any of the mirrors lining the halls. "I don't recall any excavations taking place here," he mutters, half to himself. He doesn't see why Dean insists on being secretive about whatever it is he has in mind.

It is a good question- just who exactly are they stealing this shit from? Whoever it is has to be pissed because Dean's taken enough sandwiches to put a middle-class family into the poor house. Or, you know, a cheap and affordable restaurant for lunch.

He shifts to pass over the cushion, pleased when his load is more manageable. Manageable enough to hold the door open for Cas this time around, the one leading toward the stairwell.

They're going straight to the bottom, Cas can bank hardy on it being a trip outdoors.

The excavation thing goes right over his head for a second and he stares, confused.

"What?"

...Dig.

Oh. Jesus Christ, Cas. His eyes roll up to the ceiling for a second, and then he's back on cue. "No, man, I meant- we're gonna take a trip down to the clubhouse."

Edited 2013-09-05 05:25 (UTC)

Straight down the stairs. Which Castiel usually doesn't even bother taking, but he's had to make plenty of concessions for Dean in the past. Seeing how Dean's forced him to ride in his car for hours at a time on multiple occasions, going down a few flights of stairs is nothing.

Castiel watches Dean's reaction with a sort of quiet amusement, but his following explanation still doesn't clarify much.

"Clubhouse? I haven't come across anything like that here." Not that he has a very clear idea of what a clubhouse even is, but he has a vague inkling of it, and he imagines that if he came across one, it would at least stand out in some way.

For a second he thinks of the activity room in the mental hospital. The construction paper and crayons, the board games. It's the only point of reference he has, and Castiel doubts it's anything like that. Dean wouldn't want to relive those memories any more than he does.

"Good." He responds, shooting Cas a serious look over his shoulder. If Cas circled the place like a hawk looking for clues and he still couldn't find it, it's a damn good indicator that their shit is pretty far under-wraps. It means that it's unlikely any of the mirrors will find it, nor any of the crazy shit Wonderland launches at people. If they'd had time, if it was safe to walk through the woods before the Hellhounds, he might've sent everyone headed for it in the first place.

They hit the bottom floor and Dean holds the door open, nodding Cas through. As soon as they clear the lobby and spill out into the yard, he's glancing over again. "Alright, so under no circumstances should you say this in the mansion- but the password is back on the block. You just gotta know it, alright? Don't say it out loud."

Castiel steps through the door and out into the gardens. It's twilight, and so everything around them is painted in a faint orange color, from the fountains to the groupings of flowers. For someone who enjoys observing, Wonderland does have its upsides, but that doesn't make it any less of a prison. Castiel still isn't very good at appreciating the smaller things, at stopping to smell the roses, and so he marches right past them.

He takes note of Dean's words, able to tell simply from his tone that he's serious and they've shifted from friendly conversation to business. "Password... you're saying this place requires some kind of vocal key to access?" That would explain why he's never found it. And seeing how they're headed straight for the woods, he imagines he'll be getting an explanation for why he can sense so much oddness in that place. Swirling power works its way through the trees there, and while Castiel had assumed it was yet another part of Wonderland's mystique, that may not be the case.

Edited 2013-09-13 00:49 (UTC)

Don't worry, Cas. Dean hasn't taken the time to photograph the scenery either. In fact, the only time he can actually plausibly see Cas getting all cozy with the flora and fauna is a period in their relationship Dean never wants to think about. That guy, that version of Cas, that broken thing wasn't his friend. His friend is the guy who stood up beside him at the end of it all. The before and after. Anything else is just...

Not important.

He huffs a little as they trudge through grass that slowly switches from pristine to wild the closer they get to the edge of the forest. "Not exactly. Pay attention- you just gotta know it. There's a guy here- James Potter, like the James P-"

Oh, wait. Remember who you're talking to. "...Never mind. Anyway, it's this... spell. Keeps it hidden from anyone who doesn't know the password. It's some serious refined magic, not that chanting and chalk crap witches do back home. There's no puking, no vomiting, no teeth, hell, no bodily fluid of any kind."

