(Untitled)
ANGST MEME
Sometimes we all want to play some angst and see just how far our characters and and will fall.
- Post your characters, name and series in the subject along with any preferences.
- Go to random.org and roll.
- Play!
1. just depressed.
Things are tough, you're feeling worn out, or whatever the case, you're depressed. You need help or someone ( Read more... )
Sometimes we all want to play some angst and see just how far our characters and and will fall.
- Post your characters, name and series in the subject along with any preferences.
- Go to random.org and roll.
- Play!
1. just depressed.
Things are tough, you're feeling worn out, or whatever the case, you're depressed. You need help or someone ( Read more... )
The first comment he brushes off, lost in the move from the door to the fridge, and he's too busy searching for alcohol, precious alcohol. The second hits harder, though, because there's no alcohol, and it bites a little more.
What? Shit, what is it? What's he done now? Why is Cas being a fucking douchebag? A man can't walk into his own goddamn apartment pissed off without being on the receiving end of one of Mom's lectures, topped off with ample amounts of sarcasm and the smell of weed? Seriously? Seriously, universe?]
God damn it. What? What do you want? Shouldn't you be smoking something or something? Tapping into the karmic wheel, or whatever fake-ass bullshit thing you do to get laid?
Reply
Nor is Dean's clearly irritated mood, which, at the moment, Cas can't help being extremely irritated by, because no one could have had a shittier day than he had, right? Right.]
Yeah, see that's what I was doing until someone slammed the door and I jumped out of my skin.
[Not entirely true: his chill'd been way harshed from the get-go. As much as he'd have liked to be baked out of his mind, it just wasn't in the cards with what he'd had left and so really, while it'd taken some of the edge off, it hadn't been enough to make a real difference. Obviously. He scowls at that dig to the 'bullshit he does to get laid', because while admittedly he will use his zen-guy routine to attract people, his own attraction to it is very much genuine- it's inked onto his skin, for fuck's sake.]
Pretty hard to tap into anything with the noise.
[Not to mention the air of growing tension- Cas doubts he's going to be able to relax at all, now. Fuck this day. Karmic wheel? Try wheel of shit that a nagging voice in the back of his head is trying to warn him away from perpetuating. He's ignoring it. Fuck you, little voice, you and your totally logical suggestion to back off and go back to bed.]
Reply
Which isn't stopping him right now. Not at all. In fact, the tiny little thought just makes it worse, and he defiantly shoves it down.]
Yeah, no, I'm sure that's why it's not working. The noise.
["And not the fact that it's utter bullshit" is written between the lines, laced so strongly that he doesn't even bother coming out and saying it. Which is a low blow, because Cas is pretty serious about his karmic religious crap.
He turns, leans against the counter so that it digs into his back, and crosses his arms, directing his attention to Cas full-on. Fine. If he wanted to keep this shit going, Dean'll keep it going. Fuck. Everything else's gone to shit today, figures it'd be this, too.]
Anything else you wanna bitch about, while we're on the subject? Maybe I squeeze the goddamn toothpaste the wrong way?
Reply
Especially since he doesn't miss that implication that something he's pretty serious about is crap. He's well aware of Dean's opinion as far as spirituality is concerned, and he doesn't hold it against him- it's meaningless if it's forced- something he'd learned from his family, actually- and it's not something they clash over any more than gentle ribbing that's always clearly meant to be more playful than anything else.
It is a low blow, and if he wasn't so serious about it, he'd consider tossing something just as low Dean's way... But he can't. And not just because 'right speech' is a thing, because he's not about to drag Sam into this argument; it's cruel, and lower than he's willing to go at this point. He does consider it, though, and really, that just pisses him off more. Who even considers that, really?
He narrows his eyes.]
You know what? I'm already aware of where you stand on that, thanks. No need to remind me. Really, I'm good.
[Anything else? There are plenty of things he could complain about, really- the fact that he eats any and everywhere, there are bits of food in really random places (a cheese fry stuck on top of the dvd player? Really? How does that even get there?), the way Cas's food that he'd been saving for the optimal time disappears into the bottomless pit that is Dean's stomach, the fact that he worries, sometimes, about the smoking and if it makes Dean think of Sam, and the fact that that's enough to put him off doing it as much as he'd like...
He clenches his jaw. Sure, there are things he could bitch about. But he's actually concerned that if he gets started he won't be able to stop until he's twisted absolutely every good thing into something worth whining about- because he's pretty good at that- and so he's just... Not gonna go there.]
No, everything's perfect, you've really got that toothpaste down to a science. Good job with that.
Reply
It'd just be so damn easy, if Cas weren't so difficult to piss off. Which really ought to be a clue that something else is wrong, because Cas is pissed off. Just... not enough. And so he's going to keep needling, keep instigating, because Dean is one self-destructive, stupid son of a bitch.]
