forthedog | (no subject)

Entry tags:

darrow,
neil

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The return from the ash didn't gift him perfect self-knowledge. There are still times when he's not altogether sure what he's thinking, what he's feeling. He's still fragmented, tangled; there will always be knots he can't completely undo. The thing is that usually it doesn't bother him. Usually it's something he notes, accepts, and moves on from.

Not so much now.

He makes the connection he needs to make, watches the man go into the little room that, for a while, housed a cathedral he built to contain the pain of Dean Winchester, and turns away. The truth is that he's glad he left his gear with them. He couldn't do any more tonight.

Like he often does, Neil is drifting through the crowd, pausing and coming to rest where he will. Mike sees him leaning against the railing and climbs the stairs, settling a hand on his shoulder.

"I need to get outta here."

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I'm not really interested in finding anyone else to play with tonight, and when I pick a spot by the railing, I'm waiting for him. It doesn't take long, the weight of his hand familiar on my shoulder, and I turn to look at him, eyes narrowing a little as I try and read whatever's goin' on behind his eyes.

"Yeah, okay," I say, stepping away from the railing and hooking a finger through his belt loop, the kind of mindless possessive gesture that always seems to rear up in this place.

Right now he lets Neil be the one holding onto him and not vice versa; it isn't even a question of letting, really, so much as what the default is now. So it's comforting. He might be leading the way but in his mind it's only an accident of positioning.

Through the buzz of conversation and bass and screams, out into the warm night, he pauses on the sidewalk and drags in a long breath.

Out on the street, I let my hand fall away, but instead of moving away completely, I step around to stand in front of him, my hand resting flat against his chest. It's still possessive, in a way, but mostly, it's meant to be grounding. And maybe I'm also trying to ground myself. There's always been an element of this thing with Dean that I just can't touch, and as much as I get it, I need him to help me out a little when it comes to navigating it all.

"You okay?"

He presses into the touch, almost as if he could feel his own heartbeat echoed back to him off of Neil's palm. "I dunno," he says quietly. "I don't think so."

He glances back toward the door of the club - just an unassuming black door set into the brick wall of a nondescript building. "I always figured this would get complicated, but Jesus Christ."

"What happened?" I ask, even though I'm not sure he wants to give the details. If he doesn't, I'll deal with that, too, but I have to ask.

"Cas is letting him come back." He lets out a long breath. "But he has to be with a stranger. Different people all the time. And he still doesn't know about me."

He rolls a shoulder, a step shy of shaking himself. "Let's walk or something. Feels weird standing here."

"Okay," I nod, stepping away from him, but I settle an arm around his waist instead. I'd say I'm doing it for him, but I'm not sure which of us needs the contact more right now, honestly.

"They need this, you know. Cas needs to understand what the fuck's goin' on in there."

"No, I know. I wouldn't have agreed to it otherwise."

He's quiet again for a moment, looking at the city lights, the cars rolling by. He feels weirdly jittery. Like there's too much energy in him with nowhere at the moment to go.

"It was hard watching someone else walk in there." It's the first time he's really admitted this, at least aloud to someone else. "That was my territory. I mean- I know it wasn't, not really. But it felt like mine."

"That poor fuckin' bastard that walked into that room isn't the one takin' your territory," I say, 'cause there's too much baggage there, now. What Mike and Dean were doing, it wasn't just about strangers helping each other out. Whoever went in there tonight's a stand-in, since Cas can't bring himself to do it himself, and Mike was never gonna be able to fade into the woodwork like that.

"Cas sure is a possessive fucker," I say with a faint snort of laughter.

"I know." He sighs, leans into Neil a little. Of course he's right. And that's what makes it worse, to be feeling this way. It's irrational, unfair, selfish, and the selfish part he can live with but the rest of it bothers him.

"I don't blame him. Okay? I just want to get that clear right now. I don't blame either of them. These are my issues. I just..." He shakes his head, jaw working. "I didn't expect to have 'em. I probably should have."

"I would," I say, wondering if I should just shut the fuck up 'cause I'm not saying what I mean. "Mike, you're not gettin' what I'm sayin'. What you were doin' with him was some deep shit. So, I know you don't fuckin' blame 'em, and I knew it was coming, but I didn't expect you not to fuckin' feel anything when it did. I mean, it's Dean."

It's kind of hard not to get a little wrapped up in him.

He stops abruptly, head tipped back, eyes briefly closed. For a moment he wishes he hadn't said anything, wishes he wasn't here at all, and not because any of what he's saying is scaring him, or that he thinks it might scare Neil. Simply because Neil is right: It's deep, deep and raw, and it hurts.