And he seems, just. so unbelievably happy about that as he strides over a thick, fallen log at the front of the path.

Castiel remembers that time. Most of it is indistinct and fuzzy and he usually doesn't like to think back on it enough to find the detail in the memories, to truly dredge them up. It's not a time that he's proud of, even if it had been necessary, and there is that slight fear that if he thinks too hard on it, some dam will break in his mind and then he'll be back there all over again.

It's irrational. He's in control of himself, and that won't happen. But after the way that Naomi's made use of him, it's harder to believe that.

He has no idea who this James is, but it's definitely clear that he's got some abilities worth notice. Castiel nods as they approach the wall of trees and he slips under the thick canopies with an ease that shows he's been this way many times before.

"I've noticed that. Wonderland in general seems to employ a kind of magic that doesn't exist back home. There's much to learn here, even if it is a cage."

Castiel refuses to let himself forget that they're trapped, and it's not that difficult for him, when his wings feel so clipped. Dean must struggle with it too, with the fact that there isn't even anywhere to drive here.

His lips twitch into a sight frown at the word cage, but he doesn't argue it. It's no more of a cage than heaven, hell, or Purgatory. The difference is at least here they're more or less free to do whatever they want with only the occasional threat of torture looming over them. The rest of it's all down time and extra opportunities with people they've lost. He's getting more and more comfortable here, but he seriously, seriously doubts Cas would approve of it.

So he doesn't bring it up.

"If you can remember what you learn, anyway." He mutters darkly, veering them of of the path and toward a sloping ridge that winds it's way through the denser area of the forest. It's entangling and overgrown, but there are definite signs of traffic through this way. "Don't drop those. It's gonna get steep."

Purgatory is worse than this place, that much he'll admit. Heaven is... a complicated topic for Castiel in general, so he can hardly make the comparison. And as for Hell, well, he's never been trapped there, not the way that Dean had, so it's not something that he can properly speak on.

But the fact still remains that they're being held here against their will, that there's a world out there which is home and which they fought to protect and they're away from it now. And this place, it seems to enjoy twisting their minds and forcing their hands, and those are both things that Castiel deems unacceptable.

The implanted memories from the false event are still far too clear in his mind for comfort.

As for Dean's offhanded comment, it's a sharp reminder of the true problem with this place, which is that it's doomed to be a void in their minds as soon as they return. Castiel tightens his hold on the pillows as he follows Dean over the ridge, and for a moment it feels like they're in Purgatory again, heading for that portal.

He stops in place. "You're resentful, aren't you." For something Castiel had no control over. But it's like a repetition of so many other times. His previous memory loss. His insanity. His deals with demons and everything else, it's one more snag between them that he has no idea how to fix.

The thing is, what's the difference, really? Between getting tortured, getting their minds twisted back home and getting it twisted here? He'll tell you what- here, it's on a timer. Here, everything ends after a few days and it all reverts back to the norm. The dead come back, the pain ends, and they're rewarded with more time spent with the people they fight so hard to protect.

That's a dangerous thought, in and of itself.

And so is this particular conversation, and he decidedly doesn't glance back at Cas as he picks his way along the ridge. It is a little like deja vu, like a flashback to the life they lived together for that year, Dean moving through the trees in search of something none of them were sure they'd find. This time, though, he's holding a grocery bag and a flashlight instead of a weapon. It's a trade up.

The path gets steep and he fumbles a little, lips pursing. "I got no idea what you're talking about."

He does.

It's not a particularly good lie, and he doesn't try to sell it. It sends the message he wants it to well enough anyway- he doesn't want to talk about it.

And this time, instead of being left behind when they reach their destination, Castiel plans to follow Dean inside, through the threshold, whatever it may be. There's a definite change, at least in his own approach to things, but there's an added tension.