Yeah. Perfect.
[He snorts and turns around again to rifle through the cabinets for a coffee mug. If he can't have booze, he's at least going to make coffee, so he can stay up all night, wired and pissed off. He clinks the mug down onto the counter with a little too much enthusiasm, goes through the motions of tugging out the filter, dumping it, refilling a new one, all with tense shoulders.]
Now there's a line of bullshit. Do I have a friggin' sign on my back that says lie to me today? Maybe some kinda permanent tattoo of it on the back of my head?
[He does a hundred thousand different things that Cas could bitch about, should bitch about so they can get this whole thing started. If he'd just break.]
Reply
[Dean turns, and Cas is about to just leave it at that, go back into his room and try to find some way to pass the time, chill out, just... Stop. He's really gonna do it, he's uncrossed his arms and everything, fully intent on just stepping back, shutting the door- quietly-
And then Dean's just... Slamming the damn mug and needling and he really just can't. Obviously Dean's not going to let this go- and to be honest Cas really isn't sure what exactly they're fighting about which is making him angrier because what the fuck is the problem, so... Fine.]
Okay, you want me to make a list? The food. It's fucking everywhere, unless of course I've left in in the fridge in which case it seems to magically disappear. It's in there for a reason, god damn.
[It's a testament to how irritated he really is that that one's slipped past his blasphemy radar. That particular habit has proved to be enduring except in the case of a truly spectacular fuck or extreme levels of pissed. It's pretty clear which of the two is going on here.]
Is it so much to ask that it be there when I go to actually eat it? I don't actually smoke up to become acutely aware of how hungry I am and then not have anything to eat. But I guess I shouldn't be smoking at all, right, because that's too much like Sam and I don't wanna be responsible for that crash and burn now do I? I can feel you judging me, Dean, and you knew what you were getting into when I moved in here. I didn't lie, I told you.
[He closes his eyes, rubs at them with the heel of his palm before recrossing his arms. He... Really hadn't wanted to go there. But, well, he just did, and he guesses he should get ready for the inevitable backlash. It's not like there's any shortage of things for Dean to piss and moan about either. Cas has lived with himself for a long time- his whole life, in fact, and he doubts it'll be hard for Dean to pick out all of his most obnoxious habits.
He shoots Dean a look, raised eyebrows just begging him to say something.]
Reply
Oh, excuse me, I'm bad for that? You smoke up and it's like a horde of-
[He falters, though, because Cas is plowing right along and then... Sam. He's bringing up Sam right now? Sam who he took a punch for this morning because Sam's dealer named fucking Lucifer was there collecting and selling and Sam was telling him to wait, just a few hours, he's borrowing some money off of his brother- Oh, hey, Dean, I thought you had to work. Oh yeah, Sam? And Dean thought that money was for god damned groceries.
He tosses the mug down onto the counter, where it rolls until the handle prevents it from rolling any more.]
I've never said a god damn thing about your smoking, have I? Maybe you ought to stop projecting and throwing on all that shit from your past onto me, how about that? I don't know what fucked you up, man, but don't even try to put that shit on me.
[It's true. He doesn't have a problem with Cas smoking weed- it's not like he's hooked on heroin, it's not like he's shaking in a bathroom, there's a difference. Hell, Dean's smoked the occasional blunt with him, hasn't he?]
And you know what, while we're on the subject, how about you tell me anything about what that is, huh? I mean, I'm practically spilling my guts here, you know all the shit about Sam, about my dad, I'm an open book, but what about you? How was that work trip, Cas? Have a nice work trip? You worked in a god damn bookstore, what is it about your family you don't want me to know, huh?
Reply
Never mind that he'd just completely failed to control himself- shifting the blame onto something else is something he's good at, as much as he likes to pretend otherwise. He watches that mug roll across the counter like it's in slow motion, and for a second that's all he's focused on... Until Dean starts in on him, at which point he jerks his head up to scowl at him.
Everything Dean's saying is true- he is projecting, he does want to put it on someone else, and he sure as hell does try to keep his family out of conversation as much as he can without claiming that he'd been raised in a lab in some kind of weird ass people farm instead of being born into an actual family. Which really just... Isn't something he wants to deal with right now, and especially not in the context of a fight over nothing. Maybe in the form of a calm (i.e. completely not sober) discussion, but not now, not like this.
And the smoking, well... Obviously Dean can't have that much of an issue if he partakes on occasion, but he's not going to concede that point; in fact, he's just going to ignore it altogether, because avoidance is just how he handles things.]
There is no subject. There's nothing to be said about that, it's not-- It doesn't matter, okay? I haven't said anything because it doesn't matter.
[He shrugs.]
I don't know what you expect me to say.