"I never went that far with anyone who wanted it," he says softly. "It was... like all the walls coming down. Like... the ash, again."

"So, what happens now you don't have somebody you can go that far with?" I ask, but it's not really a question that I'm expecting an answer for. He's thinking it, maybe not consciously, but it's gotta be there. He's lost something, and I can't help but be a little angry that it was taken away from him like it'd mean nothing.

But he's right. I don't blame them. It's not easy for me to let go, to not doubt what Mike and I have, knowing he can't get to that point where all the walls come down, when he's with me. Cas is only just learning how to navigate all his brittle, nasty human feeling, how the fuck can I expect him not to get territorial?

"I dunno." He looks at Neil again, hard. Studying his face, the way it's thrown half into shadow and half into light by a nearby street lamp. "I couldn't do that with you. Not like that. It wouldn't be safe." He takes a breath. "The night the demon broke out, went on a tear, I almost killed him. I was this close. Because I could."

"I know," I say, forcing myself to meet his eyes head on, "Mike, I know, which is why I don't make a big deal outta you needin' to find other people for that kind of shit. I wanted to be there when that happened, but it was always your thing with Dean, and now... I dunno, you'll find somebody else."

It seemed easier, because it was Dean, but maybe that's just what I told myself.

"But whatever. This isn't about me. I know that."

"It's about you. It's about me, so it's about you." Slowly, he reaches out and trails one fingertip down the line of Neil's scar, careful and delicate. Almost reverent.

"Anyway. I'm not sure I will. Not like that."

Curling a hand around his wrist, I turn to press my lips against his palm, my eyes fluttering briefly closed.

"Maybe not," I agree, 'cause I feel like Dean's an anomaly and always has been.

Something about the touch of Neil's lips - there, right over the scar - jolts something out of him, and he blinks a little, like waking up.

"It doesn't matter," he murmurs, turning his hand and cupping the side of Neil's face. "I have what I need."

"It does matter," I say, rolling my eyes, my lips quirking into a grin that I can't quite hide, "But thanks. I mean, I kinda like the idea of you gettin' what you need from me. Or most of it, anyway."

"I do. I mean that."

He lingers another second or two, hand still against Neil's face, then curls his fingers around Neil's wrist and starts to walk again, feeling the pulse flutter under his fingertips.

"I was thinking about that, actually. You know... We're getting close to when I first got to the island. Close to when I first met Eostre."

"What do you mean?" I ask, distracted by his hand around my wrist and the warmth spreading through my chest. It's embarrassing, how fuckin' easy I am. Say I need you and I get all fuckin' stupid and shit.

"I mean a lotta shit's happened between then and now. You, Tom, the girls..." This. Whatever the fuck this is. He's long since stopped insisting that he's not the same guy that Neil knew in the island, because it's not that simple, but on the other hand it sort of is.

He's not that man. In some ways he has very few things in common with him.

"I told you, when you got stuck in her fucking body, I chose you. I wanted you. Now I'm starting to realize... Neil, I'm always gonna love her. But I don't need her. I'm not the man she fell in love with. Fuck, if it comes down to it, I'm not the man Tom fell in love with, either. I don't even know what the fuck he'd think of me. Doing what I do."

He gives Neil's wrist a slow squeeze. "Whatever I am now... It's something that's totally yours."

"God, you're such a fuckin' sap," I breathe, pulling us both to a stop and crowding in close to him, my lips pressed against his.

I want to see Tom again, I fuckin' ache for it, every single day, but I also know all the trouble it'd cause. Because Mike isn't the same man he was, and the things Mike does... the things we do, Tom just wouldn't be able to wrap his head around. It'd mean knock down, drag out fights with somebody gettin' hurt, and I don't know if I want to go through that. I don't know if I want to watch Mike and Tom go through that.

"You are mine, you know. All of you, especially the fucked up parts."

"I know," he murmurs, smiling against Neil's mouth, releasing his wrist only to curve a hand around the back of his neck and hold on.

I belong to you.

"Why the fuck do you think I keep getting up in the morning?"

"I dunno, man. I thought your kids might have somethin' to do with it," I point out, giving him a look that isn't quite as annoyed as I'm goin' for.

"Come on," I say, stretching up to press my lips against his forehead. "You ready to head home, or you wanna go someplace else first?"

"Eh. Tiny bit." He breathes out a soft laugh, sliding his fingers up into Neil's hair. This feels right. This is never going to not feel right.

"Yeah. Let's go home."

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