dear_mun | On the mun's designs for character development

[Not that weird, is it? Isn't that what they started this conversation about? He is not unable, Cas. But he knows that tone, that expression, the way you're laughing, so he'll just give you a lop-sided smile and a one-shoulder shrug.]

2015, remember? And you double back to 2012. The guy on the phone is not the guy who called me from a gas station in Louisville, Kentucky three years ago. [That guy was more like you. Pretty much exactly like you.]

[ . . . no. He looks away and grins, wide. He understands what you're saying but no. No. It's all just. No. ]

So—what? We. . . [ Chuckling. What? They get to be together? Happily ever after? What? Man, that just fucking hurts to think about. Hope fucking hurts, Dean. It sobers him up. ] You're a jackass.

[ Regardless if you're telling him the truth or not. That you would tell him at all. He's nowhere near drunk-and/or-high enough for this. ]

Why? [ Why would you tell him? Why would you be with him? Why then and not now? Why is it different? Why do humans have these kinds of relationships? Why did you turn him into this? ] I tried—I tried to say goodbye to you, years ago. [ In the green room. Why didn't you let him? ]

[Oh, he's a jackass. For telling you that death isn't the end for you, for telling you that he's not unable. Fine. He'd forgotten how this works, with you straight from 2014, having had no time to adjust. He crosses his arms and frowns, narrows his eyes at your last statement.]

No, you didn't. [You never tried to say goodbye to him. When did you try to say goodbye to him? You never left. You're the first person in his life who never left. He would have let you go if you had, because that's what he does. So no, Cas. You didn't.]

[ Oh no. You do not get to pull that shit with him. He'll get right up in your space and shove you. And keep shoving you, closing in on your space again and again. Don't poke the junkie ex-angel, Dean; he hasn't been entirely de-clawed. ]

Yes I did. Before it started. I served Heaven. Not you.

[ Shove. ]

You're just one man. Afraid. Guilty. In pain.

[ Shove. ]

I thought you were beautiful. All that pain but your soul was still beautiful.

[ Shove. ]

You said it was worth it. All that pain. It was worth it. It's not worth it, Dean. It sucks! [ Trying to stop Heaven. Falling. Loving you. It's not worth it. It just hurts. ] It fucking—[ His breath hitches, comes out broken. ]—sucks.

[ And now he's having emotions and he doesn't understand them. Emotions are stupid. This is why you're a jackass. He glares at you. ]

[Oh hey woah. Okay. He'll let you do that, he'll let you shove him, will push back just enough to prevent falling, because man. Man, Cas. He'd forgotten. Three years, and he'd forgotten already. He's sorry. But not sorry enough not to eventually reach up and grab your wrist, try to hold on to one shoulder to stop you advancing on him.]

Cas!

[It sucks. Yeah, man, he knows. He knows that it sucks. It's still worth it. He still believes it's worth it. He tries to catch your eyes, grabs your shoulder harder. Looks back, not a glare, not angry, but no less intense.] You've told me you don't regret it. You have, 2014 you. You've told me— [He licks his lips, bites his lower one as he tries to find the words.] We couldn't have done it without you. I couldn't have done it without you. I—we still have burgers. And—fruit loops. And you've got a bike that you love, and it's worth it, Cas. I know it sucks, and I know how much more it sucks for you because you didn't use to have to deal with this crap. But it's worth it.

[Believe him. Please. He doesn't know how much sense he's making. He's guessing not a whole lot. But you gotta believe him, because he knows he's the one who did this to you, and you shouldn't hurt like this. That's not why he told you. So please. Believe him.]

[ Yeah, sure, fine. Hang onto him. He's pretty unstable as it is. He'd like something to hang onto him, to anchor him in place, and you're, well. You're always the top choice, whether it's a good idea or not. There's many forms of addiction, after all. He stares at you, listens to you. Overwhelmed. Desperate. Emotions suck.

He told you he didn't regret it? Well. ] Then I lied.