[Slinking off to hide in his room and feel like a complete jackass in peace? Sounding better and better by the second. Fuck him, he should have just done that in the first place. He should have pretended to be asleep or something, not have even bothered getting out of bed at all. God damn it.]
Reply
His mind runs through a list of possible retorts in the span of a few seconds. It matters to me would be nice and self-righteous, or say anything as long as it's the goddamn truth would be a particularly good dig. He's got no limit on the snappy retorts he could fire off to keep this thing going, but none of it comes out.]
Nothing. Just- I don't expect you to say anything.
[It's muttered darkly, and he turns around, breaking that gaze to go back to the mug on the counter. He rights it, and damn, there's a chip in the rim now where it smacked onto the counter. He liked that mug. Fucking figures. He draws his shoulders in tight and lets the silence fall for a minute as he makes coffee, coffee that isn't as good as Cas's coffee, with too many scoops because he's impatient and not very graceful when he's pissed. Inserts the little tray back in with too much force and turns the thing on. Brings his palms down to press into the counter, digs the heels of them in and just... stares at the coffee maker like it's the most interesting thing in the world.
Maybe he could just slink out and go to the bar? The idea reminds him instantly of his dad, and therefor makes it not a possibility at all. God damn it.]
Reply
And it certainly doesn't help that the next thing out of Dean's mouth isn't some biting comment, some retort about lying or more needling to get him to talk. If anything it's almost like an attempt to defuse the situation, which he hadn't expected. Who'd started this, again?
He watches as Dean gets to work on that coffee, frowns at the tense set of his back and shoulders. This wasn't how he wanted this day to go... Or maybe it was, he doesn't even know. All he knows is that he just--]
Dean--
[His mouth opens and closes a few time as he realizes he doesn't actually know what he wants to say, and so he leaves it at that, lips thinning as his arms uncross. He should just go back into his room, but he's finding that he really just wants to be somewhere else right now, and he stares at the door for a beat before pushing himself off of the doorframe and making his way to his shoes and jacket.]
I'm gonna go for a walk or something.
[Anything to be out of here, even if it's just for a short time. Fresh air never hurt anyone's mood, right? Not to mention a few blocks' distancing will almost certainly keep this from escalating any further.]
Reply
He taps his knuckles gently on the counter without looking up, and just nods at the coffee maker.]
Yep.
[Stop by the parking lot and have a look at the Impala, Cas. Nice big cracked headlight to top off his day. Like the cherry on top of the bullshit sundae that is his life. Except if he eats it, Cas'll be pissed at him, and Jesus Christ what is taking this coffee so long?
He moves through the kitchen to the living room and flops heavily down onto the couch. He really, really should say something, but that would mean breaking the silence, or being something other than a prideful jackass, and he's pretty sure he doesn't have that ability. This not-acknowledging thing's totally working for him, anyway. He can just... do that indefinitely, and stare at the TV, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees like it's the most interesting thing in the world.]
Reply
He toys with the idea of bringing Colt, but he can't bring himself to leave Dean by himself even if he is angry. That, and he's maybe possibly picking up some beer on the way back depending on his mood and he's not quite ready to leave the little guy chained outside alone yet, regardless of his decidedly un-puppylike size.
Right. Walk. He steps into his shoes, shrugs on his jacket and actually has the foresight to check for his keys and phone in his pocket before slipping out and letting the door click shut quietly behind him. He's about halfway down the hall when he stops to just... Take a breath. Should he go back in, say something? He feels like he should, and he actually does turn to look at the door, but he decides against it and makes his way downstairs at a pace that's not quite a jog but it's definitely not leisurely walking pace. He does notice the Impala with her cracked headlight... That wasn't there before, and wow does he feel like a giant tool. ...At least until he reasons that a cracked headlight is really no excuse for a bullshit fight.
Not that a lost job and a slammed door really are. But he's ignoring that, it's what he does.]
Reply
Stop judging me.
[Colt gives no indication that he was doing anything of the sort, but takes Dean's voice as permission to board ship, and hops up onto the couch to settle his head in Dean's lap. Because the rest of him is too big to fit, now. Wow. That's... has it been that long? All things considered, they managed to stave off fighting for an impressive amount of time- especially since Dean's a dick more often than not. Colt huffs unhappily and shifts, and Dean sighs.]
Yeah, I know.
[Alright. Maybe he deserves a text. He tugs his phone out, and plays with it a minute. What even to say, though? I'm Sorry gets deleted before he even finishes punching it in. That just... feels too much like putting his dick on a plate. He's never going to be one of Those Guys. A few more ideas come and go, before he decides to settle for an explanation.]
Douchey prius driver called me shady for two hours. got sent home early. wnt to visit sam. got punched in the face by a guy named lucifer. worlds biggest bag of dicks.
