itstopped | Re-Entry 15: Video/Spam

Re-Entry 15: Video/Spam

[Inmate Filter]

[It was a very good weekend with a very bad ending for Felix, which might be why he's back to smoking in front of the camera again. The collar of his shirt is unbuttoned as well, although he otherwise seems as composed as usual.]

Do any of you know why you're here?

[He pauses, then smirks ruefully.] For once, I'm not trying to sow dissent. I don't need you to tell me what kind of monster the Admiral is. I'm just... wondering what you think it is he thinks you need to change, and...

Well, no and. Just that.

[Private to Claire Bennet]

Could I ask you a question?

[Private to Trip, Racetrack, Barbara, Charles, separately]

I have something to tell you. [He glances away from the screen for a second, worry -- or something worse -- flashing in his eyes.] I... think I might really be a traitor this time.

If you're receiving this message-- [A tacit, almost wordless admission that there are others involved here, multiple victims.] --it's because I've been gathering information on you. My resources have been... limited, but I've compiled a detailed file that contains more or less everything you've said on any public or warden-only filter, and in some cases, in private communications as well.

I honestly thought that, given my... my history, I was doing what was best for myself and for the ship, but I realize now that I was wrong. I take full responsibility for my actions.

[Spam for Dean]

[Felix had left the room as soon as Dean had, the night after the flood, and he's been laying even lower than usual ever since. It's not that he wants to stay away, not this time -- he's just assuming that Dean wants nothing to do with him, and as much as he already misses him, he doesn't want to provoke a confrontation when he has nothing more to say in his own defense and no particularly convincing argument to make Dean take him back.

Honestly, things seem to go better for him when he avoids conflicts, anyway.

Unfortunately, though, he actually needs some things from the room, so he tries to pick a time when he suspects Dean won't be around. He still has the key, so he slips inside quietly and starts collecting his things, with every intention of leaving the key behind and no further trace of himself.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's impossible not to see the damage, of course, and impossible not to know it corresponds to damage on Dean -- whether on his knuckles or in his chest. Impossible not to feel the sting of guilt knowing, as self-centered as it is, that all of this damage leads straight back to him and his betrayal. By the time Dean comes in, he's set aside his original goal and is quietly tidying up, as if fixing what Dean did to the room will fix a little bit of what Felix did to Dean.

By the time Dean comes in, he's not entirely sure whether the greater sin was betraying him or telling him about it.

He's slightly lost track of the time, but it's still much earlier than he expects Dean back, and it shows in the way he tenses, the startled look on his face when he turns to the door. He's halfway crouched, picking up bottles, a trash bag in one hand, and he straightens up slowly, eyes a little wide.]

I was just... [It's pretty obvious, he suspects, what he was just. He shrugs helplessly and tosses the bottle in his hand into the bag.] I was trying to get out of your hair. I meant to be out before you got back.

[It so typical, both what Felix is saying and what he's doing, that Dean almost laughs again. It wouldn't be a happy laugh, but it would have been fond, and frustrated, and resigned. He's cleaning, and he's trying to leave, and that's... typical. Dean doesn't reply at first, walking further into the room, the tray of food in his other hand forgotten, glancing around at how far Felix has already gotten to try and gauge how long he's been here.

Of course, he realizes when he sees some of Felix's things moved, collected into one place where Dean definitely didn't put them, it's not as though Dean has exactly given him any reason to stay, or to make him think he didn't want him to leave. Usually Dean is consistent and frequent with his efforts to touch base - usually texts, sometimes stopping by where he knows Felix is, notes on the desk if he has reason to believe Felix will be back before he is or leave after he does - but he hasn't been doing any of that. He needed to think. He needed to decide some things.

And he'd been intending to contact Felix. He had. He's not, quite, ready yet but he watches Felix tense up like that now and looks at him, really looks at him, expression difficult to read, and confirms what he already knew. He's missed him. And furthermore, this time, he can do something about that. Maybe. If Felix still wants him to.

Dean shakes his head and sets the tray down on a newly cleared spot on the desk.]

I... no. You got time? To talk? [His voice shifts between the questions - the bare sliver of actual hope because he wants felix to have time, he wants him to want to stay, and then the dryer tone because he doesn't want to talk. He never wants to talk. But they need to. Hands freed, he steps closer to Felix, and the tension is gone even if he's quieter than usual, gaze fixed.] Please.

