Castiel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
perfectantidote) wrote2020-10-07 03:45 am
perfectantidote) wrote2020-10-07 03:45 am
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[ Right... right, manners. A thing that exists. People want to attach names to the things that will hurt them. ]
Cas.
[ Castiel. Except, no. Not really. That's not been his name for a few years now.
And... just like that, there's nothing else left to say. Comfort rings hollow when Cas is too busy examining the way he himself cracked in half. There's nothing good he can give her - nothing that wouldn't break her as much as he's broken, anyway, and despite his own bitterness, he has no intentions of inflicting his damages upon someone who's emotionally vulnerable.
No, he likes the people he uses and lets himself be used by to be at least surface-level stable and fine. ]
I'll, uh. See you. Tomorrow.
Cas.
[ Castiel. Except, no. Not really. That's not been his name for a few years now.
And... just like that, there's nothing else left to say. Comfort rings hollow when Cas is too busy examining the way he himself cracked in half. There's nothing good he can give her - nothing that wouldn't break her as much as he's broken, anyway, and despite his own bitterness, he has no intentions of inflicting his damages upon someone who's emotionally vulnerable.
No, he likes the people he uses and lets himself be used by to be at least surface-level stable and fine. ]
I'll, uh. See you. Tomorrow.
[Maybe she was pushing it, but considering how desperate Skye can be at times for non-sexual physical affection, she barely hesitates before reaching out in an attempt to hug him.]
I’m so sorry.
[Hi, yes, she’ll be dealing with this survivors guilt even after Dean comes back.]
I’m so sorry.
[Hi, yes, she’ll be dealing with this survivors guilt even after Dean comes back.]
[ Cas goes... uncharacteristically still as he's trying to parse what is going on. On a very basic level, he understand what a hug is, has seen enough people partake in them to be aware, it's just...
He hasn't. Partaken, that is. Arms around him without any other sort of physical activity being initiated is... unusual, to him. And there's a stiffness to his posture that he's grown unfamiliar with, that was much more common in him when he was still an angel. He tends to be loose and fluid in all things these days. This... throws him, though.
Being this close, Skye will be able to feel his breath hitch, hear how heavy he swallows. She's... small. Warm. And he knows he should put at least an arm around her, but Cas has trouble parsing what this contact does to and for him. The way something in him clenches up tight, while something else tingles warm at the back of his skull and tries to lull him into relaxation, into melting into Skye's arms and begging her not to let go, because of all the things he never knew he might need, desperately...
Instead he just stands there, trembling. ]
I uhm. Yeah, well. Me too.
[ She needs someone, Cas thinks. Someone to wrap arms around her, someone to hold her. Someone to tell her it's not her fault, someone to tell her she's gonna be okay, it's gonna be okay.
Instead all she has here is Cas, and he feels profoundly sorry for her because of that. ]
It's, uhm... it's not your fault.
[ There's still a tremor in him. He's still not reaching back. Can't - he feels as if he'll just tremble into pieces if he does. ]
He hasn't. Partaken, that is. Arms around him without any other sort of physical activity being initiated is... unusual, to him. And there's a stiffness to his posture that he's grown unfamiliar with, that was much more common in him when he was still an angel. He tends to be loose and fluid in all things these days. This... throws him, though.
Being this close, Skye will be able to feel his breath hitch, hear how heavy he swallows. She's... small. Warm. And he knows he should put at least an arm around her, but Cas has trouble parsing what this contact does to and for him. The way something in him clenches up tight, while something else tingles warm at the back of his skull and tries to lull him into relaxation, into melting into Skye's arms and begging her not to let go, because of all the things he never knew he might need, desperately...
Instead he just stands there, trembling. ]
I uhm. Yeah, well. Me too.
[ She needs someone, Cas thinks. Someone to wrap arms around her, someone to hold her. Someone to tell her it's not her fault, someone to tell her she's gonna be okay, it's gonna be okay.
Instead all she has here is Cas, and he feels profoundly sorry for her because of that. ]
It's, uhm... it's not your fault.
[ There's still a tremor in him. He's still not reaching back. Can't - he feels as if he'll just tremble into pieces if he does. ]
[Skye doesn’t even hold it against him when he doesn’t hug her back, but it does make her retract quickly. Tonight was already painful, the last thing she wants is for him to be even more uncomfortable.