It's something that started when he first arrived, that feeling that without his memories of his previous time here, things will never be quite right for Dean. There will always be something missing, because there is something missing.

Dean doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't often want to talk about this sort of thing, and most of the time, Castiel doesn't either. Which is why he's left it alone for all these weeks, but it's like an elastic band is being pulled taut between them, and eventually it's going to snap. He'd rather ease the tension on it than let that happen.

But does it ever work that way between them?

He'll try again later, after they reach this hideout. The ridge is quickly narrowing and before long Castiel barely has any ground to stand on. "Where now?" he asks gruffly, distantly.

It doesn't feel as good as it should when Cas changes the subject. There's no relief that it's put to rest, just the hanging air of leftover tension settling tightly between them, unresolved. Which still doesn't mean he's gonna acknowledge it, because he's definitely, definitely not. At the bottom of the ridge, there's nothing. At least, nothing that Cas can see. Not yet.

Dean adjusts his hold on the bag, lips quirking up a little as he leans against an invisible support structure.

"What's the matter? Angelvision not quite cutting it?"

Say what you want, Cas, but the fact that it's sneaking by those senses is goddamn impressive, and they have a right to be proud of it. James and Daryl do, anyway, for camouflaging the whole thing so efficiently. Magically and otherwise. "Think about the password."

Castiel catches that all-too-smug look on Dean's face and offers a glare in response. It's true that this is out of the ordinary, for something to be so well warded that Castiel can barely even sense it. It's not that he isn't picking up on things, but there's so much magical energy in this area that it's impossible to sort through.

It's never pleasant to have his abilities called into question. Castiel still hasn't forgotten about that "baby in a trenchcoat" comment. That's always going to stick with him and it's always going to be a sensitive topic for that reason.

But he humors Dean, closing his eyes for a moment as he focuses on the magical wavelengths buzzing around him.

Back on the block, he thinks, a sort of mental radio wave sent outward. His eyes open then as he waits to see what response he gets.

Glare at him all you want, Cas, their pad is awesome. When Cas opens his eyes, the world will seem to shimmer. Into it will slowly bleed their fort, like an egg sliding down a wall, like dripping ink it will ooze into view, and Dean seems completely oblivious to the happenings, still leaning there against something that slowly stops being invisible.

It's still almost difficult to identify as an actual establishment, just for the simple fact that it's so well camouflaged. Vines and branches, mud and bark, all twist and gnarl into what could just be a tangled mess of biology if it weren't for the fact that it's so... elaborately designed. Just behind Dean is an opening, what's clearly a door that leads to the interior of the place. He nods his head toward it.

"We good?"

Castiel watched as the emptiness behind Dean became something else entirely, like watercolors dripping down the physical landscape in a way that made little sense. But being able to perceive more than most, Castiel could identify it for what it was: the wards were coming down, slipping out of place and revealing what was hidden there.

Which was an entryway.

It was a clever trick, especially if it could fool him. It meant that they could keep others out, possibly even someone like Lucifer, and that was an obvious relief.

Castiel nodded to Dean and stepped inside, taking in the surprisingly large space, from the chairs made from tree bark to the long conference table. He imagined that plans of attack had been discussed here, and almost instantly he fell into the role he'd been created for: a tactician.

"This is the perfect bunker," he said, turning in a slow circle. "If another attack comes, like the hellhounds, it would be easy to place everyone here and keep them safe so that those more combat worthy could handle the threat."

He turned back toward the entrance and frowned. "The only necessary aspect it doesn't have is a good viewpoint. It would be impossible to keep track of what was happening in the mansion from here, unless you sent out scouts."

He follows in a few steps behind Cas, looking over the place like he hasn't seen it a million times, a rush of pride flooding through him as it hits him- just how much work, how much coordination it took to get them this far. Everyone working together, everyone trying, people willing to stand up and fight, people with the ability to hide something like this from some of the most powerful creatures Dean has ever faced. It's- god damn, it's impressing, and for the first time in a long time he's filled with the sense that they might just have a goddamn shot at making it out of here in one piece, all of them, together.

