671. There Are Different Types of Love....
(Taken shamelessly from mememaker's 126. I can love you in so many different ways. Because I looooove mememaker and this was one of my favorite memes.)
This meme deals with three types of love, angsty, sweet, and twisted! Please note that there are triggers abound!
- Post your characters and include preferences (if any!)
- Others reply.
- Go to RNG and enter numbers 1-3 ( Read more... )
This meme deals with three types of love, angsty, sweet, and twisted! Please note that there are triggers abound!
- Post your characters and include preferences (if any!)
- Others reply.
- Go to RNG and enter numbers 1-3 ( Read more... )
But, he didn't operate like that. Vulnerability, admitting when there was something he wanted that he couldn't get on his own... That was something he wasn't so great at, especially with someone like Dean. A couple years ago he would have set up an elaborate con, tricked Winchester into doing what he needed without even realizing it, and then slipped away like the proverbial laughing villain, leaving the man cursing his name. He couldn't do that here, so he simply neglected to offer any explanation at all.]
We got a call from a group of survivors up north. They don't think they can last another week, and Dean all of a sudden decides he's concerned about safety.
[As if there had needed to be proof that Dean would argue against Sterling even when the man was taking their Almighty Leader's argument. There's something in how his voice wavers that makes it very clear that he considers this to be a problem. And not just a Dean's-a-sodding-idiot problem, but something that matters.
No, today really isn't shaping up to be typical at all.]
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...And that's a bad thing why, exactly?
[Something about Sterling's voice and general demeanor is off, enough that even Cas notices, and so he heads over to his cabinet automatically, grabs the two closest glasses he can find, and drops them onto the table. He doesn't suppose Sterling's reason for advocating a suicide mission is something he's going to be particularly forthcoming with, not if it's something personal. Cas actually knows fairly little about the other man, though he imagines that's at least in part because most of their deeper conversations had taken place while one or both of them had been a bit less than coherent. If he's being honest, he's rather curious as to what could rattle him this way.
He doesn't have a stellar collection of liquor right now- it'd been a while since they'd last had a run- and so he digs something out of his chest at random and clunks it down onto the table as well.]
I'm assuming the two of you didn't exactly bond over this newfound safety concern.
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No, in fact it probably would have ended messy if one of the girls hadn't been rather insistent about discussing the subject in the morning.
[There's emphasis on that word, and an implication there in that people usually aren't willing to get between the two of them, and that there had clearly been worry about what might happen if they made it to the blood-and-bruises part of their ritualized dance. Sterling had been out of control, which was one of those things that in the usual world, simply didn't happen. He got angry often enough, but he was always in control, always the one with frustrated arched eyebrows, exasperated and so frequently smug to where people wanted to punch him for it. And that wasn't the man currently sitting at Cas' table. A glimpse beneath that pretense that Sterling clung to like Cas clung to sex.
Where did you even start on a subject like this? I thought my daughter died three years ago in a Croat attack, and after just finding out she's alive, I have to argue not leaving her there to die? Did he start with before that, and his failure at being the good husband and father he'd been raised to believe he was supposed to be? Sterling was not someone used to failure. It was forever the one black spot on his life; that he couldn't con himself well enough to be what his wife had needed him to be: interested in women. That was something he'd never told anyone. James Sterling didn't admit to failure, and had never seen it as anything else.
He looked at Cas and sighed. He wished they had better alcohol, but they'd gone through the last bottle of good scotch he'd managed to misappropriate days ago. It would have made the burn of feeling like this at least a little bit more tolerable. As-is, he's aiming for at least one glass of whatever swill they have befor he starts trying to say anything. Is that cheap Tequila? Clearly they're getting desperate.]
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Yeah, I know. Beggars can't be choosers, unfortunately.
[He pours them both what amounts to a large shot, though it looks tiny in the glasses-- he's getting the feeling from Sterling's uncharacteristic silence that it's going to be that kind of night.]
No limes, either, damn shame. We couldn't have set up camp in India...
[Pushing one of the glasses in Sterling's directing, he settles himself in the seat next to him.]
So... Where exactly are these survivors?