She doesn’t believe him when he tells her it’s not her fault, but she’s too emotionally drained to argue with him about it.]
I should—
I’ll be back tomorrow.
She doesn’t believe him when he tells her it’s not her fault, but she’s too emotionally drained to argue with him about it.]
I should—
I’ll be back tomorrow.
[ Cas reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, gaze dropping. ]
Yeah, uhm... yeah.
[ How is this so painfully awkward? He's used to being naked with people, used to fucking and splitting after, used to being open about it, too. This?
He's starting to get why Dean rejects talk about emotions. ]
I'll see you.
Yeah, uhm... yeah.
[ How is this so painfully awkward? He's used to being naked with people, used to fucking and splitting after, used to being open about it, too. This?
He's starting to get why Dean rejects talk about emotions. ]
I'll see you.
Continued from here.
[ Grady's as good as his word: the door to his apartment is unlocked, as much as that matters in a town where people can drift through walls and knock down entire buildings if they want to.
Cas won't find the apartment itself to be particularly welcoming. It's mostly wreathed in darkness, though a few determined bunches of incense letting off thin ribbons of smoke in the corners mean that at least the walls aren't bleeding. Not that the lack of blood really improves the state of the place: after being partially destroyed in the spring, Grady's never really had the time or the inclination to patch it up, spending most of his time these days living over in the cabin by the lake. The outside wall in the living room-slash-open kitchen is taken up by a tarp that's been roughly repaired a few times; it twitches and ripples every so often in the cold blood-soaked wind off the mountains. Sprays of blood are overlaid across each other on the floor, some old and a few more recent. Only a few pieces of furniture survived the fight that wrecked the place.
Grady himself is sat on one of these, taking up the middle of a couch that's definitely seen better days. Candles are dotted around him on the floor and the coffee table, enough to illuminate the handgun he's in the middle of taking apart and carefully cleaning. The smell of gun oil cuts through the funk of the incense.
Like the apartment itself, he's a wreck, though he at least doesn't have anything so obvious as a weather-thinned tarp to give it away. The grief from losing Wes is recent enough that he's still moving around it like an injury, like his heart has been replaced by a hole that's raw and burning. Strangely enough, there's something clarifying about it as well, the pain setting aside the madness and exhaustion that's built up in his head like heavy bricks. He feels like he's thinking clearly for the first time in weeks, though all that's left to think about is the grim determination not to think at all. Just to survive, to act. And to seek out the closest and quickest source of oblivion he can find while he counts down the days for his husband to be brought back to him.
Speaking of which. He'll look up as Cas enters, sparing him a quick glance from his left eye -- the right covered by a leather-tooled eyepatch -- before reaching over for a rag to wipe the oil and cleaning fluids off his fingers. ]
Hey, man. You want something to drink?
[ Grady's as good as his word: the door to his apartment is unlocked, as much as that matters in a town where people can drift through walls and knock down entire buildings if they want to.
Cas won't find the apartment itself to be particularly welcoming. It's mostly wreathed in darkness, though a few determined bunches of incense letting off thin ribbons of smoke in the corners mean that at least the walls aren't bleeding. Not that the lack of blood really improves the state of the place: after being partially destroyed in the spring, Grady's never really had the time or the inclination to patch it up, spending most of his time these days living over in the cabin by the lake. The outside wall in the living room-slash-open kitchen is taken up by a tarp that's been roughly repaired a few times; it twitches and ripples every so often in the cold blood-soaked wind off the mountains. Sprays of blood are overlaid across each other on the floor, some old and a few more recent. Only a few pieces of furniture survived the fight that wrecked the place.
Grady himself is sat on one of these, taking up the middle of a couch that's definitely seen better days. Candles are dotted around him on the floor and the coffee table, enough to illuminate the handgun he's in the middle of taking apart and carefully cleaning. The smell of gun oil cuts through the funk of the incense.
Like the apartment itself, he's a wreck, though he at least doesn't have anything so obvious as a weather-thinned tarp to give it away. The grief from losing Wes is recent enough that he's still moving around it like an injury, like his heart has been replaced by a hole that's raw and burning. Strangely enough, there's something clarifying about it as well, the pain setting aside the madness and exhaustion that's built up in his head like heavy bricks. He feels like he's thinking clearly for the first time in weeks, though all that's left to think about is the grim determination not to think at all. Just to survive, to act. And to seek out the closest and quickest source of oblivion he can find while he counts down the days for his husband to be brought back to him.
