A celebration with beer. Hunters getting hammered ((closed RP, Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby))
“Hey Bobby,” Sam said with a grin, the first to show. He clapped the hunter on the shoulder, happy to see him out again. He also had a few causes to celebrate; Death’s promise to intervene and keep him and Adam out of the cage, and a lovely blonde girl by the name of Sookie Stackhouse. “Where’s everyone else?”
“You know you brother, he’s always ( Read more... )
“You know you brother, he’s always ( Read more... )
His head had started to hurt when Dean ran into him, had only gotten worse as he'd retched up what felt like everything he'd ingested since he arrived at Hogwarts, and now the pain was so severe it had him completely immobilized and wishing his skull would just split open and get it over with.
Getting up to turn out the light or get a drink of water was out of the question. So was keeping down any sort of medication. He'd tried, before the headache had knocked him flat, and his stomach had violently rejected it. The acute physical misery alone would have prevented him from sleeping, and the memory of that furious, betrayed look on Dean's face would have made it impossible anyway.
The angel flinched at the soft knock on the door and the sound of Death's voice. He hadn't wanted to go to her like this; it would only worry her, and if he could just hold out until the headache subsided a little he'd be all right. But now that she was there, he couldn't say he wasn't glad.
"Hello," he whispered hoarsely, one arm flung across his eyes to block out the light. "I'm sorry. 'm not...very good company right now."
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Death crossed the floor to sit on the edge of the bed. The less than pleasant smell told gave her at least some idea of what was wrong. It didn’t explain everything, or the frantic nature of Sam’s note, but first she had to make sure he was all right. The rest would have to wait. "Why didn't you call me?" she asked her voice thick with worry.
While she had never been drunk herself, time spent around more experienced souls like John Constantine and Hob Gadling gave her at least an idea of what she needed to do. Rather than summon a house elf, she focused her power and manifested a small glass of water. Her fingertips were cool and gentle on his forehead, “Can you sit up a little? Your vessel’s dehydrated, Jimmy needs some water.”
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It was a good thing his stomach was already empty. He clapped a hand to his mouth and gagged, waiting several long, intensely distressing moments before the nausea and the accompanying spike of pain receded enough that he could try a few small, cautious swallows. The water did seem to help a little almost immediately, but he couldn't handle much at a time and soon put a hand over the glass, sinking back onto the bed with a groan.
"Thanks. Too much firewhiskey," he said by way of explanation. "And Dean--he's so angry with me." The aftereffects of the liquor meant nothing. He'd shake them off soon enough, but the damage he feared he had done to the friendship he valued most could take a long time to heal.
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She wanted to gather him into her arms, to hold him and soothe his pain and distress away, but given the rather perilous reaction he had in attempting to sit up, she was afraid that it would only make him feel worse. Instead, she swung her legs onto the bed, curling as close to him as she dared, trying to offer what comfort she could simply with her presence. Her fingers traced the side of his cheek with a light, feathery touch.
“Why is he angry? What happened?” she asked gently.
If Dean had something to do with this, they were going to have a little chat in the very near future.
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"He--he and and Bobby had Sam locked up so he couldn't kill Lilith and break the last Seal." He shut his eyes tightly, rubbing his temples. Would she be angry too? How many people had she been called upon to collect because of what he had done? "I let him out. On Zachariah's orders. I allowed it to happen."
His voice caught in his throat as he tried to carry on. "I promised Jimmy I would protect his family, and demons had them--all three of them--and they wouldn't let me help unless I did what they said. Not just that, either." He turned his head away, tears welling up. "I gave Anna to them. She trusted me, and I turned her in. The next time I saw her they'd broken her so badly she was trying to kill Sam, and Michael, he--he burned her alive, and--" He broke off with a sob, clutching at his head with both hands. "God, my head--"
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The look on her face was utterly heartbroken as she slowly drew him into her arms, giving him enough time to pull away if the movement made him ill again. They had never really spoken of the time before Castiel rebelled. He had simply indicated that there were things he had done that he wasn’t proud of, and Death had never pressed the issue. Everyone had those moments in their lives, and she understood that.
Goddamn higher orders of angels. Zachariah was gone, even if the damage he had wrought wasn’t. She wasn’t a creature easily disposed towards hate, but in that instant, she hated Zachariah, and she hated whatever force wrote in Destiny’s great book that three good souls would have to suffer so much. Castiel and Dean and Sam, they didn’t deserve what had been pushed upon them. It wasn't fair.
She shushed him gently, “You did it to protect Jimmy, he can’t fault you for that.” Dean could be a little rough around the edges, sometimes downright crude, but he was fundamentally a good man who made it his mission in life to protect others. How he could blame Castiel for that was beyond her reasoning. Tenderly Death brushed his tears away, “And if Sam doesn’t hate you for it, then Dean won’t either. Just give him time to calm down,” she soothed.
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"It's worth being angry about," he said finally, huddling in close. "I'd think less of him if he wasn't." But she was right; he should have more faith in his friend. He had known Dean to forgive more terrible trangressions. And when he'd done those things he had still been under Heaven's sway, a tool in Zachariah's hands. That was certainly nothing to be proud of, but it wasn't quite the same matter as if he'd been acting as a free agent, either.
Everything just seemed worse right now than it really was. He was never touching firewhiskey again as long as he lived. Either some ingredient in the stuff or something about the enchantment that had been placed on it was downright poisonous, at least to him. Some random incompatibility born of crossing different planes of existence that operated under different rules, maybe.
But the room was dark now and quiet, he'd made it past what he hoped was the worst part, and everything about Death's presence was soothing to him. "Could I have a little more water, please?" he murmured. Sleep might be possible if he lay quiet a while and eased his vessel's parching thirst.
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“It might be worth getting upset about,” she allowed at last, “but you’re part of his family. I might not know Dean as well as you do, but I know that family is important to him. When his head’s clearer, he won’t be angry with you.”
There was a brief shifting and the brought the glass down to him, her arm slipping beneath his shoulders to help him sit up a little easier. After a few more cautious sips, she drew him close again. “Try and get some sleep. I’ve got you, love.” She stared up at the ceiling, holding him in the quiet dark. Finally she whispered something very faintly.
“I’ve got him, Jimmy. I’ve got him.”
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