And, ironically, he doesn't actually want to leave.

The bags get unloaded onto the table and he ambles around, stops at the doorway, arms crossing over his chest, shoulder leaning into the frame as he watches Cas circle the place. "Yeah, well, we can't have everything. If you've got any bright ideas on how to fix that, we're sure as hell open to suggestions."

Cameras might work, but getting electricity out here would be a goddamn feat in and of itself. James can only funnel so much magic into one place before things start to go haywire, and the noise of a generator would completely undo any stealth elements that might be working in their favor.

Bright ideas? The problem is that omniscience is something meant for angels, and something they can only accomplish successfully in their true forms. Even then, Castiel may have been able to observe points on Earth while in Heaven, but that hadn't meant he could see everything all at once. He'd still needed to focus in on one point.

God is the only truly omniscient being, but He doesn't have much to do with anything anymore.

"I don't know of any ability that can allow humans to view other specified areas from a distance." Castiel doesn't even think of video cameras. Even if he's aware of them, they wouldn't be the first thing that comes to mind for him.

In the event of a crisis, he'll need to be the scout then, as his wings will prove helpful in such a situation. Castiel keeps that thought to himself as he moves further into the room, heading to the far end before he circles back around again.

"Even so, it's impressive. You should have shown me earlier."

He snorts, shoving away from the door. A cushion gets tugged out from under Cas's arm, and he flops it down onto one of those uncomfortable ass chairs before sitting in it. It gets pulled up close to the table so he can start pulling shit out of the plastic grocery bag he brought with them.

"Can't make anyone happy in this joint," He says with a shake of his head, pulling out sandwiches wrapped in plastic bags. One gets flopped onto the surface of the table beside him, one in front of him. Bags of chips follow, and a can of soda each. Soda, not beer. "In case you didn't notice, we were a little busy. I was a hellhound's chew-toy and you were flapping around doing... whatever the hell you've been doing."

Stalking people, checking out the digs, dealing with his family drama and, mostly, bugging the shit out of Dean with his constant hovering. "Come on. Pop a squat."

He pats the chair beside him, cracks his soda open with one hand.

As soon as Dean takes one of the cushions and sets it down, Castiel moves around and unloads the rest of the pillows he'd been carrying onto the wooden chairs. He can see why Dean had decided to bring them, because even Castiel can see that the seats look uncomfortable.

He returns as Dean finishes unpacking all of the food he brought with him, and while it's not exactly the same fare that he indulged in back home, it's similar enough. Sandwich instead of a burger, potato chips instead of french fries.

And yes, soda instead of beer. It's something Castiel's noticed, the way that Dean's shifted away from drinking alcohol as much. All in all a good thing, because the state of his liver is not particularly encouraging at the moment. Which Castiel could heal if he chose to; it's something to keep in mind.

"I read. I check on my siblings. And the demons." Castiel shrugs, and then finally, finally sits down as he once again scrutinizes the food. For a moment he considers being difficult and reminding Dean that he doesn't need to eat. But Dean knows that, and yet he still bought two of each thing for a reason.

So Castiel reaches out and picks up the sandwich, carefully unwrapping it.

When Cas had been here before, he'd been losing his grace slowly but surely, and Dean had the genius idea to trick him over the course of several months. He'd slip in food frequently enough that it became a daily habit for Cas, he'd absently hand him bottles of soda and water, he even once tricked Cas into falling asleep in the Impala. It's a habit that he perfected for nearly six months, and now that Cas is back again, Dean doesn't see any reason to break it. Especially since... well, especially seeing what he saw right before Wonderland gobbled them up again.

If Cas flits off and comes back a week later, if he fell like the other angels, it means he'll need to be back in the habit and Dean's not prepared to let him suffer in the same ways he had. He'll fend it off at the pass.

