oasislogs | This is a curse that can't be stopped

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This is a curse that can't be stopped

WHO: OPEN MINGLE
WHERE: The Warehouse, The City, The Forest
WHEN: However long the rain falls and the siege lasts.
WARNINGS: Undead, violence, gore, murder. Note in comments anything else and I'll add.
SUMMARY: With sloppy zombies and cannibals running the show out in the city, everyone is feeling a little cooped up back at the warehouse. But as much rainwater as they have to drink, people still need to eat

The Warehouse

After a day or two, the perimeter had been secured far enough back to light a fire out of sight of the top windows of the warehouse, so that everyone could keep warm, even when the rain was pouring outside. There was plenty of water, consequently, to drink, but food and dry firewood was limited, both difficult to get back to the warehouse without coming upon one predator or another outside. The longer the siege went on - and that was exactly what it was - and the longer the rain poured, the more miserable their confinement was. Food came in the form of meat, mostly, and the occasional tropical fruit found on the forest floor, with no way to go out into the forest to scavenge for berries or nuts. Even hunting was risky, with the forest alive the way it was. At night, when the fire was lit, it was the only place to get warm. There were blankets, enough barely not to have to share, and conversation murmured around the fire from those who stayed close to it, even if some of those trapped there were more inclined to mope in their own silence. Visitors, of course, were more than welcome--unless they were the maneating kind, and perhaps one night, with a crash, some uninvited guests might slip through the cracks, and come upon the survivors in their sleep.

The City

It was enough to try and survive. Closing up the sewer entrances was crucial, of course, in order to keep those things still down there confined, but driving back the intruders was work that needed organizing, needed strong hands together, and no small effort. Trips out into the city were more dangerous that trips into the forest, but they were essential too, to reconnaissance how to take back the city - if at all - and then to go out and do it. Bringing together a team to do so meant organizing them, in the warehouse, around the campfire. Then it would be time to press out into the city itself. Who is this brave leader? Who fights beside them? Or shall we hide away until we starve? Perhaps, though, someone just needs rescuing, someone who's hid away elsewhere in the city, or just arrived, and needs a little help getting somewhere safe. Maybe their run just went a little bit...wrong.

The Forest

Food was essential to survival, and wood, too, was running low. Of course all the trees in the forest were just as damp, not to mention enormous burdens to sneak back in past the city walls to the warehouse. Trips out into the trees were risky, but they had to be made by the ambitious and the strong, or the brave and the foolish. The rain still poured down, of course, obliterating tracks, making it hard to move, or to pick out landmarks, the luscious undergrowth dulled to a thick, monotonous gray-green, soaking anyone not already wet through the moment they brushed against it. The animals cowered too, the rainfall making it impossible to hear when predators were creeping up on them, and the same applied to the zombies, stirred to life by all the commotion, hunting the hunters. Perhaps it's just a case of one wanderer coming upon another, unplanned, or is there purpose in this woodland meeting?

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"Daryl asked me to be the group's...healer."

He shifted slightly, looking up at Dean shyly. "You remember how well that went last time. What happened with Sam--we haven't even discussed it since the hospital, and for that I'm grateful, but--"

He had added that 'for that I'm grateful' because going over it in any respect filled his stomach with lead. Purgatory or not, he carried that weight with him, what he'd done to Sam, and what it had done to him to take it away. He still wasn't better. God, he was so far from better, there was no denying it. But Dean was always patient with him, and everyone else just thought it was the natural state of his oddity. His guilt, his regret, his fears?

Healing people was hard for him; not physically, he could do it with a thought, but emotionally, he was finding, it was more difficult than he realized. Hell, he was still just, frankly, traumatized by it all. Not that he knew that was the word to put to it.

Dean knew, so he didn't push on.

"I had to agree. And today, I had my first patient. She wanted to keep one of her wounds, so that the scar would help her to remember what she'd been through." A pause. "Like removing it would mean forgetting."

Dean shouldn't have been altogether surprised that Cas up and decided to talk - it's not as if he'd yet taken on Dean's bad habits of poor communication. Dean was the one that bypassed topics and brushed them off, slipped out of the way and did anything to avoid. But Cas dove right in and Dean listened, half of his face glowing warmer from the fire as he turned his attention fully.

He couldn't exactly say the topic was one he wanted to linger on once Cas got started, but it wasn't his decision. Cas was talking and so he listened, jaw set tightly, drawn with concern.

"Uh huh... okay." Dean followed along gently enough, gaze narrowing for a moment as he tried to figure out where Cas was going with this one. Because he wasn't entirely sure that Cas should be up and healing anybody that needed it, considering past experiences. But what was he gonna do- make him say no? That'd be bad form for everyone involved and there'd be questions. Expectations. Demands. Cas could do it so why shouldn't he and Dean could get behind that. To the best of his ability.

In the same token, he didn't need Cas going off the deep end. He couldn't do it again, he just couldn't. Wouldn't. Shouldn't have to. And yet there was no decisions to be made in the matter. Dean had to shut up and put up and watch Cas struggle through his own miseries, as if watching his failings pulled out of him one by one.