[It's true: he hates talking. He never wants to talk. This time, though, something flashes in his eyes -- something even very much like hope rather than the usual suspicion -- and he puts the bag down, moving in closer like he's been pulled forward by a magnet.] Yeah.

[Dean has never really needed to say please, but this time, he really doesn't. It's true that Felix doesn't like talking, but that's usually because he rarely wants to face his own feelings on whatever the subject at hand is. This time... This time, he's been keeping himself as busy as ever, but there hasn't been any ignoring the way he feels: he loves Dean too much, misses him too much, and there hasn't been enough to distract him from that. Certainly, bioluminescent bacteria haven't been enough.

No, if he's avoided this situation, it's only because he has nothing to say for himself. Even now, he opens his mouth to speak, to talk, but the only thing he can think to bring to the table is:]

I told the others what happened. What... I did, I mean.

Okay. [Dean is not a man of words. He's learned them, learned how to use them to be charming and funny and threatening and to take charge, but that's never been his strength. His first language is silent and instinctive and more than the agreement, more than the opening gambit Felix lays out between them, Dean sees that flash - he interprets it both ways, suspicion just to be safe, hope because it's what he wants to see and he's only human - and the way Felix draws near, considers the way Dean didn't even have to argue about it, didn't have to push or fight.

It's not like it was, and Dean is still uncertain and reserved in a way he normally isn't with Felix; he doesn't scoop him up or kiss him or go bounding to meet him or lean over and hook an arm comfortably around him. But neither, for a moment, does Dean give a shit about what he did with other people even though he knows he should. He will again in a moment. Now, because Felix was here to get his things, Felix thinks he wants him out of his hair, and Dean hasn't done anything to stop that, and he needs to change that.

So he does close the distance, not as comfortably or as casually as he would have before, but not hesitantly, either, to pull Felix in for a hug, ignoring what he said in favor of the kind of talking he does best: blunt and straightforward.] Don't get out of my hair.

Edited 2013-08-21 04:29 (UTC)

[It's enough. It's more than he's expecting. There's a part of him that's still a little amazed Dean didn't haul off and slug him, considering the things Dean had told him right before his confession, considering the state of the bathroom. It's not a thing he fears anymore, though, and that's not the reason the air goes out of him when Dean's arms fold around him.

He sinks eagerly into them, wraps his own around Dean in turn, rests his head against his shoulder. For once, he's just not going to argue at all, not even in his usual roundabout way.] Okay.

[Apologies are rare for him, too -- even in his confession to the others, he didn't actually say those two particular words -- but now he closes his eyes tight and adds:] I'm sorry. [And maybe the act of saying it can encapsulate the other thing they don't say, the three other words that have never actually come out between them, even if they're beating hard against the walls of Felix's chest right now.]

[Dean breathes out, and lets Felix tuck himself in close. There's a part of him that wants to leave it here, especially when those two words - words neither of them are very familiar with in an actual sincere context, though they both do their share of flinging them around sarcastically - hit him, because there's still the majority of Dean that never needs to hear them. He could let it go, right here, right now, tilt Felix's face up and kiss him, and they could continue like nothing happened. He could. They could, and for several long moments, Dean's own pulse steady in his chest if slightly raised because christ, the hunter very seriously considers it.

I know that I am sick and tired of fooling myself.

Dean lets Felix stay there and closes his own eyes for a few moments at the apology, and lets himself feel the gratitude that wants to warm his gut at the rarity of it, at what Felix doesn't say, at proof that it exists in them both; he even drops his chin for a moment to Felix's hair, tightens his arms briefly. But he doesn't take it any further, because this can't happen again, for either of them. And Felix raised a point that Dean has been gnawing on ever since he could think clearly again.

So Dean also steps back a minute or so later, and he doesn't say I know even though he does, and he drops his arms away, ducks his head slightly to find Felix's eyes with his own.]

Thank you, for that. I'm still... I still don't know what to do about that. I need to ask you some things, but I don't... I was gonna call you, soon. Probably tomorrow. I get it. I want you to know that I get it, even if...