[ That's it, Dean. That's all he can tell you. He sucks in a deep breath. ]

I regret—everything. [ You. Him. The world. Everything. ] You think fruit loops makes that worth it? [ His face splits into a grin for a second. They're fucking fruit loops, Dean. It's absurd. All of this is just absurd.

He sets a palm against your chest, just to reach out. Just to touch, if you're touching him. Stares at it, his hand—Jimmy's hand—against your shirt. Goes quiet. ] It's not—why do you keep a picture of me on your phone?

[ You don't love him, Dean. You're not in love with him. You don't want that or you can't do that. One or the other, it doesn't matter. ] You're—unable. [ He meets your eyes. Please. Do you understand that? Unable to love him is acceptable. Unwilling is personal. He doesn't want it to be personal. ]

[Yeah, emotions suck. Watching you have them is never fun. Right now, it's making him have emotions, it's making his chest clench up and his throat grow tight. When you tell him you lied, he flinches. Don't say that, Cas. Don't put that on him, please. Except of course you have the right, it's what he signed up for when he dragged you down from Heaven to fight alongside him. It makes him want to pull back, makes him want to leave and find his Cas, who won't tell him he hates him for what Dean did to him. But of course he won't leave. You've got a right to say all of that to him, you've got a right to feel that way about him. And it's his job to listen. It's the least he can do.]

[He doesn't say anything when you go quiet, just watches you. Glances down as you put a hand against his chest, then looks back up to meet your eyes. He's unable. Yeah. He was when you knew him.]

When I— [His voice catches, so he clears his throat. Tries again.] After Lawrence. After the final showdown in Lawrence. May 2010. [He takes a deep breath. Steady, man. He's talked about this before, he can do so now.] I got out of hunting. With Sam gone, and you gone, I just— [He shrugs.] I ended up in Milwaukee. I was on my own for two years before you showed up, and even then— [He swallows as he remembers, finds your eyes again.] It didn't work. I was too messed up, you were too messed up. Unable. Both of us. [He shrugs again.] So you left for a while. Eighteen months. Got back about a year ago. And then it was just normal life, you know? No apocalypse, not even any spirits or ghouls or werewolves. We had time to work it out. So—now I've got a picture of you on my phone. [He meets your eyes.] Because we worked it out.

[Does that make sense? That's all he's got. If that doesn't make sense, he doesn't know what else to tell you.]

[ You stopped hunting. You have a normal life. With him, and then they worked it out. No Apocalypse. And fruit loops. It's not anything he's ever thought about but he wants it. He wants it and his breath catches tight in his lungs around a shaky, gasping laugh. His head bows forward, leaning into the hand on your chest. ]

I am not—[ Breathe, man. Shit. No laughing. ]—unable.

[ He's not. He does love you. He's capable of it. ]

[Oh hey. You're leaning against him. He'll slide his hand from your shoulder around to your back to rub against the fabric of your shirt and the ridges of your spine underneath. You're not unable. Yeah.]

I know.

[He does know that. It's still surprising to him every time he's reminded of it, but he does know it.]

[ Oh you're touching him. It's comforting. He doesn't want to need comfort from you—life has needed too much from you already—but it's nice. It's too nice to pull away from. This body wants comfort, leaning further into you, close enough for his forehead to brush against the shelf of your shoulder. Not resting there. Just touching. He's terrible at resisting temptation.

This is nice, Dean. You were unable. But you're not anymore. You won't be always. That's enough. He lets out a soft huff, a sigh, exhaustion and relief. Doesn't pull away. ]

Do you, uh, have other phone pictures?

[ Of him. Of your life. Whatever. ]

[It's nice. Well, kind of. It's nice that you think it's nice. He hates to see you like this, Cas, hates it, and it's nice to be able to give some comfort. Even if it's just minimal comfort. Even if he knows it won't last, since you will go back to your Dean, who will not give you comfort. And then you'll find comfort in orgies and drugs, and he really doesn't want to think about all of this right now. He'll just continue to run his hand over your back. And then glance down when you ask your question.]