But Cas had agreed and Dean nodded once, the only amount he was willing to hand over. And yet it was Cas' next words that left him hanging, brow furrowed in confusion as to why exactly this was the thing that was being brought up. Apart from knowing he had no say in Cas being a healer, he couldn't see the connection.

"Some people are just weird about that kinda shit, Cas.

Castiel could sense Dean's apprehension, and it was why he moved on with the topic just as soon as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was sit and muse on how trying to fix one of these people up could end him up right back down that rabbit hole. It scared him immensely, and was the last thing he wanted to do, but...but it was necessary. He was needed, and he'd laid himself out as a healer, so he'd just have to suck it up and heal.

If he kept it to broken bones and scratches, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He certainly wasn't in any hurry to get back into people's heads the way he did with Sam.

His eyes returned to the fire, because the fire couldn't look at him with accusation or confusion.

"So you don't mind?" he asked, airily. "--That I stole your history when I healed you on that battlefield?"

"Excuse me?"

It was the first thing that popped out of Dean's mouth, not exactly able to stop the stark surprise the question brought. What was Cas even talking about, his history. He could connect the dots to a certain extent, sure - someone had proclaimed that scars were a tie to the past, but Dean was lost after that point. It wasn't as if he was brain damaged, he was perfectly capable of remembering all kinds of things. A little too well, generally.

Glancing away from a second, brow furrowing as he tried to think it through, Dean gave his head a quick little shake before looking back.

"You didn't steal anything. I've got my history right where I left it."

Castiel faltered at Dean's tone, his shoulders hunching up defensively. It was so sudden that it just sparked that fear in him. Run run run. But he just dug in, instead, forced himself to ease and relax as Dean looked away, as though he were expressly being given the room to do so.

"But I cleared away it all. All the little scars, the mark on your shoulder..."

He shook his head. "I know that you remember, I know that taking away the scars doesn't take away the memories, but..."

His eyes hesitantly met Dean's again, worry creasing his brow. "You're not mad?"

The last thing Dean was trying to do was put Cas into defensive mode, make him that much more worried that he'd somehow done something wrong just by trying to fix the world around him. Not when he was worried he'd- what, offended him somehow? In some way that he'd never spoken about? It wasn't like Dean was clueless to the fact that all his scars had disappeared with the snap of a finger, particularly his visible connection to Castiel's presence, but it wasn't something he'd lingered on. Not beyond his own personal inspection in private.

"Why would I be mad? They're scars, I can do with or without 'em. Not like they're hurting anything but they don't do any good by me, either."

Dean gave a gentle shrug of sorts, not entirely sure how to put Cas at ease with this.

"I don't exactly need the extra reminder."

Castiel tilted his head slightly, accepting that Dean wasn't mad after all, but it had still made him wonder, compare it to things he knew himself. He reached out after a moment, toward the fire in front of him, trailing his fingers through the licking whispers of flame as they jumped through the air. It was almost as though he didn't notice that they were hot--which he didn't, his grace protecting him the way it had protected Jimmy.

"I don't have any scars," he answered, softly. "It's hard to relate."

His fingers kept waving back and forth, thoughtful.

"Although I suppose my wings... My wings bear my scars, such as they are. I'm not quite the angel I used to be. A little frayed around the edges." He considered the relation. "I don't think I'd be disappointed if they were to be returned to me, good as new."

Dean watched Cas with a certain amount of reverence, barely containing himself from reaching out and jerking his hand back out of the flames. It was a natural instinct; keeping Cas safe was something he felt like he'd been doing ever since they stepped foot in Purgatory, despite the fact that he didn't need Dean's help. He couldn't be a true barrier between the world for him, not when Castiel didn't need (or truly want) him to be. But it didn't stop Dean from trying, wrapping himself into knots while he watched Cas' pain flicker across his features.

"I know you don't." But Dean still considered it for a moment, brushing his hands against his own knees, soaking in the warmth from the fire. He wasn't sure he knew how to explain it, but he might as well try. Considering Cas was grappling to understand. He supposed to wings were a good enough comparison, the mention having him skirt a glance towards Castiel's shoulders.

"Some people- It's like looking at a piece of your past. Knowing where you've been, what you've lived through. Like a reminder that you came out on the other side of things."

Castiel drew his hand back, finally, folding his arms across his knee instead. The thing was, it had never really occurred to him before that scars should be something to hold onto, but once more he'd been taught something new, after all this time. It was good to hear that Dean wasn't mad about it, though.

His expression softened, and then his eyes crinkled, a little in compassion.

"You never needed those reminders. You had yourself--you had Sam. You were alive, and that was enough." And in some ways the car had represented how healthy Dean was. That Impala had borne all the scars that Dean's body had had wiped clean over time. It's body might be clean and polished, but every accident, every door slammed on a vampire's head, every childish misadventure, had been written under the upholstery and paint, in dents and scratches.

Dean didn't have that to hold onto, now, either. Just one scruffy angel.

Cas settled in, and with a certain amount of easy resilience, Dean did the same. Only after Cas relaxed could he, too amped up on the angel's nerves to willingly let himself down until the moment gave way. Dean had gotten too good at reading Castiel's tension, knowing when he needed to be heightened to match his pace and trying to slow down in equal measure. Though really, he was by far worse at that part. Nothing could really match Cas' calm, especially not Dean. And definitely not when he really needed to.