[Yeah, that feels... okay. He sends it, and looks down at Colt, who's looking up at him lazily with those big ol' eyes. Passes a hand over the dog's face like he's seen Cas do, and Colt thumps his tail on the couch once. He's taking it as approval.]
Reply
If he can't smoke his lack of job away, he can at least distance himself from any more reminders. He does consider sending a text off to Sophie, though, ask her if she needed any more help... Maybe if she's still at the shop he can go give her a hand. It'd pass the time, at least, and it's easier not to mope when there's someone else around to be cheery for. Huh, maybe he should have gone looking at the shops after all. He forgoes the text, deciding that he'd be shit company right now anyway, and heads loops around the apartment back to the main street.
His phone buzzes as he's walking past the liquor store, but he ignores it for a while, assuming it's something he doesn't feel like dealing with, some gossip or a message from one of the people he works with about other jobs... It doesn't even cross his mind that it might be Dean until he's passed his third convenience store advertising the beer he drinks in the window, and when it hits him he tugs it out, waits a few seconds before turning it on. And there it is, Dean's name flashing next to the little letter icon. He swears to god, if this is more antagonism, they're going to have a problem... He pokes at the screen, opens up the message...
Huh. That's... Wow. Talk about shitty day. Fuck does he feel like a tool. Part of him wonders if that was Dean's intention, but out here and a good half mile away, it's a little easier to give him the benefit of the doubt.
He taps out a response and it's quick, short.]
that's rough
[And then:]
got fired today
[Okay, so not quite fired, exactly, but close enough, and the fact remains that he's out of a job, and he supposes he can provide details and context later. He's about half a second away from deleting the whole damn thing and just letting Dean stew for a while, but he figures some explanation is necessary. If he'd known... Well, he'd probably still have been a bit prickly, but it would have been a more controlled, stay-out-of-your-way-if-you-stay-out-of-mine kind of prickly. He wouldn't have gone on the attack like he had.
Probably.
Sighing, he stuffs his phone back into his pocket, walks past the street that's the quickest way back home to do another loop or five, pass by the liquor store again. Maybe this time he'll go in. Part of him is compelled to apologize, he even takes his phone out again and starts typing it up... But he decides if he's gonna do that he might as well do it in person.]
Reply
Ten, then fifteen minutes went by without an answer to his text, and the silence and loneliness sucked away his anger. Well, mostly. Dean can carry a grudge lone a sonofabitch. He's not pissed at Cas, though, now that his head is out of his ass long enough to admit it. He feels like an enourmous bag of dick-s fuck, shit, seriously, what is his problem? Have a shitty day and come in and get real with Cas, who-
Bzzt, bzzt. Bzzt, bzzt. He dug around for his phone and flicked it open.
Oh, god damn.
Cas who lost his job. He let a noise escape the back of his throat, and he slumped forward a minute, head ducking long enough to pass his hands over his face and push them through his hair. Damn. Damn it. God damn it.
His first response, eloquent as ever, is a one word text in the form of Shit. A second of contemplation, and he sends another right after it- Sorry. It's vague enough that he doesn't feel like an audacious douche. It could mean sorry about your job, or sorry about the fight, or both. Nice and safe and completely inadequate. Awesome.
Dean has absolutely no problems admitting he's a prideful bastard, and sincere gestures lock him up like the freaking Fonz trying to say he's wro wro wro- wrong. He has to do something, though, to show what a jackass he feels like, and apparently Cas is pretty pissed at him over the food thing. Which he hadn't... really been expecting.
He could, maybe, like, cook something, right? That seems pretty fitting to the crime, and gesture he's pretty sure Cas'll get, without having to carve himself lady parts. A preliminary search of the cabinets doesn't reveal much, but there is a box of noodles. Spaghetti's easy, probably? Right? He may not be the best cook, but seriously, how hard can it be?
He can totally do this.
Distantly, he wonders if they have smoke detectors.]
Reply
And Cas had intended on waiting until he made it back, maybe presented the beer as an olive branch of sorts, but he taps out
me too
right there in the doorway before he even realizes what he's doing, and he figures it's ambiguous enough to be a decent hold-over until he does get back.
With the beer. Which he's now going to grab. Two packs, actually, that's how douchey he feels. It's a bit of a trek back to the apartment, and while Cas is by no means out of shape, carrying that shit is gonna be pretty cumbersome and probably leave him with noodle arm today and sore, stiff arm tomorrow when he's trying to pack up books and odds and ends at the job he's really going to miss. Fuck.
Penance. It's penance for being an ass. You can take the dude out of Catholicism... By some miracle, he actually has enough cash in his pocket for both, and after browsing for a bit, (not his drug of choice, but he likes to know his options), starts to make his way back to the apartment.]
Reply
Leave a comment