[ Oh, he believes her. Doesn't blame her... not really. Though truth be told he wishes he could. Wishes he could tell her to fuck off and never show her face again for getting his only person killed. Except... that's not quite what happened.
Cas pinches the bridge of his nose, then sits up a little. Puts his hands on the table, lets himself feel the roughened wood. His knuckles are white, he's curled his fingers in so tight. It's not anger, though. His profile, dimly illuminated by candles, is just... drawn. Cheeck bones a little too prominent, eyes a little too hollow. ]
Thank you.
[ For telling him. For coming here, when she's clearly not in a good state physically or mentally. Does he feel like he'd be owed the information? Absolutely. But then, outside of Dean, not many people know he exists in this place - or that they're...
They're...
Acquainted.
Cas presses his lips together briefly, and then glances over at her. ]
Did... everything on his body vanish with him?
[ If Dean loses the Colt, that's... shit news all around, truth be told. ]
[Skye watches him process everything she's told him. He wanted this, and yet she feels guilty all the same. Now he has a very detailed description of how it went down.]
[ At that, his eyes flick to hers, a little sharper than the previously vacant look in his eyes. ]
Yeah, I'll, uh. I'll take that back for him.
[ The Colt is... well. Despite everything Dean's learned and told Cas about how useless it ends up being... the Colt is still important, and much too dangerous to be left in just anyone's hands.
Cas doesn't know her, or her relation to Dean, and while he has gratitude for her divulging what he didn't want to hear but needed to... it doesn't mean it sits right with him to leave the Colt of all things in her possession.
[ And yet he says it even as he raises the bottle back up. Down the hatch with it. What else is there to do - well. Plenty.
But he can't - not yet.
Tomorrow.
It means she'll be back, and it means he needs to be... well. Fucked up, but not to incoherence. Damnit. ]
Sounds like a date.
[ And he says it with the air of someone used to quipping it, like someone used to tossing his words out with an air of carefully curated ease.
Not so much right now. There's something heavy about it, about him.
Cas looks at her then, though, and nods a little more earnestly. ]
You, uhm. If you have... If you need... [ What? Comfort? Company? To not be alone and untethered and broken and unable to connect in meaningful ways? ] ... things. You can... y'know.
[ Since Dean knows her. Least Cas can do is not be a complete monster to her, even if there's little he has left to give in ways of care. ]
[She smiles a closed mouth smile that doesn't reach her eyes. She wasn't good at opening up to other people to begin with, the fact that she feels responsible for this makes her even less willing. Standing up took some effort, but she manages to with the support of the rickety chair she had been sitting on.]
Same goes for you. If you need anything, doesn't matter what time of day, call me.
[Skye realizes now, throughout this whole interaction, she has no idea what his name is.]
I'm Skye, by the way. Probably should've said that before I unloaded all of this on you.
[ 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. ]
[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.]
[ 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. ]
[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.]
[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.]
[ 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. ]
[ 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?
[ 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?
cw: mentions of death and virus based post apocalypse
[ 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.
[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.]
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perfectantidote) wrote2020-10-07 03:45 am
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deerington
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[Skye looks up towards the ceiling, attempting to keep an eye tears from coming out.]
Not that far from here. On route 7 near the fire station.
[She had to pass it to get here, but she made an effort not to look.]
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Cas pinches the bridge of his nose, then sits up a little. Puts his hands on the table, lets himself feel the roughened wood. His knuckles are white, he's curled his fingers in so tight. It's not anger, though. His profile, dimly illuminated by candles, is just... drawn. Cheeck bones a little too prominent, eyes a little too hollow. ]
Thank you.
[ For telling him. For coming here, when she's clearly not in a good state physically or mentally. Does he feel like he'd be owed the information? Absolutely. But then, outside of Dean, not many people know he exists in this place - or that they're...
They're...
Acquainted.
Cas presses his lips together briefly, and then glances over at her. ]
Did... everything on his body vanish with him?
[ If Dean loses the Colt, that's... shit news all around, truth be told. ]
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[Skye watches him process everything she's told him. He wanted this, and yet she feels guilty all the same. Now he has a very detailed description of how it went down.]
I didn't think to bring it, I have it at home.
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Yeah, I'll, uh. I'll take that back for him.
[ The Colt is... well. Despite everything Dean's learned and told Cas about how useless it ends up being... the Colt is still important, and much too dangerous to be left in just anyone's hands.
Cas doesn't know her, or her relation to Dean, and while he has gratitude for her divulging what he didn't want to hear but needed to... it doesn't mean it sits right with him to leave the Colt of all things in her possession.
Cas licks his dry lips. ]
Uhm... trade you for a bottle of wine?
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That's not necessary, and besides, that stuff is awful.
[And yet she's beginning to feel warm. It certainly doesn't help that she hasn't gotten a whole lot of sleep this month.]
I just need to get it from home.
[Speaking of, she's probably ruined his evening enough.]
I can bring it here tomorrow?
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[ And yet he says it even as he raises the bottle back up. Down the hatch with it. What else is there to do - well. Plenty.
But he can't - not yet.
Tomorrow.
It means she'll be back, and it means he needs to be... well. Fucked up, but not to incoherence. Damnit. ]
Sounds like a date.
[ And he says it with the air of someone used to quipping it, like someone used to tossing his words out with an air of carefully curated ease.
Not so much right now. There's something heavy about it, about him.
Cas looks at her then, though, and nods a little more earnestly. ]
You, uhm. If you have... If you need... [ What? Comfort? Company? To not be alone and untethered and broken and unable to connect in meaningful ways? ] ... things. You can... y'know.
[ Since Dean knows her. Least Cas can do is not be a complete monster to her, even if there's little he has left to give in ways of care. ]
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[She smiles a closed mouth smile that doesn't reach her eyes. She wasn't good at opening up to other people to begin with, the fact that she feels responsible for this makes her even less willing. Standing up took some effort, but she manages to with the support of the rickety chair she had been sitting on.]
Same goes for you. If you need anything, doesn't matter what time of day, call me.
[Skye realizes now, throughout this whole interaction, she has no idea what his name is.]
I'm Skye, by the way. Probably should've said that before I unloaded all of this on you.
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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.
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I’m so sorry.
[Hi, yes, she’ll be dealing with this survivors guilt even after Dean comes back.]
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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. ]
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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.
cw: mentions of sex
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.
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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.]
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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. ]
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[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?]
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[ 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. ]
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Maybe you should get it checked out anyway.
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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. ]
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[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.]
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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. ]
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[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.no subject
[ 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.
no subject
Are you—?
What happened?
cw: mentions of death and virus based post apocalypse
[ 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. ]
CW: Gunshot wound
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?]
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cw: mentions of death, nihilism, self-loathing
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