"Demon and a half," He corrects, digging out his sandwich and taking a monstrous bite of it. "I cured Crowley. Well, kinda. Almost. Sort of."

In a way that's close enough to make him feel like Crowley's less of a threat. He settles back in the chair, brings his boots up to prop them on the table, and glances over at Cas as he chews. "He didn't mention that to you? Figures."

Castiel's successfully pulled the sandwich out of its ziploc bag and is about to take a bite when Dean drops that tidbit of information. Not so much a tidbit as an anvil dropping down from the sky, though only in a world created by the mind of Fred Jones.

Nonetheless, Castiel imagines that's what it feels like, and he slowly lowers the sandwich onto the table as he stares at Dean, who's behaving far too casually about all of this. This isn't the first time that's it's come out that Dean has just so happened to forget to mention something to him. Castiel realizes there's plenty that he's forgotten or missed out on, but honestly...

"Cured him? How would you cure a demon?"

He's never heard of such a thing. Demons are corrupted to the core, beyond the point of saving, and so the very idea is ludicrous. But Dean doesn't seem to be joking. Castiel won't be taking a single bite of his food until he gets an actual explanation.

Dean takes the time to smile wide and smug around the staggering amount of sandwich in his mouth. His intention to be an enigmatic douche about it all, though, goes right out the window when Cas puts down his own sandwich and seems to forget about it's existence. Eyes roll as he chews, and he flops his down onto the table. Dusts his hands off, and settles back in his chair. One hand gestures toward Cas's food.

"You eat, I'll talk." He tilts his head, that's the deal, and then he's plowing on. "So, we've got this place back home- this... bunker. It's a long story, but anyway, it was inhabited by these super intelligent... cult-y legacy academic hunters called the Men of Letters. We found some footage of some experiments they performed on demons. The long and short of it? There's a ritual. You can cure a demon. It's a pain in the ass, but it's possible."

Castiel has no idea why Dean's so invested in whether or not he eats. It's not as if Dean made these sandwiches and therefore wants them to be eaten as some display of respect. The closet handed them out, so no feelings will truly be hurt if it goes uneaten.

But Dean is stubborn to a fault, which means that he'll stick to his word about not explaining unless Castiel takes at least a few bites. So he picks up the sandwich again, working on it while he listens to Dean's overdue explanation.

It seems that Castiel missed quite a lot while he'd been slave to Naomi's brainwashing. A bunker? Some mysterious group of academic hunters? A demon cure? How could it be that some humans discovered this, while it had been unknown to angels? And why is that they're only learning about this now?

"You're certain," he says, meeting Dean's eyes with a searching look because it still sounds too good to be true. "What's the ritual? What does it require?" It's not something Castiel had even sensed during his interaction with Crowley, but then again, he hadn't been looking for anything. He hadn't thought to. And frankly, Crowley hadn't seemed all that different from usual, save for the fact that he'd unnecessarily saved Castiel from some hellhounds (that he definitely could have managed on his own). Crowley could have easily done that for gloating reasons, so Castiel's not convinced.

If Dean made those sandwiches, he wouldn't need Cas to eat them as a display of respect- Cas would do it of his own free will and he would make awesome sounds because they would be that good and Dean would get the ego boost his cooking skills frequently require of their own merit because he's an awesome goddamn cook and don't your forget it. As it stands, his agenda is a lot less self-serving than that for once.

"Damn positive. It was one of the trials to close the gate." Which Cas also doesn't know jack about, if memory serves correctly. At least, not all the details of it- he'd been keeping things pretty hush-hush ever since Cas brought down Samandriel in that fishy fucking rescue mission. All that's off the table now, though- Cas won't remembers it when he goes back home to a life of Biggerson's and Dean trusts him impeccably with this shit here in his right mind. "Pretty simple, actually. Just some sacred ground and a couple of vials of purified blood. Jab one in a demon's neck every hour on the hour and you've got yourself a handy Demon chicken soup for the soul."