You eaten yet? [Dean gestures at the tray when he realizes he's just starting and stopping, and moves to get himself a beer out of the fridge. It's new for him, this impulse to keep someone at arm's length that he only wants to hold close. It's frightening, precarious, like Felix might walk away at any moment.

Dean doesn't know what he'll do if he does, but he holds his ground anyway.]

[I was gonna call you soon. Felix blinks and takes a step back, not really sure what to do with that. The paranoid part of his mind whispers that it's a kiss-off, that Dean really doesn't want anything to do with him, that he was just being... what? Nice? Trying to end things easily? Thank the gods that even the logical part of him, always so active, has plenty of evidence to counter that, but even so the nerves are clear in his expression, his voice doubtful.]

Okay... [He glances around uncertainly, follows Dean's movement to the fridge, staying in place.] I-- no, but... Do you want me to leave...?

[Just wait and see how soon he calls, that fearful, bitter part of him mutters. He takes a breath and tries to ignore it. That was the whole frakking point of telling Dean about the communicator, after all, the whole point of all of this: trust. Dean has it, and he doesn't, but... by the gods, he's trying.]

[But Dean is already straightening from the fridge, two bottles hooked between his fingers. He glances back to squint at Felix, eyebrows pulled together again.]

How're we gonna talk if you leave? [He can see the fear, the uncertainty, and there's that ironclad reflex to want to reach out somehow and steady him. That's what he'd intended the hug to be. It seems to have only made things worse so Dean, in turn, is somewhat at a loss for what to make of that.

He shrugs that off, though. That's not him. That's just the nerves. He walks back, pausing only to pick up the bag Felix put down and toss it decidedly - and unintentionally loudly, christ, how many bottles are in there - more out of the way before notching his chin at the couch and extending one of the beers. He'd meant he was going to call soon anyway, so they might as well talk now, but... he tries it again, painfully plain.] That's what I meant when I said don't leave.

C'mon. They gave me more'n I wanted, anyway. I think they're used to me pigging out but I'm just... not that hungry. [Dean himself drops heavily down onto the couch, still strangely tense in an understated way, though he leans back into his spot and watches to see if that was enough to get Felix back on board, here.]

Yeah. Okay. I just thought-- forget it. [He shakes his head and moves quickly, as much to get to the soothing warmth of the alcohol as to get to the currently not-so-soothing warmth of being around Dean. It's a victory, though, for his better side, for the tiny kernel of hope that's been trying to grow lately, and some of the fear leaches away as he comes over to the couch.

Which isn't to say that he's entirely calm. The brush of their fingers against each other as he takes the bottle from him, the way he's not really sure where to sit -- up against him, the way he's used to? keeping a distance? -- all these little extralinguals are more than enough to occupy his attention. In the end, he keeps a few inches between them and rests his hands, holding the bottle, somewhat politely on his knees. He takes a pull from the bottle, takes another breath.] You said you had questions.

[Dean is not exactly helpful in resolving those uncertainties, though it's not, really, intentional; he just doesn't really know, either. So he watches and he waits, steady and quiet, until Felix is settled. There's no nervous energy in Dean, at least not yet, unless one knows him very well: Felix might see the way his weight is still mostly on the balls of his feet even sitting down, a moment away from one or the other starting to jig up and down. He pops the top of his beer off with his ring, tosses the cap vaguely in the direction of the trashcan, but leaves it sitting on his knee instead of trying to drink it.

He wants to pull Felix close, like usual, the way they've both become used to, but maybe the distance is better for now. It's a traitorous thought in Dean's head where he's also chewing around where to start; he'd picked up his communicator a dozen or so times in various moods with various thoughts over the past couple days, but now he hasn't the first clue where to start. He chews his lip for a moment, then nods mostly to himself and glances up from staring at the lasagna on the tray.]

Was it just the once? When I left, right? I mean... I gave my communicator to you, then. Did you... did you take it without my knowing? Ever? [Perhaps typically, it's still not really suspicion in Dean's voice, though he keeps it carefully guarded; it's mostly the disappointment leaking through, and an earnest kind of bafflement.]