[He can only assume they're either extremely far, or in an extremely bad area if even Dean won't go after them. Dean has certainly changed over the past few years, but as of right now he still hasn't lost that desire to help people, even to his own detriment. It's... Noble, at best, and infuriating at worst. For Dean to be against going to get survivors when he knows where they are... It can't be good. Whoever these people are, he feels for them.]
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He sets the shot glass down on the table, heavy with the facts of the situation.]
They're not that far away, their camp is set into the cliff of the waterfall on the river a little under a hundred miles out. But, they're right where the military's been hitting the croates recently. They've been hitting both sides, so we'd have to go through the worst of it to get there. Or, we take a detour around, which will add on multiple days, and then we have to get her and the rest of them up the cliff.
[It's bitter, but, more than that, there's that way he slips. Her. Because Sterling doesn't care about other survivors except in the vague sense that the more they have, the longer it will take for them to get scoured from the planet. He doesn't treat them like people. Generally takes at least a month, sometimes longer before he bothers with names or pronouns. In his head, it's canon fodder A, B, C, and on through the alphabet as necessary for the moment.
But not right now. There's someone at that camp that crosses that line, that matters. Sterling had clearly been counting on Dean's must-save-everyone response, but this is seriously bad news, and he isn't quite sure what to do having failed at that. There's that tension in his body; rarely seen in Sterling, that anger of caring too much and not being able to fix the problem. As if it's all on his shoulders.]
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All in all it's not looking good for these people- not even Dean would do something that crazy... Which really makes him wonder why Sterling's so gung-ho about it. It's definitely strange. Cas makes to down his drink but isn't quite fast enough; the flavour hits his tongue and he makes a face, swallowing what had made it into his mouth and placing the glass on the table for now. He's not the one who needs loosening up anyway. He does refill Sterling's glass, however.]
That sounds pretty unfortunate for them. What's your plan?
[He actually knows Sterling to come up with decent plans, though he's unsure that even a tactician as skilled as he is could manage to pull this off without getting the entire camp killed on the way. He's ignoring the obvious question, for now; they'll get there eventually. Until then he'll just put those hard-earned small talk skills to use.]
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[There was something about the way he said it, something in his expression that meant his genius plan was useless. Of course, one had to wonder exactly how Sterling thought that he could manage that particular plan, anyway. Sterling had never really talked about what he'd done before all of this, about who he was, despite the typical bonding over horror stories. His stories weren't the sort that promoted bonding. No one except Cas- maybe Dean- even knew his first name. Simple fact was that as much as people might hate him now, he'd been even more of a jerk before the Apocalypse.
He downed the second shot and exhaled, shaking his head. Normally, he'd be putting up more of a fuss about the seriously subpar alcohol on the table, but, tonight he needed something -- anything -- to take the edge off, heat that numb feeling out of his body. He winced, but didn't actually complain.]
Pulling that off would involve Dean actually listening to me, which means it's hardly worth mentioning. Leaves going around, hoping we don't hit too many croats and we get there in time, and then figuring a way to get them up the side of a cliff. Which isn't going to be particularly fast or defensible.
[Sharp frown, swirling the empty glass in his fingertips, as if he hardly even noticed it was empty. His focus wasn't here, it was on that camp, it was on trying to come up with a better plan, something fool-proof. Sterling liked nothing lost, everything gained, but he was working with what he could scrimp now.]
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[Cas doesn't even know what that means, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't the slightest bit intrigued, even if the other man's tone suggests that it's not really an option at all. He doesn't miss the subtle change in Sterling's voice when he says her, either, but he's waiting on asking about that, for now. He has to wonder who this person could be, though... A wife? Ex-wife? Sister? ...Does Sterling even have any living family? Cas assumes as a rule that when people come here alone, they're alone; he can't imagine anyone, even Sterling, leaving family behind... Whatever the case may be, and as curious as he is, he's going to focus on what seems like the least personal subject for the time being. He doesn't want to push to hard too fast, he knows from experience (Dean) that that's pretty pointless.]
Too many variables. Military, croates, terrain... We'd never make it.
[Cas may not be the best strategist here, but he's far from the worst, and he certainly knows enough to recognize a death trap when he sees one. It's obvious why Dean is against this-- there's just no way. Or if there is, he isn't seeing it. Running a job... He's unfamiliar with that phrase, and he hopes Sterling elaborates. Aiming to help that along, he polishes off the rest of his drink and pours another before nudging the bottle in Sterling's direction.]