He takes a pointed bite of his own sandwich, proceeds to talk with his mouth full. Rude. "Wasn't exactly perfect on Crowley- ground was kinda bullshit sacred, magic-produced with Wonderland's whateverness, and my blood ain't exactly pure even after I say fifty Hail Marys, but whatever. It did something. Toned his evil ass down from a ten to like a four so I'm counting it as a win."

One of the trials. It must be the third trial, because he'd already heard about the second from Benny. Which means that if nothing else, they'd started on the third trial. It's possible they didn't finish, or were brought here in the middle of it, because if the gates of Hell truly had been closed, Castiel would assume that Dean would have mentioned that to him first thing.

Then again, with how many things Dean has left out or not mentioned since his arrival here, Castiel really does have to wonder.

The ritual is so simple that it seems too good to be true, and yet he files the information away. Dean wouldn't lie about something like this, which means he at least believes himself to be right in this case. Castiel's not going to be completely convinced until he tries it himself or gets a closer read on Crowley. He'll keep that in mind for the next time he runs into the demon.

"No, there's definitely no sacred ground here," he says after he finishes his next bite of food. The fact that it would have worked at all is surprising in that case, but Castiel will investigate that for himself. "But if you've managed to siphon out even some of his power, that's good news." And it also explains why Crowley's been keeping quiet for the most part.

He figured that might be the case- hard to get sacred ground in a world as topsy turvy as this. Who knows what would've happened if he'd finished the ritual all the way through- maybe it would've outright killed Crowley. Maybe that might've erased all the progress. It's hard telling, but at any rate it's good enough that he stopped when he did. Crowley has been laying low ever since, hell, he's even been somewhat tolerable.

Somewhat.

"No kidding. Dude was sobbing like a baby towards the end, it was full-on bizarre. Anyway, mission accomplished on that front. Thought about strapping Meg's ass down and shooting her full of it, too, but she's been keeping things pretty low-key so I didn't see the point. Especially with her dad roaming the halls. Bitch on a leash- doesn't get much better than that." He raises his bottle in a sort of solute, then drinks. Truth be told, Dean probably wouldn't try and cure Meg no matter the circumstances. She was an ally at the last, she bit the dust, she deserves a little peace. Fucked up as that is to say.

And that has nothing at all to do with their... thing.

Sobbing like a baby? Castiel's head shoots up at that, and he narrows his eyes for a moment, but from what he can tell Dean's being completely serious. He tries to picture Crowley crying, but it's as if his mind can't conjure up that mental image. He's not the most creative of beings to begin with, but this is far beyond his capabilities.

He's distracted by Dean mentioning Meg. They haven't discussed her much until now, but it's no surprise that she's come up in this context. Castiel finds himself agreeing with Dean in this case. There's no reason to do anything to Meg when she hasn't been causing trouble and when the ritual isn't even possible here.

Besides, this is essentially her afterlife at the moment. Taking away the part of her that she so heavily identifies with would almost be cruel.

"You're right. Unless she gives us reason to try and cure her, I think we can leave things as they are. It would be better not to stir things up if we can avoid it." That's his story and he's sticking to it. This has nothing to do with any kind of bias, nothing at all. Or so Castiel will continue to tell himself.

He takes another bite of his food, though after a short pause he speaks up again despite the fact that he hasn't swallowed everything yet. And is it any wonder who he got that bad habit from? "Is there any other important information you've failed to mention to me?"

So maybe he was exaggerating just a little about the amount of sobbing there actually was, but not a lot. There was definitely a fair amount of shaking and snot, at any rate. It was the weirdest thing Dean's ever seen, hands down.