Edited 2013-08-21 06:13 (UTC)

No. [The reply is prompt, firm, but when it's out he hesitates. He's felt terrible about this from the moment he knew he was going to do it, but he had done it, anyway. The guilt had been secondary to the fear. He'd been relentless, obsessive, picking at every detail, and in the end he hadn't found anything that had seemed to be worth further monitoring, even to the paranoia.

If he had...

It hurts, having the disappointment turned on him, and knowing it will only get worse, but he tightens his hands and confesses, his eyes on the bottle in his lap:]

I... can't promise I wouldn't have, if I'd thought there was a reason to. I told you, Dean: the man I saw in that communicator was a good man. That didn't necessarily make it easier for me at the time, but I guess when I gave it back, I thought... well, if he didn't give anything away over this thing in the last two years, he's not going to now.

[There's still something in Dean that shifts and squirms uncomfortably at being told repeatedly that he's a good man, apparently good enough to finally push Felix this way instead of the other. But that's another issue for another time, though his eyes drop and come back up a moment later regardless.

Dean nods. He's been looking back over his communications himself, looking to see what Felix saw, who Dean will have to tell and apologize to. Dean doesn't regret anything he said there, even if some of it may have been anger-driven and ill-advised. He doesn't really do take-backs, even if there are some things he would rather have left private for one reason or another. There's not much he's ashamed of.

No, what hurt, what really hurt...] I'm gonna have to tell 'em. You know that, right? I can't just... [Dean doesn't deal in might-have-beens and probably-woulds. He can't open that door because the next one down the hall is What If, and he's played that game before. He's not up for a replay.]

I gave you my communicator. That's on me. Even if I didn't expect you to, I should've thought of that, and I didn't, and that's my fault. I guess I just... I still don't think you'll do anything with it to hurt anyone. I didn't at the time, either. But they deserve to know who knows their secrets that they didn't tell.

[Now it's Dean's turn to look away because he knows the answer to this, he does, and he understands. He does, as best he can. He doesn't expect an explanation. He just... needs Felix to know, and maybe that's selfish, but it's also honest. His voice lowers.]

I was pissed off about the whole thing, at first. Then I... [Hit some things. Drank a lot. Slept. Got over it and got back to the place where he can hear logic again.] The part that still gets me is how long it took. And I mean, I get it. You think I don't know you, but I do, and I get it, but it just... I just needed to get over how long it took. [To keep looking Dean in the eye and know, and keep lying by omission, and keep making that choice day after day after day.]

[He's not sure what to say to that. The first part, he expects: Dean is the good one here, whether he wants to hear that or not, and it's the right thing to do. It's a consequence Felix is aware of, and he doesn't protest it, nor does he protest Dean taking his share of the responsibility. After all, Felix had said himself that Dean should have known.

It's the second part that stymies him a little. If Dean really understands, then he shouldn't need to say anything to explain, and probably shouldn't try, but... Maybe it's just that it does hurt to hear it, the way all of this hurts. He still doesn't look up. There's no looking him in the eye right now.]

I thought if I showed my hand... [Then Dean would have known, and at the time Felix still feared the possible outcome of that: that Dean would be hurt, yes, but also that he would know, and have a tool to use against him somehow. That the moment Felix was waiting for would be hidden all the better because Dean would know he was looking for it.]

I understand what it sounds like. [Foolish. Irrational. A little insane.] But... after that port...

I get it. [He's said it four or five times now, and maybe it's too vague a statement or maybe Felix is in a place, now, where he can't believe that. The thought makes Dean tired, and maybe even a little gunshy; if Felix took so long to believe something he's said himself is so obvious, that he's known all along, what will the next thing be? What part of their relationship will the fear sink its claws into next? Felix has already broken Dean's nose. He would've shot that kid, maybe Dean too, because his world and the people in it fucked him up until he can't even listen to himself anymore.

Dean, catching himself, cuts that spark of hurt off at the quick. Dean doesn't know what the next thing might be, but this was no small obstacle, and even he can see that Felix is trying. It's harder for him than for Dean, and Dean has never stopped wanting to help him, wanting Felix happy, whole, safe. Dean, too, can keep trying.

And after all, it could've been longer before Felix told him. He might not have at all. And Dean, even as willing to believe himself a low priority to others as he is, doesn't imagine that keeping that secret was anything like easy; if it was, he'll never make either of them admit to that. He doesn't want to know. The hunter glances up, dark hazelgreen eyes serious and steady.]