Speaking of which. He'll look up as Cas enters, sparing him a quick glance from his left eye -- the right covered by a leather-tooled eyepatch -- before reaching over for a rag to wipe the oil and cleaning fluids off his fingers. ]
Hey, man. You want something to drink?
[It's later in the day on the 26th when Skye shows up at his doorstep, Colt in hand this time. She isn't doing any better than yesterday, mentally or physically, but she at least made sure she didn't look like a complete mess.
Spotting Dean's wrecked car in front of the house, Skye quickly looks away as she steps up to his front door. She saw the video message Cas had made earlier in the day, but she hadn't looked to see if anyone had responded. Apparently they did.
Taking a deep breath, Skye keeps the gun at her side. Safety on, obviously.]
Spotting Dean's wrecked car in front of the house, Skye quickly looks away as she steps up to his front door. She saw the video message Cas had made earlier in the day, but she hadn't looked to see if anyone had responded. Apparently they did.
Taking a deep breath, Skye keeps the gun at her side. Safety on, obviously.]
Edited 2020-10-25 00:05 (UTC)
[ Cas looks exhausted when he opens the door - gun at his side, too, though when he sees it's her he puts it aside. He looks exhausted, and is only partially dressed, in frayed jeans, feet and chest bare. He's lean bordering on too thin, like a man who regularly doesn't give his body everything it needs. It's not terrible, not at all - not malnourished so much as mildly underfed. Just noticable enough to the perceptive eye. ]
Welcome back.
[ His voice is a hoarse mess, but her gestures her inside and steps away from the door. ]
Come on in.
[ And he turns around, leading the way back into the dark house. On his sharp shoulder blades, she'll be able to see his antler tattoo - like broken wing stumps on his back, bleeding slightly. ]
Welcome back.
[ His voice is a hoarse mess, but her gestures her inside and steps away from the door. ]
Come on in.
[ And he turns around, leading the way back into the dark house. On his sharp shoulder blades, she'll be able to see his antler tattoo - like broken wing stumps on his back, bleeding slightly. ]
Hey.
[Skye half expects him to just take the gun from her at the door, so when she’s invited in she hesitates for a second.]
You got someone to help you bring the car back?
[Her eyes land on his back as she steps inside, and even in the low light she can make out his tattoo bleeding.]
What happened?
[He has to know that his back is bleeding, right?]
[Skye half expects him to just take the gun from her at the door, so when she’s invited in she hesitates for a second.]
You got someone to help you bring the car back?
[Her eyes land on his back as she steps inside, and even in the low light she can make out his tattoo bleeding.]
What happened?
[He has to know that his back is bleeding, right?]
Hm? Oh...
[ Cas makes a dismissive gesture. ]
It keeps doing that. It's fine.
[ Probably. He keeps ditching shirts because of that. Can't bleed through everything he has on loan from Dean, after all. ]
[ Cas makes a dismissive gesture. ]
It keeps doing that. It's fine.
[ Probably. He keeps ditching shirts because of that. Can't bleed through everything he has on loan from Dean, after all. ]
[Skye sets the Colt down on the table before crossing her arms gingerly over her chest.]
Maybe you should get it checked out anyway.
Maybe you should get it checked out anyway.
cw for unhealthy coping mechanisms, sex, depression, grief
perfectantidote
2020-10-25 01:39 am (UTC)(link)
[ It's painfully familiar, and for a moment Cas wonders if he should regret his choice. The rundown ruin of a house, the smell of gun oil, the wreck of a man working on his weapons.
And Cas himself, well. He doesn't fare better exactly. His fingers tremble slightly on the semi-automatic he carries, deftly pulling the strap over his head and putting the weapon down. ]
If you want to share your poison of choice.
[ Cas doesn't have any of his angelic senses left, cannot see this man's soul or his measure. All that remins is the faintest... slightly too sharp intuition. Just small things he picks up on a little more easily than others might. To him, grief drips from Grady like oil, and it's... a relief, morbidly.
He can be of some use here. His existence can have a point, for a moment in time, to provide whatever it is Grady needs. Cas has no illusions about this being profound - but he can take being used, when he does little else himself. The fact that he'll get to forget about that aching empty hole in his chest is an added bonus.