Cas's question brings him pause, though. Is there anything he's forgotten to mention? He chews slowly, eyes flicking away as he considers it. The only thing that comes to mind is... well, is the very end of it all. Is the way Cas's family fell from the sky, the way the angels burned their wings on the trip down. Should he, though? Should he tell that? By rights, it's something Cas would want to know, but the thing is... knowing won't change anything. Knowing won't accomplish anything. Hell, Cas hasn't even done it yet, and he'd be stuck carrying around the weight of it all anyway.

How fucked up would it be to burden the guy like that? He'll learn eventually, probably, if Wonderland ever sends him on a vaction home. In the meantime...

In the meantime, he's better off. He shakes his head finally. "Nope. Nothing comes to mind."

Dean's quiet for a long while before he answers, as if he really has to think about it. It makes his eventual answer fall flat, and Castiel eyes him closely over his can of soda as he takes a long sip.

If Dean's keeping something from him even when he's asking directly like this, then no amount of pushing is going to get him to cough up the information. Which is frustrating, but it's not as if Castiel hasn't kept things from Dean in the past. He can only judge so much.

He polishes off his sandwich and pushes the wrapping to the side. "Was there anything you needed done here? I could add some extra warding." The sort of thing that might keep the Devil away. It would take time to draw out the sigils in such a way that they would allow him in, but not Lucifer, but Castiel thinks he could manage it. And then there's Crowley and Meg to consider. He may not actively be targeting either one of them for different reasons, but he doubts Dean wants them finding this place.

Dean finishes off his own sandwich, sets back to prop his feet up on the table again. Cas might not be buying it, but as long as he's not pushing for more, it's good enough for Dean. They'll deal with it later, right now they've got enough going on. He slurps down some of his own soda, glancing around the place in consideration. "Got salt lines for Meg and Crowley. Truth be told, though, I think your brother wants out of here just as much as we do. You really think keeping him off our team's the best way to play this?"

Not that he'll argue if Cas insists, it is still Lucifer after all. It's just that Dean's come to think of him more as an ace up their sleeve than an outright enemy. Common goals or whatever.

Castiel can barely believe what he's hearing. All of that time, all of that effort, all of that death endured to try and stop the Devil, and now Dean's saying that they should work together? Lucifer is hardly his brother anymore, either, and while he can understand the other angels referring to him as such, he doesn't appreciate it from Dean.

The soda can in his hand slams down onto the table as he stares in a mix of shock and anger at Dean. "Are you seriously suggesting that we allow Satan to be a part of our plans? Have you forgotten that he wanted to bring about the Apocalypse? Has it slipped your mind what he did to Sam?"

Lucifer is to blame for Sam ending up in that mental institute. Lucifer is to blame for Jo and Ellen's deaths. It could even be said that Lucifer is to blame for Heaven's decline, for his family falling apart, and Dean wants to work with him?

Feet drop away from the table as quickly as they'd gone up, his own soda still clutched in one hand as he gesticulates. "Hey, I'm not saying we give the guy a hug and a candy bar, I'm just saying he's got the kind of power we might need to get us out of here!"

It's said with a combination of defensiveness and rationality, and the can gets set down with a pointed thump. What he did to Sam is unforgivable, but he's trying to be tactical. What happened to Jo and Ellen was Meg's fault, and arguably? Cas is to blame for Sam ending up in that mental institute. Cas broke his wall. He shoves back from the table to rise to his feet and pace away. "And don't you dare accuse me of forgetting about what happened to Sam, because I sure as hell haven't, but if you wanna get out of here one day, it might not be in our best interest to fight more than one damn war while we're down here! You want him out, fine, he's out, but you didn't used to be so gung-ho about excluding him. Hell, you were drinking buddies with the guy. He was gonna help you remember after you left."

Castiel would have expected Dean to back down, at least when it comes to this, because it's his family they're talking about and that's always, always been a sore spot for more reasons than he can count.

But when does Dean ever back down? When does Dean ever resist the urge to butt heads with him? Never, that's the answer.