I know what fear does. It kept me here for six months because it was easier to just live with that fear than to possibly go home and find out I was right to fear it. Even knowing it wasn't rational. Even knowing it was a shitty thing to do. I did it anyway, for a lot longer than you did.

I get it. It... hurts. But I do. And it's okay.

[Dean hears "after that port" and there have been so many traumatic things that have happened, specifically in ports, and Felix hates it here so much that he automatically writes it off to something twisting the knife of paranoia and bitterness Felix has never quite been able to work around. But a moment later he realizes it's been... good... lately. Pretty much ever since he's been back. There wasn't any painful experience to force Felix's hand.

He frowns then, eyebrows pulling together vaguely.] What port?

I know. [And he does, really. Or he wants to believe it, at least. You think I don't know you, but I do. Oh, yes, Felix very much wants to believe that, and he's starting to understand the lessons ignored in so many sermons over so many years: that faith and trust necessitate wanting to believe.

He's not sure what his own hang-up is at this point, what it is that keeps him doubting, except the inherent existence of all that doubt in him as it is -- like something residual, like a lingering sickness, one that makes him mistrustful of even the most solid conclusions. He knows he can trust Dean, he does. He shakes his head and sighs.] Maybe I'm just talking to hear myself talk.

[He sets the beer down and folds his elbows across his knees, rubbing his hands over his face, but he pauses and looks up at the question. He tenses slightly, finishes the movement.] You know which one. That... town. The one everyone is calling Silent Hill.

[The one that reminded him all over again how cruel the world could be, and how helpless he'd been to change that.]

[Dean had told Felix in the days after Silent Hill that the thing he would always remember most was the gut punch of thinking he'd lost Felix three times in three days. He'd meant it. That's what knots his gut up now, watching Felix get pulled away by the walkers while he could do nothing to stop it, looking up and realizing he'd been cut off from the group and later that Racetrack had, too, and then later when Felix was nowhere to be found on the Barge itself; the less literal thought of losing him as the days stretched out and they both filled their time with busywork and tried not to think. The awkward fight afterwards.

But he also remembers what still, clearly, dogs Felix's heels about it; he can't forget. Felix expressly told him he mustn't, so he looks over now and frowns, and doesn't press. If Felix is talking just to hear himself talk, well. Dean will let it happen. They need to, anyway.]

It's okay. [He says this again because he means it, in the very simplest sense of the word he means it, he's let it go. Or he's decided to. There's still emotions attached to this entire incident rattling around in his chest and his head that he hasn't resolved yet, but that will take time. That's the best he can do.] Felix...

[But he's not sure what to follow it up with because yeah, it sounds a little insane to be convinced of both - that he can trust Dean and that he can't - but he saw the environment, he heard the words. He saw what they meant to Felix. Maybe he is a little insane. So what. Dean can take it. And that's not unrelated to another point he wants to make sure he makes, but he's not done here yet, and this is all going to be hard enough without skipping around.

Besides, it's the only comfort he can think of. Felix likes data. He'd done all this for information. Dean is quiet for a moment, but in the end, he would've always offered that freely. Not comfortably, maybe, but freely. So that's what he does now.]

Did you... was there anything you wanna know about? Anything... I won't speak for others. But I can speak for myself.

[Again, rare as it is, there's no conflict in his response to that offer: the look he shoots Dean is one of pure gratitude. He may have doubted, before now, how well Dean really understood the situation, understood him, but there's no question about it now. Only someone who knew him and loved him despite it would ask something like that.

Which is why he knows what his answer is without thinking about it... what it has to be, maybe.]

No. [He shakes his head and smiles wanly, letting his hand slip across the gap between them to rest next to Dean's.] No. Not right now.

[Dean's offer was a gift, and this is as much as he can give in return. Of course there are things he could ask. About the marquis, about Castiel. About Buffy. He could, but he won't. Letting it go, that's what he can do. That is, honestly, the most meaningful gift he can think of right now.]