Cas has the look of a man from a life of strife about him - mid-thirties, perhaps, at least physically speaking, with blue eyes that can at times feel too blue and too old. Sharp angles and rough edges with a soft mouth wrapped around sharp words,. He fits right into the aesthetic of the place, and isn't that just lovely.
He doesn't ask about the tarp. Doesn't ask about the blood. Some stories tell themselves, and Cas isn't used to fucking people or getting fucked by people who aren't damaged and broken and need something to slap into the cracks. He's good for that. He can be good for that, and he does not resent it either. ]
Wanna tell me what you need?
And Cas himself, well. He doesn't fare better exactly. His fingers tremble slightly on the semi-automatic he carries, deftly pulling the strap over his head and putting the weapon down. ]
If you want to share your poison of choice.
[ Cas doesn't have any of his angelic senses left, cannot see this man's soul or his measure. All that remins is the faintest... slightly too sharp intuition. Just small things he picks up on a little more easily than others might. To him, grief drips from Grady like oil, and it's... a relief, morbidly.
He can be of some use here. His existence can have a point, for a moment in time, to provide whatever it is Grady needs. Cas has no illusions about this being profound - but he can take being used, when he does little else himself. The fact that he'll get to forget about that aching empty hole in his chest is an added bonus.
Cas has the look of a man from a life of strife about him - mid-thirties, perhaps, at least physically speaking, with blue eyes that can at times feel too blue and too old. Sharp angles and rough edges with a soft mouth wrapped around sharp words,. He fits right into the aesthetic of the place, and isn't that just lovely.
He doesn't ask about the tarp. Doesn't ask about the blood. Some stories tell themselves, and Cas isn't used to fucking people or getting fucked by people who aren't damaged and broken and need something to slap into the cracks. He's good for that. He can be good for that, and he does not resent it either. ]
Wanna tell me what you need?
cw for unhealthy coping mechanisms, sex, depression, grief
dividingline
2020-10-25 02:21 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Grady doesn't have the benefit of magical intuition to tip him off, just a couple of decades of experience in watching people, studying their body language, when they're lying or not, whether they're really going to give up the money when asked or if they're just going to pass out the minute they start really feeling some pain. Even through the haze of semi-drunken exhaustion, that knowledge is enough to tell him that the man in front of him is either used to being in situations like this or he's a damn good actor. Either way, Grady's glad that he doesn't have to dissemble or deal with someone too scared to give up what they offered.
He shrugs slightly at the question and finishes cleaning most of the oil off his hands. Getting to his feet takes a few moments, the aches and pains of the fights he's ended up in during the month exacerbated by the lack of sleep and decent food. But he manages it, and walks over to the kitchenette, taking his time to find a glass and pick up one of the cheap bottles of Hart Mart scotch that hasn't been emptied yet.
Pouring out a generous measure, he slides the glass along the counter in Cas' direction. ]
I can suck your dick. Or you can fuck me. And I'll return the favor if you want.
[ Well aware that he's likely overestimating the amount of energy either of them can offer, he lifts a shoulder again to indicate it doesn't make much difference to him either way and takes a pull on the scotch bottle. Wincing at the burn of the liquor into an already acidic system, he sets it down again and pushes off the counter to move around Cas and towards the bedroom. ]
C'mon, Romeo.
He shrugs slightly at the question and finishes cleaning most of the oil off his hands. Getting to his feet takes a few moments, the aches and pains of the fights he's ended up in during the month exacerbated by the lack of sleep and decent food. But he manages it, and walks over to the kitchenette, taking his time to find a glass and pick up one of the cheap bottles of Hart Mart scotch that hasn't been emptied yet.
Pouring out a generous measure, he slides the glass along the counter in Cas' direction. ]
I can suck your dick. Or you can fuck me. And I'll return the favor if you want.
[ Well aware that he's likely overestimating the amount of energy either of them can offer, he lifts a shoulder again to indicate it doesn't make much difference to him either way and takes a pull on the scotch bottle. Wincing at the burn of the liquor into an already acidic system, he sets it down again and pushes off the counter to move around Cas and towards the bedroom. ]
C'mon, Romeo.
[ Cas briefly glances at her over his shoulder, and ends up shrugging a little. ]
Probably. I'm genuinely... too tired to mind it, much. How is your.. uhm. Everything.