In some sense, Castiel can see the argument that Dean's trying to make. Yes, Lucifer is powerful, but if he could have gotten out of here, he would have done so already. Dean had taken issue with Castiel working with a demon, and now he wants to turn around and work with the Devil? Has he even talked to Sam about this? Castiel isn't talking about waging war with Lucifer, but he doesn't want him to be a part of their plans either. Not unless they have no choice.

But it's what Dean finishes up with that truly bowls Castiel over, and it takes almost all of the fire out of him as he tries to process that. It's not computing. Not even a little bit.

"... Drinking buddies?" he grates out. "What are you talking about?" Castiel can hardly bear being in Lucifer's presence, not when it brings back memories of hallucinations on top of their complicated set of similarities.

Dean's not saying they work with him, not in the sense that he gets a club badge and free coffee, just in the sense that they don't... you know, specifically include him. He's got the grand idea of all parties being in favor of getting the hell out of here, and if they're all on the same side- Lucifer included- well, things might just go a little bit easier. In his mind, it's decidedly not the same as signing a two for one special with Crowley. There's no gaining, no trust, no alliances, no deals. Just working with what they've got.

Besides, once they break out of here, Lucifer's going into a hole in the ground for all eternity.

He sets Cas with a look, something pointed. "Oh yeah. Not joking. You and Lucifer and a couple of your angel buddies had a real nice night together. You full-on hugged the guy, Cas, so don't get all judgemental with me for suggesting we don't box him out of the inzone when the time comes."

Is Dean lying? He must be lying, coming out with something completely ridiculous in order to make his point. Castiel can't picture himself giving Lucifer a hug no matter what the circumstances. Maybe if an event was to blame, but that doesn't count as far as he's concerned.

It's true that he did some strange things when he'd gotten drunk that one time, but he doesn't think he would ever go that far. And yet... apparently he had. Then again, at that point he'd been from a time when Lucifer hadn't been such a loaded subject.

"I have no interest in hugging him now," he huffs, shifting in his seat and then eventually standing to let off all the excess energy this discussion has dredged up. "He may not have any reason to do us harm here, but that doesn't mean we should offer him any trust." It will lead nowhere good. This is the Devil they're talking about. He doesn't see why it's so hard for Dean to wrap his head around that.

"If we're in a position where we absolutely have no choice but to ask him for help, then maybe. Otherwise he stays out of this." He's putting his foot down in this case.

"I never said we trust him," It's bitten out incredulously. He doesn't have much to say about the hugging, that was a fight from another time, a fight with a Cas who hadn't been through all the shit they'd been through together yet. It was in the past, and it was... well, it was admittedly weird, but whatever. He's focusing on the issue at hand. "You think I'm brain damaged? I'm just saying we use him."

Which... admittedly does sound a hell of a lot more like the Crowley situation there, but without the sneaking and the making stupid decisions with stupid consequences. "And when we do break out of here, he's getting shot back into the pit with Michael, so it's no harm no foul. Trust me, I'm not interested in being bunk buddies with the guy."

Some of the aggression in his tone eases back down to something calmer, something level and serious.

Dean's making some fair points, but Castiel can't shake the feeling that this is the same as playing with fire -- or worse, putting your hand into a pit of vipers.

"And what do you think would happen if the plan didn't work out and Lucifer realized that he'd been used?" One of them will pay for it, that's for certain, and it could very well be Dean. Castiel's been working to keep Dean safe, and allowing him to try and get the best of Lucifer is the equivalent of letting him set his head in place for the guillotine.

Maybe he's overreacted to some degree, but there's no denying that Dean has a suicidal streak and Castiel's been trying to keep an eye on that here. "... If you ever see fit to 'use' him, speak to me about it first." It's not an order, but it is a request, and one that he hopes Dean will agree to.

if i'm going to scale the highest wall

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casually abuses all my eating icons...

b e a u t i f u l

i think this is my last one :c

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