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Running a job. We con the military.
[That smile that curves his lips, it's not just the most like himself that Sterling's looked since he'd walked through the door tonight- there's something bright and sharp and vibrant and almost seductive in the way those last four words roll across his lips, and his tongue slips after them. It might be the most alive the man's look since he stepped foot in the camp. It passes, of course, as he sighs and recollects that he'd have to get Dean behind this, get the man to listen to what he tells him. Hah. It might be his best shot, but ]
I could do it with you, Dean, and some pretty thing that makes heads turn and knows how to be whatever pretty lie the man she's sleeping with needs her to be. The redhead. Mary? Marigold? Her.
[He refilled his glass, watching the pale gold liquid swirl in the glass as he looked predatory. Sterling might be a jerk around camp, but this was something beneath that, something a little less kosher, a little sharper, a little more inclined to rip out someone's throat and not sweat the details.]
James Sterling from Interpol, working with President Palin's military, to coordinate operations in the interest of ending the ongoing system of crimes against humanity.
[It rolled off his tongue like truth, looking Cas in those blues was almost a dare to disbelieve him. Because this? This was what he did. This? Could work. He downed the shot.]
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[He'd add are you fucking insane to that, but he imagines his tone gets that across just fine. That... Wasn't the idea he'd been expecting. At all. It was the absolute furthest thing from what he'd been expecting. It's so mind-boggling he's actually forgotten what he'd been expecting.]
That's what you did before you came here? You were a con man?
[He doesn't know why he's surprised; in fact, he can easily imagine Sterling being very, very good at his job. Back before everything went to shit and the assumed military orders weren't to shoot first and ask questions never, anyway. If he thought there was even the slightest chance of this working, he might have been able to be convinced to tag along and give it a shot, but as it is...]
They'd kill you on sight, before you even had a chance to speak.
[He downs his drink; he takes no pleasure in blowing holes in plans, but it's certainly preferable to getting himself killed.]
Also, [to add some levity to the situation...] I'm pretty sure her name is Marlene.
[See? He knows some of their names.]
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[Sterling said it with a tone that was reminiscent of Dean's it's-not-a-problem voice. But, Sterling's tone held a hint of amusement, as if he had a card up his sleeve that Cas just hasn't caught onto yet. Which, he did, of course. The alcohol was kicking in, enough so that he could forget that this was an impossibility.]
Oh, no, not at all. I was an Insurance Investigator -- much worse than a conman, and fortunately, also legal. Insurance. People pay money so that in the event that something happens, they get a payout to cover the loss. My job, was to find any way to prevent the company from having to pay. Violation of contract, retrieving stolen items, finding culprits for the crimes...
[It was a job so dirty that not even Hell had an equivalent. Another shot, poured and downed and Sterling was smiling that sharp, predatory, shark-ish smile again.]
Then I conned a group of thieves into making me the President of the insurance company. And after a particularly high-profile return of a 9 million dollar Faberge Egg in the Ukraine, I got invited to join Interpol, which I graciously accepted.
[Smiling, Cas, smiling. Line about the best lies being the ones based in truth goes somewhere in here.]
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I have no doubt you were good at what you did.
[He wonders if it's just the liquor getting to him. He certainly hopes so, Sterling's plans are usually much better and much less suicidal than this one seems to be. Which is only adding to Cas's curiosity, making him wonder who this person could be that she's able to have this effect on Sterling, who prides himself on being above such things, for the most part. He can't really help himself anymore--]
Who is she?
[It's a bit more blunt than he'd intended but, well... Blunt works, sometimes. He downs his drink.]
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Olivia. She's my daughter. I thought.. I thought I lost her three years ago.
[His voice is quiet, ripe with pain and guilt and hesitates in ways that Sterling has never been. But, beneath that is grim, steely determination more fitted for Dean's whatever it takes than Sterling's survival first. But this is different. Sterling loves her. Sham of a marriage or not, Olivia had been special. And he will burn down the world to save her. He swallows, watching Cas, shifts a little. Even to Cas, whom he'd told more than anyone, he'd never even hinted that he'd ever been married, let alone that he had a daughter.]