[ The wounds, the... survivor's guilt.
He winces, moving towards the kitchen once more.
Wine, definitely. ]
Probably. I'm genuinely... too tired to mind it, much. How is your.. uhm. Everything.
[ The wounds, the... survivor's guilt.
He winces, moving towards the kitchen once more.
Wine, definitely. ]
Been better.
[It’s the most honest she’s been with anyone besides Bucky and Coulson.]
I guess you found someone to share that joint with you.
[The house reeked of it.]
[It’s the most honest she’s been with anyone besides Bucky and Coulson.]
I guess you found someone to share that joint with you.
[The house reeked of it.]
[ Been better. What a good way to describe their entire existence, here. ]
Yeah. Fascinating people, in this place.
[ He can't say he's ever seen someone swinging on webstrings like that - even if for a moment there he'd been convinced his head had finally cracked and gone straight through several shades of madness. ]
Paid to get the car here, at least. You want some, next time this place breaks you?
[ If he can scrounge some up, that is. ]
Yeah. Fascinating people, in this place.
[ He can't say he's ever seen someone swinging on webstrings like that - even if for a moment there he'd been convinced his head had finally cracked and gone straight through several shades of madness. ]
Paid to get the car here, at least. You want some, next time this place breaks you?
[ If he can scrounge some up, that is. ]
Actually, I'll take one now. If you have any left.
[The last time she had weed was with Blake when they both ended up as teenagers and--
Did things teenagers did.
They don't talk about it.
[The last time she had weed was with Blake when they both ended up as teenagers and--
Did things teenagers did.
No dice.
[ And she might notice that he doesn't look pleased about that himself. Nothing with which to take the edge of, except shitty wine, good whiskey, and pills that are incompatible with the alcohol.
It sucks. ]
Only had the one in my pocket, here. Figured I'd smoke it sometime during the suicide mission back home, but. Well. Never got around to it.
[ And she might notice that he doesn't look pleased about that himself. Nothing with which to take the edge of, except shitty wine, good whiskey, and pills that are incompatible with the alcohol.
It sucks. ]
Only had the one in my pocket, here. Figured I'd smoke it sometime during the suicide mission back home, but. Well. Never got around to it.
[Skye knows that people can show up here after they die back home, and she quickly realizes that may have happened to Cas. Especially when he implies that he never got around to smoking his joint.]
Are you—?
What happened?
Are you—?
What happened?
cw: mentions of death and virus based post apocalypse
perfectantidote
2020-10-30 05:12 am (UTC)(link)
... dead?
[ He finishes the thought to its logical conclusion with a wry smile that doesn't touch his eyes. ]
Yeah, uhm. Died and came here.
[ He shrugs. ]
Where Dean and I are from, there's, uhm... a virus. The Croatoan Virus. Infected and eradicated most of the population. The infected... Croats. They, uhm... turn into murderous rabid creatures with varying degrees of intelligence. Ranging from cruel and cunning to savage and mindless. Virus transmit through the blood. And no... I've heard the comparison. Not undead. The world's hit the end of times, though. What's left of the military bombs infected zones. Cities are uninhabitable.
[ There's a moment there as he describes it, almost like his demeanor sharpens - not against her, but it's like his focus improves, a mind tumbling along its own sharp edges settling on something concrete he can speak on with expertise.
He's a soldier, by nature more than profession. Has been for billions of years. Battle and tactics - this is where his mind turns into a weapon all on its own. ]
I went into a nest with a group of people, and we ended up overrun. I put bullets into the heads of those members of my team I could reach, so they'd die fast and not get shredded. Clip ran out. There wasn't time to change it and get a bullet for myself - or get the joint.
[ He frowns, then pulls himself back, folds the capable soldier back into the hippie drug addict like he'd never even been there. ]
So, uh. Yeah. Suppose I'm quite officially... dead.
[ He leaves out most of it - Dean's orders, the fact that both Dean and Cas knew the outcome of this before it happened, and Dean told him to go anyway, and Cas went anyway.
He doesn't think one shouldn't speak ill of the dead, exactly, but... well. Dean's not... gone, not for good, and something in his chest churns at the thought of putting that particular barbed wire out into the open for people to use who are not involved or affected. This is their mess. This is theirs, and sometimes Cas wonders if it's the only thing they have left between them.
Should have been him under that dog.