[It's a relief, really, to see that that at least Felix believes. That he takes to heart. Dean catches Felix's eyes squarely with his own and draws back slightly, but not out of anything negative, not intentionally. It surprises something like a smile out of him, too, because he hadn't been expecting any specific answer out of Felix. It didn't have to be anything, because Dean doesn't place conditions on what he's willing to give.

It's a problem. Just right now, it's also an advantage.

Dean doesn't really believe that, he doesn't think it won't come up again, because it must. Felix has that information now and Dean has opened the door for discussion of it, and it'll come up, but he's okay with that; Dean trusted him with the communicator for a reason, and he's just intuitive enough to realize what Felix is offering back. The hunter shifts his hand over without thinking much about it and, with deliberate care, interlaces their fingertips together.]

Okay. Well. If that changes... ask. [Now he glances up from their hands, and the smile is gone, his expression serious.] I can't promise I'll always respond... well... but I don't-

I can promise I'll take it seriously. That's the best I can do.

[It's such a small, simple thing, something Felix used to take for granted, and yet the promise of it now is almost a little overwhelming. He's always been smart and sincere, and when he was young, that was enough: he said smart things and people took them seriously. When the war started... he hadn't changed, at first, but the landscape had; that's one of the problems, he knows now, that he wasn't smart in the ways he suddenly needed to be, and people stopped taking him seriously until he changed. Too much.

Even then, for some things, it hadn't been enough to deal with a world going increasingly mad, but it had been enough that by the time he made it here... Well. He knows how some of the things he's said and done have come across: refusing the death toll, throttling Gaius, shooting at Ben, blowing up over Toshiko, spying on his loved ones. He knows that there are people here who probably think he's insane.

It's another gift, that there are people who do listen to him: Babs, Racetrack, even Anya... and Dean. It's a thing he never expected to see as a gift, as something to be grateful for, but it is. It's important, to the part of him that's still fragile and liable to distress.

They can go back to teasing tomorrow. Right now, he's nothing but sincere, eyes wide and solemn and a little red with raw emotion, voice intent.]

Thank you.

[He slides their hands together, tightening the loose lacing of their fingers, giving Dean's hand a long squeeze.]

And I meant what I said. If you want to see mine, or-- I don't know, if you want to ask me something... No more lies. No more evasions. I said that after that port, and I meant it, it just... took me a while to catch up with myself.

I know. It's okay. [It's almost intimidating, that level of candid sincerity. Dean certainly doesn't know quite what to do with it so it makes his smile a little weird, a little off kilter, but his fingers close around Felix's with his typical steadiness and his chest feels warm. Tight. He recognizes that. It scares him a little, but it also means... they can be okay. They can. For a while longer at least.

The impulse to draw Felix in close and fold him against Dean's side is so strong and so natural, even despite the past couple of days, that the muscles of his arm are tensing up in preparation to do just that when he catches himself. His thumb rubs a soothing arc over the side of Felix's hand, soothing for them both, but he's not done yet. He can't be. Dean tilts his head to study Felix and, drawing a deeper breath, takes a drink of his beer finally, speaking around the tail end of swallowing it before he can lose his nerve.]

Alright. I do need you to do something for me... and for right now, it's just... listen. I'm not all that great at this to begin with, so we're probably only gonna get about one shot at this, and I need you... I need you to hear me. Okay? [If Felix is being uncharacteristically solemn, this brand of earnestness isn't exactly something Dean displays often, though it's not uncomfortable on him. All the bells and whistles are gone, all the flash and glitter; what's left is that serious child he was, grown, still scared but more confident, stronger. He leans over to set the beer down on the floor out of the way, then shifts so he's more facing Felix on the couch.]

What I said before... I was pretty shaken up, after that flood. I can't really explain it, it just... it hit me completely wrong. I've been... I don't... It's been bad. For a while. Even before the Barge, but I always just thought if I could just... get through it, somehow, things would lighten up. It would go away. Things... [Dean hesitates, dropping his eyes again, and he's quiet for a moment but it's clearly a pause. His free hand comes to trace over Felix's wrist, over the back of the hand in his other one, but his rough fingers are feather light and they don't stay.

He lets out a slow breath, voice lower.] It's been bad for a while. And then that wasn't a great time... I mean, it really wasn't. [He cuts off a breathy, self-deprecating laugh, because when was it ever, but man...] So that all just hit me at once and came out... bigger than it needed to be. I'm sorry.