I can't lose her again.
[Family. Funny that under it all, there's at least one thing Dean and Sterling agree on. ]
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Sterling is silent for longer than Cas had expected, and just as he's finally taking that shot, just when he's about to give getting an answer up as a lost cause, Sterling speaks. Cas nearly chokes on the liquor, just narrowly avoids coughing it up all over the table; he isn't sure he's heard him right, so just to clarify:]
Your daughter?
[He'd never... But... What? If there was any single person on this earth (aside from himself, of course) that Cas could never picture as a parent, it'd be Sterling. While he isn't quite the most self-serving person Cas has ever met, he pretty close to the top of that list... Not that Cas holds it against him, of course, especially given the circumstances-- it's the end of the world, that's pretty much the only way to survive.
If it wasn't for Sterling's voice, and the grief evident on the man's face, Cas might have thought this was just a story, a cover... But in all the time Cas has known him, and all of the nights they'd spent talking over too much liquor, Cas has never heard him like this. It's strange and a bit heartbreaking, honestly.]
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But, not only does he think that Cas really wouldn't get the throwaway line anyway, but Sterling owes him more than that. He cares about Cas, cares about him in ways that he tried but could never manage with his wife. This whole thing is suddenly startlingly awkward, but he doesn't shut down, doesn't stop talking and instead focus on getting far too solidly drunk to talk about much of anything. This might not be comfortable, but he'd been the one that asked for something different, something that wasn't just sex. And it makes dealing with this all a little easier since Cas is here. He swirls liquor in his glass thoughtfully, watching the pale gold.]
I was married for a few years, right out of college. Almost funny really, I could con almost anything from anyone, but I couldn't get her to believe I was attracted to her -- she was right, of course.
[Sterling had never been interested in women. He'd written it off at first as usual, until after his marriage, until he'd met this man through a friend at his first job in insurance, before IYS. They'd hit it off, and one drunken night went just far enough to unravel his belief in his own heterosexuality. Sterling shrugged his shoulders, still felt guilty about not being the man he was supposed to be, even if he hadn't been able to help it.]
Olivia was a kid when we split, but I saw her on holidays, a few weekends, things like that. Not that I had a clue about being a father; I taught her chess and how to use people to get what you want. [A small pause.] She still loved me.
[Sterling has a surprised, almost awed tone to his voice. He'd never had any illusions about being good with children, and thought it was more a credit to Olivia than it said anything about unknown talent in that regard. Too proud to ask anyone for help picking out things for his daughter, and yet she accepted him anyway, as if it wasn't his fault her mother had left. He still remembers watching a Disney movie when she'd been about seven and how she'd very seriously and yet without judgement looked at him and asked if the man that came over sometimes was his Prince Charming. She'd always been almost too good at the things he taught her.]
I have to save her.
[Sterling set the glass down with its one remaining shot; really, if he was talking this much, he was clearly drunk enough -- any more and he'd be slurring his words.]
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And sad. Cas has had quite a few crises of identity during the course of his obscenely long life: he's worried about who he is in relation to Heaven; who he is in relation to God; and of course once he'd fallen, who he is to himself, once everything else had been stripped away from him- and he's more or less content with the fact that he truly is Just Cas now. Fortunately, among these crises, sexual identity has never really factored in anywhere- he truly has no preference and he's never had any issue expressing that. Sex is important to him, and as he imagines that must be the case for everyone else he can't imagine the strain that must have put on Sterling's life.
And to have a child thrown in there, well... It's not often Cas feels like he has anything to be grateful for but that's definitely what he's feeling now. Sterling sets the glass down, clearly done with the liquor and Cas does the same- he already has a pleasant fog going and this really isn't the time to drink himself into incoherence.]
You said you thought she-- [He's really trying to be delicate here, it's not exactly his forte... He shifts a bit closer, shoulder bumping into Sterling's.] What happened three years ago?
[He isn't touching Sterling's insistence that he needs to save her with a fifty foot pole, not yet. As much as he wishes this changed anything, he can't see any way that it would... Not without Sterling confiding in Dean this intimate detail of his life, which he really doesn't see happening.]
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