forthedog | (no subject)

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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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"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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