He'd take a thousand deaths to spare Dean one. ]
[ He finishes the thought to its logical conclusion with a wry smile that doesn't touch his eyes. ]
Yeah, uhm. Died and came here.
[ He shrugs. ]
Where Dean and I are from, there's, uhm... a virus. The Croatoan Virus. Infected and eradicated most of the population. The infected... Croats. They, uhm... turn into murderous rabid creatures with varying degrees of intelligence. Ranging from cruel and cunning to savage and mindless. Virus transmit through the blood. And no... I've heard the comparison. Not undead. The world's hit the end of times, though. What's left of the military bombs infected zones. Cities are uninhabitable.
[ There's a moment there as he describes it, almost like his demeanor sharpens - not against her, but it's like his focus improves, a mind tumbling along its own sharp edges settling on something concrete he can speak on with expertise.
He's a soldier, by nature more than profession. Has been for billions of years. Battle and tactics - this is where his mind turns into a weapon all on its own. ]
I went into a nest with a group of people, and we ended up overrun. I put bullets into the heads of those members of my team I could reach, so they'd die fast and not get shredded. Clip ran out. There wasn't time to change it and get a bullet for myself - or get the joint.
[ He frowns, then pulls himself back, folds the capable soldier back into the hippie drug addict like he'd never even been there. ]
So, uh. Yeah. Suppose I'm quite officially... dead.
[ He leaves out most of it - Dean's orders, the fact that both Dean and Cas knew the outcome of this before it happened, and Dean told him to go anyway, and Cas went anyway.
He doesn't think one shouldn't speak ill of the dead, exactly, but... well. Dean's not... gone, not for good, and something in his chest churns at the thought of putting that particular barbed wire out into the open for people to use who are not involved or affected. This is their mess. This is theirs, and sometimes Cas wonders if it's the only thing they have left between them.
Should have been him under that dog.
He'd take a thousand deaths to spare Dean one. ]
[ I don't understand that reference.
It sits at the tip of his tongue, and somehow that just makes him... sad. For times when quips were easier, for times he doesn't want to think about now. So he downs the scotch, follows Grady. Doesn't ask about Romeo, but reaches for the poison anyway.
He feels dead on his feet.
He feels dead.
Cas doesn't look around - doesn't care about the details of Grady's life in this moment. They're making use of each other, and that's something he's grown absolutely fine with over the past few years. Cas doesn't need to know the name and shape of Grady's grief, just that it's there, and he can help take it away for a moment or two.
They're through the door when he reaches out, curls an easy hand around Grady's arm and slots himself into the man's personal space. Up close Cas is all too blue eyes and full lips and stubble. ]
Let's not, uh... over-estimate what we can wring out of ourselves. Anything you don't want me to do?
[ Because that has import. Cas sets out to use and be used - but not to hurt. There's no space for giving something bad when the purpose is making everything bad not matter for a brief moment. ]
It sits at the tip of his tongue, and somehow that just makes him... sad. For times when quips were easier, for times he doesn't want to think about now. So he downs the scotch, follows Grady. Doesn't ask about Romeo, but reaches for the poison anyway.
He feels dead on his feet.
He feels dead.
Cas doesn't look around - doesn't care about the details of Grady's life in this moment. They're making use of each other, and that's something he's grown absolutely fine with over the past few years. Cas doesn't need to know the name and shape of Grady's grief, just that it's there, and he can help take it away for a moment or two.
They're through the door when he reaches out, curls an easy hand around Grady's arm and slots himself into the man's personal space. Up close Cas is all too blue eyes and full lips and stubble. ]
Let's not, uh... over-estimate what we can wring out of ourselves. Anything you don't want me to do?
[ Because that has import. Cas sets out to use and be used - but not to hurt. There's no space for giving something bad when the purpose is making everything bad not matter for a brief moment. ]
[For a while after her arrival, Skye really believed she was dead back home. Honestly, how could she not? She was shot in the gut twice and the last thing she remembers before arriving here is bleeding out on the floor, alone.
The fact that this was some people’s afterlife was awful, and she doesn’t even try to hide the empathy written all over her face. She doesn’t reach out to hug him, yet, but she does reach for his hand.]
I’m so sorry.
[Because what else can she say?]
The fact that this was some people’s afterlife was awful, and she doesn’t even try to hide the empathy written all over her face. She doesn’t reach out to hug him, yet, but she does reach for his hand.]