Uh. [Reaching down with his free hand to pull out the phone again.] A few. Haven't had this phone for very long. [But there are a handful of pictures, of the house in Milwaukee, of Cas, of Cas' bike, of Bobby in the driveway with the bike and the Impala behind him. A couple of blurry pictures of nothing much at all when Dean figured out how to use the camera, and one picture of Dean on the living room couch that Cas took. Here. Phone pictures. He'll explain if you want him to, but if you seem happy to just look, he won't comment much.]

[ He leans into you as long as he's able—and even when he's not, he stands close to you regardless, still very much in your personal space—and holds the phone with his free hand. It takes him a few moments to figure out how to flip through the pictures, but eventually prodding the screen results in functionality. The one of Bobby surprises him, clenches a quick knot of something like grief or regret in his throat. But the rest remain merely interesting, like storybook pictures, real and unreal at the same time.

He stares at the one of Dean for a long time. You look relaxed in it. Distantly annoyed, perhaps, at the photo being taken but there's affection there as well. An ease he stopped associating with you. Has maybe never seen before. It's good, Dean. You look something close to at peace. ]

You, uh—[ Clearing his throat. ]—you chose this? [ He pulls back away enough to cut his eyes up towards you, chin still tucked. ] It's not because I—? [ Swallows. He can't get out the rest of the question. Just widens his eyes. You didn't do this for him, right? This life. This ease. You chose it for yourself. Because it's right for you, not because it's something he needed. He doesn't want to need anything from you. You shouldn't sacrifice any more, especially not for him. ]

[He doesn't mind having you in his personal space. Except for the part where it feels a little bit like something he should have asked his Cas' permission for, but he has the feeling that his Cas would not have a problem with him doing this.]

[The photos are familiar to him, so he's watching your reaction to them, catches your brief hesitation at the picture of Bobby, and frowns a little as you stare at the picture of him for a long time. Glances down as you pull back, but then catches your eyes at your question. It's not because you— ? Because you asked for it?]

I was living in Milwaukee before you came back. Quit hunting, sold all of my guns. It's how we bought the house. [Grin. He turned his arsenal into a house. He likes the house better. Shrugs a little.] My choice. Just ended up working out well for how things worked out.

[ Your choice. Good. He believes no one could convince you to do something you didn't see the need to do yourself. But it's good to know it was mutual, if anything. He nods once, and takes a step back. Holds your phone back out to you. ]

Okay.

[ It's good. He's good. It's possible, you and him, somewhere, somehow. When you're willing and able. He meets your eyes, tilting his head to the side. ]

You know. [ That he loves you. You find it acceptable. ]

[He takes the phone and watches you. You look like you're wanting to say something else. He meets your eyes, and then draws his eyebrows together a little when you speak. He knows. He knows what? Considering how the conversation went, and judging by the expression on your face, he's fairly sure he knows what you mean, but there's still a note of doubt to his tone when he speaks.]

I know that you care about me. [Is that what you meant? That's what you meant, isn't it. But he didn't put it the right way, did he. He shifts his feet and twitches up his eyebrows.] Love me. [A shrug, and a slightly awkward smile.] Even if it took us a while to work out the technical details.

[ Yes, he cares about you. But that's not—it. It feels incomplete if they just leave it at that. So yes. Yes, he loves you. He nods, once, lips parted, watching you almost warily.

That okay, Dean? You going to freak out on him? For some reason this fact seems to be surprisingly damaging, either to you or to him, and so they've never successfully had a conversation about it.

But you're not freaking out. You're smiling, a little. So he swallows. Tries to smile back a little; relax. ]

You're better at details. [ Than he is. ] Uh, mostly. [ So that wasn't like a compliment or anything. Your plans almost always suck. ]

On the mun's designs for character development

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