[That's not all of it, but. It's enough for right now, Dean glancing up somewhat sidelong without raising his chin, fingers still playing over Felix's skin.]

[Dean says listen, so he does. He's good at being quiet, anyway, good at taking in information, even if he's been terrible at processing it lately. He turns when Dean does, keeps his hand on his, and when Dean says I need you to hear me, he opens his ears and heart and tries to.

What he hears, though... Dean is trying to reassure him, but it really just scares him more, makes him feel worse, and not because of the paranoia. Not this time. No -- Dean asked him to hear, and what he hears is things like it's been bad for a while -- echoed, even, emphasized. He hears that this has been going on right in front of his eyes, that he's just been missing it all this time, and he doesn't know why. Out of selfishness or stupidity? Are there any other options? Even if Dean has been hiding it... he should have noticed. He should have done...

...What? Obviously nothing he's done yet has helped, as much as that hurts to think, and he has nothing in particular in his repertoire. He's used to being a rock, but not an emotional one. In matters like this... before Dean, there had only been a few people he'd had a real bond with, and the best he could do to protect the only one left was to leave him.

It takes him a while to respond while he thinks this all through, although it's more than clear that he is thinking, his eyes on Dean, his hand steady and firm on his. Eventually, he decides that the only thing he can bring to the table is what he already has been tonight: honesty. He shifts in closer, brings the other hand up to rest lightly on Dean's knee, voice soft.]

I hear you. Tell me what I can do.

[Dean would laugh if he could hear that Felix thinks nothing he's done has helped. Sure, he's done some things that have been less than helpful for Dean's state of mind, and no small amount of that helpless feeling comes from knowing how much he already loves Felix and the inevitability - not even born of his own issues, but stated by Felix himself in a dozen different ways from the very beginning - of losing him, of knowing there's nothing he can do about it. He should've said it the other night, when he thought Felix was going to protest their relationship again, try to push him away for the sake of pushing him away: Felix is the best thing in his life right now. Bar none. If Dean is happy, really happy and not just the foolsgold gilding of his personality, it traces back to right here.

Dean hadn't wanted anyone to know, and the people who knew him well enough to see kept cycling out the door, and adding their own footprint to the load through no fault of their own; Dean doesn't know how to let people go. He never has, and he's been on a slippery slope ever since John died, one that's only getting steeper, but ironically that's not the point - or rather, that's not why he brought it up. He'd thought... he doesn't know what he thought, what he expected to see in Felix's face when he looked across, maybe the confusion and the frustration again. The lack of understanding, and the impatience with what Dean suspects is still something he should be able to just get over. When he doesn't, though, when Felix instead reaches out, it becomes... not easier. Admitting to vulnerability of any kind will never be easy for the hunter, but more bearable.]

I don't know. I don't know what to do about it. [He'd said that, and he's much calmer now, but it's no less true. He's also moving on.] I just... you said, you didn't understand how I could talk about one mistake, and... and think I wasn't good enough, but also... [Love you.] think you are. I just. It's not fooling myself. It's that my bullshit's been going on for a long time, ever since Dad... that's just what I grabbed onto. It was just one example. And I was ten. So...

[Dean is straying off topic and he makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat. He doesn't know how to explain that success was love in the eyes of John Winchester, the only expectation, and that it's the only way Dean knows how to measure his self worth. He's not going to try. He's just not. But he does know what else he saw that night.

Licking his lips, he tangles his fingers up with Felix's, both hands this time, and hopes he doesn't sound as much like an idiot as he feels.]

You said you were sick of fooling yourself. You also said you're not very good at... seeing things for what they are, the middle road, not one side or the other. I... want you to stop comparing us. We're not the same. We haven't had the same lives, we haven't had to make the same choices. I'm not better than you. I just haven't had to make those calls.

...Who knows. I might've done better. I might've fucked it up even worse. I'd probably be dead. But we're never gonna know, and we're never gonna know what you would've done with my life. I just...

You're good, sweetheart. Not perfect, but... don't go too far the other way, either, while you're trying to make up for bullshit mistakes. It won't change anything that's already happened. Don't stop looking at what is because you can't stop seeing just the prison or the summer camp. That's what I need you to hear.