I’m so sorry.
[Because what else can she say?]
[ Grady lets himself be tugged back into Cas' orbit without protest, his one-eyed gaze drifting down to the other man's mouth as he contemplates, as if from a distance, the irreversible thing they're about to do. Cas is only a little taller than he is and he doesn't mind that, it makes it harder to mistake him for someone else. Easier to make him anonymous.
Grady blinks slowly and reaches out to settle his hands on Cas' hips as he thinks about his answer, taking stock of the warm, living weight of him. Anonymous maybe and probably a mistake, but not just a dream, it would probably be a good idea to try to remember that. ]
No. [ He grates out the response, glancing back up to meet those depthless blue eyes, glittering with the light of the few candles in the room guttering down to puddles of useless wax. It's not a lie and he doesn't care what the other man thinks, to be given such freedom over someone else's body.
Lifting his hand, he brushes his thumb along the line of Cas' jaw, then settles his palm around the back of his neck. ]
Make it hurt if you want.
Grady blinks slowly and reaches out to settle his hands on Cas' hips as he thinks about his answer, taking stock of the warm, living weight of him. Anonymous maybe and probably a mistake, but not just a dream, it would probably be a good idea to try to remember that. ]
No. [ He grates out the response, glancing back up to meet those depthless blue eyes, glittering with the light of the few candles in the room guttering down to puddles of useless wax. It's not a lie and he doesn't care what the other man thinks, to be given such freedom over someone else's body.
Lifting his hand, he brushes his thumb along the line of Cas' jaw, then settles his palm around the back of his neck. ]
Make it hurt if you want.
[ There's a moment here, tangible. In this moment a reality exists in which Cas acknowledges that he's starved for this - for someone, anyone, to give a shit, to reach out, to tether him to a world that hurts every time he breathes, and somehow make it better. His fingers twitch, as if to reach out.
Except then he just smiles his empty smile, and wraps his hand around her forearm instead, tugging her along.
Cas doesn't know how to do this. Cas doesn't know how to want this - comfort that doesn't hurt. ]
Now. [ Pivot. Pivot before you crash the car. ] In the absence of, uhm... something to smoke. Can I interest you in shitty wine?
Except then he just smiles his empty smile, and wraps his hand around her forearm instead, tugging her along.
Cas doesn't know how to do this. Cas doesn't know how to want this - comfort that doesn't hurt. ]
Now. [ Pivot. Pivot before you crash the car. ] In the absence of, uhm... something to smoke. Can I interest you in shitty wine?
[ Cas draws closer at that, holding that gaze. If he could still see souls, he wonders what he would see in Grady, and if he would despair over it, or if he's already grown too cold in the caverns of all the once was to still feel one human's aches, so insignificant to the universe that Castiel once was, and such a familiar, painful, insurmountable titan to that which Cas has become. ]
You hurt yourself worse than I'd ever dare.
[ His hands reach, one curling in the fabric of Grady's shirt right above his heartbeat, the other lets fingertips moved through the scrape of beard and upwards, tangling into Grady's hair. Cas doesn't tug. He's close enough that he thinks he almost sees the light beyond Grady's eye. Close enough that their lips almost touch. ]
I'm no one's salvation - but I'm not your punishment, either.
[ Cas can make him feel good for a while. Or less bad, at the very least.
He won't make him hurt. Not like that, at any rate. If Grady needs a regret, that's what Cas can be. If Grady needs a warm body, that's as much as Cas already is. But he won't be a barbed wire around anyone's neck. His cruelty is reserved for himself. ]
You hurt yourself worse than I'd ever dare.
[ His hands reach, one curling in the fabric of Grady's shirt right above his heartbeat, the other lets fingertips moved through the scrape of beard and upwards, tangling into Grady's hair. Cas doesn't tug. He's close enough that he thinks he almost sees the light beyond Grady's eye. Close enough that their lips almost touch. ]
I'm no one's salvation - but I'm not your punishment, either.
[ Cas can make him feel good for a while. Or less bad, at the very least.
He won't make him hurt. Not like that, at any rate. If Grady needs a regret, that's what Cas can be. If Grady needs a warm body, that's as much as Cas already is. But he won't be a barbed wire around anyone's neck. His cruelty is reserved for himself. ]
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