"See, you've got it. Nothing to worry about." He even shot Castiel a briefly glancing smile, one that disappeared as quickly as it arranged itself into place. But he was trying at least, despite still not entirely knowing why it had been a problem in the first place. Why Cas was even worried when he had the answers tucked away, right there.

And yet sometimes he just glommed onto ideas, gripping tighter than Dean had anyone ever said a being hold on. He even knew that first hand; Castiel's grip was a thing of legend.

"You haven't stolen anything of mine. And look, if you did? Wouldn't I have let you know?"

"No," Castiel answered, fairly, glancing up toward him a moment later. Dean wasn't that kind of man. He was decent, and he cared, and he knew that Castiel was what Castiel was. He'd act, and Dean would forgive him for whatever accidental slight he might make in the process, because he just wasn't good at acting human, even at the best of times.

"No, you wouldn't have let me know," he said, firmly, with conviction. "You'd pretend it didn't matter."

He turned his body, so that he could reach across and place his hand firmly on Dean's shoulder, looking intently at him. His fingers lay where once that scar had marked him.

"There's nothing here. While there was, it meant something. We've lost something since then."

Okay, okay- that was.. true. And it made Dean look away, staring into the fire, managing to at least be somewhat ashamed of himself. Because no, he didn't talk about the things he needed to. He avoided and brushed it all of, always took the easy way out of explaining the way he really felt. Covered up and lied and ignored - it was the only thing he was really used to and Cas occasionally took the brunt of it. It wasn't like he meant it harshly, it was simply the way he'd wired himself to function. And without meaning to, Cas had reminded him of the fact that it was an affliction.

The hand dropped onto his shoulder brought him back to the ring, glancing back up and over but only feeling worse at Castiel's words.

"We haven't lost- Cas. It's just changed."

Dean didn't know what else to say. He didn't know how to make it better, or make Cas believe that what was left wasn't fucked up. Not entirely. But there had been years, what felt like a millennia since then, and there was no reason why it shouldn't be different. Why their relationship shouldn't have morphed. Purgatory, Leviathan, everything that had altered their path - it just wasn't as simple as a handprint had once made it be. But Dean couldn't dwell because it'd just break his heart.

"It's changed, but it's left no mark."

Castiel knew, really. The loss that he felt was perhaps a loss of innocence. They had a tight bond, but it was more in the realms of survivors standing together now, rather than what it had been before. He knew that they'd changed, he was just musing on the way things had been. They'd all made mistakes since then, but to be honest, most of those were Castiel's mistakes, rather than Dean's.

He rubbed his own cheek against his own shoulder, squeezed Dean's, then let his hand drop away.

"At least not on the outside."

"Did you want it to leave one?"

Dean wasn't entirely sure if it was a stupid question or not, but it seemed like it was what Cas was angling at. That he wanted some resilient impression of what they'd been through. Some physical reminder that Dean could look at once again, a way to tie himself to Cas without even having to be in the same vicinity. Dean thought he could still do those things well enough but he hadn't thought that Cas would miss, well- something more. Apparently he was wrong.

Cas still had Dean's full attention, even if the angel was staring into the flames. He just couldn't look away, as if he was waiting for the right words.

Castiel blinked, startled, eyes jumping away from the flame again to stare at Dean.

"You think that's what I want? Until today I didn't even know that anyone could want to carry a memory cut into their flesh. It seems so counterintuitive..."

How could he explain this? He couldn't even get his own head around it, but, for example, when it came to everything that he'd done, the idea of it being carved into stone somewhere, even if was in his own flesh, was impossible to bear. He looked pleadingly at Dean, a little bit desperate. "How can something be forgiven, if it's never really gone?"

Dean's expression cracked incrementally, faltering just enough from the continued digging. Neither of them were making this better in the ways Dean usually chose to, which would have been leaving the scene of his own crime in any other situation. He so rarely swam upstream into his own emotions, but here he was, trying his damndest to pick Cas back up and brush him off again. He still didn't get why this was such an issue, so suddenly, not when they'd experienced scars and the depth of angelic healing more times than he could count. But they were all masters of pushing pain somewhere far only, only to have it froth to the surface at inopportune times.

Waving a hand as if searching for words, Dean tried again.

"Because you find ways to forgive. Fixing things, healing- those don't just sweep all the shit under the rug. You've gotta be the one to move past it."

Castiel was still uncertain, but it was rare for Dean to come out and speak to him with such honesty and conviction. Really, though, this last year and a little bit, Castiel had been shirking his usual responsibilities of dropping things when they got too difficult to discuss. He said things, cut Dean down in his own way, with far less hesitation than he'd ever used to have. Telling him he'd been fleeing him in the forest, for example.

It was just the way he was wired now. A little less sensitive when he hadn't really been great at it before, and even more prone to going off topic when things challenged his feelings instead of someone else's. Like now.

"Do you think cannibals eat bees?"

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This is a curse that can't be stopped

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