That's what I want.

Edited 2013-08-22 06:47 (UTC)

[It's still confusing and frustrating -- that much hasn't changed at all. But it's different, the way Dean is talking about it now: before, he'd tried to explain the reasons, the story about Sam, about his father, and the fact of the matter is that Felix is never going to understand the reasons, because they don't make sense to anyone but Dean. Not even entirely to Dean himself, apparently. And it's true that Felix simply can't be anything but frustrated when faced with something like I'm consumed with rage over something inconsequential that I did when I was ten.

This, though... now, the language is different, and it's one he understands a little better. He understands being hung up on things that can't be changed. He understands obsessing on details to the point of irrationality. Where he is, perhaps, a twisted kind of lucky is that his details are the kind that are easy to get hung up on -- the names of the dead and doomed, betrayals, destruction -- but the basic framework is one he understands. And frustrated or not, he loves Dean so much, and the idea that he's been secretly miserable, maybe even as miserable as Felix, is one that he can't just brush off with an irritated shrug. He might be pretty bad at empathy, but he's not a monster.

Which is, he supposes, the point, although he's not sure what to do with the fact that Dean is turning this back on him. He shifts his grip on Dean's hands, taking them between his, folded together as if in prayer. His brow knits, eyes staying lowered, stomach twisting with uncertainty.]

I know I'm not... I know there are worse than me here. Much worse. I know that I've always tried to do what's right, however badly I've failed at that. But I just... Dean, I hear these standards you have for yourself, and... [The crease in his brow deepens, lips pressing tight together for a moment.] And I don't think you're seeing the truth clearly, either. If not about me, then about yourself.

[He rubs his thumbs over Dean's, and now he looks up and smiles wanly. Sweetheart?] If you could get a grip on that frakking temper of yours, I'd still make you Admiral. I'd like to think that's not just... not just personal. [Not just his feelings.

He sits back a little and sighs, leaning into the couch.] And as for the rest of it... I don't know. I'm trying. I've been trying. [He tears one hand away just long enough to rub over his face, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye.]

[Sweetheart. Dean doesn't even try to take it back, doesn't even seem to notice he said it. He's gone still under Felix's hands now and while it isn't as far to go as it would normally be, he stays there now and listens, and thinks about it. He'd only brought himself up to clear the air and because the point he'd wanted to make for Felix was hopelessly intertwined with himself from that conversation. He turns it back on Felix because that's what's important to him, that's what matters.

But Felix is talking about his temper again, something he'd brought up originally, and he's making a joke out of it but it's not a joke. It's real, and he really has a hard time controlling it, and...] I know you're trying. I just... wanted you to know where I stand on it. That... I dunno. That that's what I see, anyway.

[It's easier now to be close, though Dean is still holding himself somewhat separate. He gives more ground, following Felix's raised hand up to brush back a few stray pieces of hair almost thoughtlessly. The standards Dean sets for himself, the reasons, those aren't things he can talk about plainly. Instead, he's quiet a moment more, and then circles back with a low, long breath.

He's not always lying. He's not always miserable. But it's always there waiting for him where only he knows about it, where he's putting it back out into the world as something else, usually anger.]

I didn't used to be this way, you know. Dad, Sam, they're the ones who fought. I didn't let much get to me. I learned how to do that, somewhere along the way, I didn't used to... I didn't want to fight. I'm not the one with the temper, believe it or not.

[He bows his head under the soft touch of Dean's hand. There's a quiet and simple pleasure in the graze of his fingers, missed so dearly even after only a few days. His eyes close for half a second; a brief break from the heaviness of the conversation.

But only a brief one. I didn't let much get to me, he hears, and he remembers when he was the same way. Head still lowered, he bites his lip.]

You know, the first time I tried to kill Gaius... I think I knew all along that I wouldn't really do it. I had a gun on him, but I knew I couldn't really pull the trigger, no matter how much I wanted to see him dead.

[He breathes in, lets it out softly.] The second time, I stabbed him in the throat.

[His lips thin into something that isn't really a smile at all.] You're right about at least one thing: we're shaped by the things that happen to us.

Edited 2013-08-23 01:54 (UTC)

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