so can you name your demon?

[freewill]

Who: Castiel & Dean Winchester
Where: The shoreline.
When: Backdated to 01/16.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Castiel has questions and Dean has a lot to answer for.
The Story:
It had been a few days since Castiel's patrol with Meg, and while he'd been trying to blot that conversation from his memory, the fact was that he couldn't get rid of the few memories he didn't want. Wonderland would never take that one, would it?

Dwelling on it wasn't going to do any good, especially as he'd already decided it didn't matter. It was between Dean and Meg, but regardless of how many times Castiel told himself that, it wasn't the truth. Not when he and Meg had flirted with each other before (he had to acknowledge that's what it was, now); not when he and Dean supposedly became something beyond friends in the future, though at this point that didn't seem likely.

It was something that he would need to discuss with Dean eventually, but Castiel still hadn't decided how he felt about it. Part of him felt it wasn't worth bringing it up, not when it had happened months ago and Dean had clearly not seen it worth mentioning.

But days had passed and it was still bothering him, like some sort of plague running through this borrowed bloodstream, which meant that the only way he could purge it would be by talking. Not his favorite thing to do on a good day.

Which was why Castiel was out by the ocean instead of anywhere near Dean's room or the bar. He'd picked up a stick and started to draw out random symbols in the sand, some of it Enochian and some of it nothing but gibberish.

Comments

[righteously]

If he's being honest with himself, maybe he's been avoiding Cas a little. Maybe, if he's being completely truthful, that little sparring session got a little out of hand. Maybe it isn't that he's been busy so much as he's having some kind of agent orange style flashbacks to that day shortly after Christmas.

-he's out of breath and sweating, his heart is pounding a mile a minute, but for once, for the first time in along time, he feels completely exhilarated. It's less a fight to the death and more a sport, a game, with a knife in his hand and a hard body at his front, and Cas's arm shoots out almost faster than he can dodge, that white shirt gripping his shoulders and his stupid unbrushed hair is wild, there's a rip and a tear and an arm around his waist and the line of exposed skin around neck and jaw, and he's determined to get the upper hand even though he's got no chance to-

Frankly, it's better for everyone involved that he's not being honest with himself. Any time the issue crops up, he's been doing a magnificent job of plugging his ears and going la la la while steamrolling in the opposite direction.

And then there's that little voice in his head going Phil wasn't so bad either, was he and Dean wants to slam his head into a wall.

He's not going to let it get to him. He's absolutely friggin' not. It wasn't that big of a deal, it wasn't even a thing- it's not even a thing, there is absolutely no issue here, nothing to be concerned about, nothing off, nothing wrong. Avoiding Cas just because he's got some stupid issue going, some kind of lack of sleep or dry spell or weird cabin fever induced experimental curiosity going on is just fucked up and stupid.

Nothing's going on.

Not a god damn thing is up.

The best way to prove that is just by straight up ignoring it.

That's the plan, anyway, and so when he sees a familiar outline at the edge of lapping water, he shoves down a splinter of apprehension, a flair of déja vu, and trudges over.

His boots sink into sand in the same way that his hands sink deep into his pockets, and he masks all of the internal conflict he definitely wasn't having behind an amused, somewhat judgmentally hitched eyebrow.

"What's the matter, sport? Couldn't get that special bird to go steady with you at the sock hop?" Because, seriously, who stands around sadly doodling in the sand with a stick in 2014?

[freewill]

That sparring session had been going perfectly well -- for the first time in a while, they'd felt completely in sync, on the same level and working as a team even as they were roughhousing and swiping at each other with blades. Seeing how the two of them met in battle, is it really any surprise that Castiel would feel at ease while sparring with Dean?

But then something had changed, like a flip being switched. Too many times their bodies had brushed together in a way that reminded Castiel of that one night on Christmas Eve, and when he'd at one point pushed Dean up against a wall, knife against his throat, feeling his pulse throbbing against his fingers --

It shouldn't have meant a thing, and yet both of them had felt something, to the point where they'd decided to call it a day. Suffice to say that there haven't been any more sparring sessions since then.

The thing is, Castiel had assumed Dean had felt something that day, but after hearing about his tryst with Meg, he's no longer as certain. With both of them avoiding each other, there hasn't been much chance to clear that up, either.

Until now, at least. As Dean approches, Castiel wonders if he'd been looking for him purposefully, or if this is a chance meeting. He blinks at Dean's greeting, not at all following his question, but he knows enough to realize it's irrelevant.

Castiel finishes with his current doodle and turns toward Dean. "It's too cold for you to swim. Were you looking for me?"

[righteously]

Were you looking for me?

"Pfft, no," He responds breezily, shifting to cross his arms over his chest. "No, nah, I was just doin' the rounds and saw your coat flapping dramatically in the breeze. Figured I'd swing by to make sure you didn't saunter forth and dissolve in the sea."

So he's not so good at covering sometimes, and maybe that joke was a little tasteless. This, this right here? Prime example of why he's got so much trouble with things. He sighs internally, struggles to suppress the urge to drag a hand down over his face.

[freewill]

The remark is extremely tasteless, the sort of thing that brings back so many bad memories that Castiel has to turn away from the lapping water for a moment, a tightness around his eyes. That should be as much of a sore subject for Dean as it was for him, as they were both present that day, but acknowledging that it might hurt isn't an option.

He has no idea if Dean's answer is sincere or not, and looking him over for a few more seconds doesn't illuminate anything.

Castiel lets out a sigh and shifts his weight. If it truly was a chance meeting, then he may as well make use of it. "There's something I need to talk to you about." Though he'd been considering never bringing it up in the first place, now that Dean's here Castiel can't contain himself. He needs to hear Dean's explanation about why he fraternized with Meg for himself.