(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... )
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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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Also he's... admittedly slightly worried that he's going to screw this whole thing up, that Cas is going to get fed up with his shit like any normal human being would- like normal human beings have done in the past, and just tell him to go fuck himself and the horse he road in on. Dean really, really doesn't want that. Which is a testament to how screwed he is, and he's going to conveniently ignore that fact.
The next text that comes through is a simple me too, but it's damn good enough for him. Eases some of the tension out of his chest, though he still feels like a righteous jackass. Which makes him all the more adamant for his sucking-up apology gesture to work. He cranks up the stove, puts on a pot of water and dumps in the noodles.
And... waits.
And waits. And fuck, cooking is boring.
So he turns up the tv. Then goes to the bathroom. Which doesn't take long, but it's long enough for the dog to start barking in the other room, and when he gets back, apparently the pot's boiled over the stove and it's leaking into the burner and smoking like a bitch and--]
Son of a bitch- shit- shit-
[Fuck cooking. Evasive maneuvers, engage.]
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And, well, they're out of beer. Can't have that.
Fuck, talk about the most inadequate I'm sorry gesture ever... No wonder he's never done... Whatever this is before, he doesn't have a fucking clue how it works. His inexperience isn't for lack of prospects, of course, he's had plenty of opportunities for something other than casual sex, and had come relatively close to an actual... thing a few times, but he'd still be searching for himself then, and after being told who he was for so long, the last thing he'd needed was more entanglement.
Now, though... This is different. Dean's different, and fuck if he's gonna have this stupid fight over stupid shit fuck that up. Fuck.
Miracle of miracles, he makes it back to the building just as his arms are starting to go all noodley, and even more of a miracle, the elevator's working so he doesn't even have to climb mount staircase to get back to the apartment. Okay, that's a good sign, hopefully it's an indication of how the next five minutes are going to go... Texts are all well and good, but Cas is far from an expert on deciphering mood and inflection with so little to go on, and so for all he knows, Dean could still be pissed as hell.
...Had he been long enough for a lock change? He doesn't think so... Setting one of the bags down once he reaches the door, he shoves his key in (and much to his relief, it clearly still fits) and pushes the door open.]
Hey, look--
[...And is immediately hit with the dubiously hilarious sight of Dean at the stove with what looks like food in a pot that's boiled over... All through a cloud of smoke. What in the--]
Fuck, lemme get a towel or something, turn that off--
[Door's wide open; Colt's trained not to run off, but are the neighbors trained not to come out to point and laugh? Only time will tell.]
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It's only the fact that it's Cas, who was firstly his friend, that keeps him from dancing around and having mini panic attacks over little things. Cas is Cas. Cas is chill. Cas is his best friend. He doesn't give a fuck if Dean's a little late home from work, or if he has to leave in the middle of the night to pick up Sam, or if he comments on Angelina Jolie's frankly magnificent rack. Fighting, though... that's a lot harder than it was with piddly bitches that didn't mean anything.
Fortunately, distraction conveniently comes in the form of trying not to burn down the goddamn apartment building. He manages to get the pot to the sink, where it gets unceremoniously dropped in favor of moving to turn off the burner in a flick.]
Shit- careful, it's hot-
[Most of the smoke dissipates when the source of the moisture is removed, especially as the head dies down, but he moves to open a window for good measure. Colt makes an unhappy sound and drops down onto his belly as he watches the peanut gallery that is Dean's attempt to salvage the horrendous mess he's made of the stove.
Shit.
After a beat, he moves over to the pot in the stove, still steaming, noodles burnt to the bottom of the pan and half-sloshed into the sink.
And a sorrowful look at Cas.]
...Apology noodle?
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He'd also agree that the fighting is... A new and horrible experience. It's not like he'd really expected them to get along perfectly all the time- he knows better- but the reality of a stupid argument was something he'd hoped to postpone for as long as possible...
But for right now... He's gonna ignore that in favor of waving that smoke out the kitchen window before it sets the alarm off and their crazy land lady loses her shit at them. She's still not pleased about Colt even though Colt seems to be rather fond of her, and so he really doesn't want to give her any more reason to have a problem with them.
Fortunately, the room clears quickly once the pot's gone and the burner's turned off, and so Cas tosses the towel down and moves to grab the beer from where it's serving as the world's best doorstopper. Setting both bags on the counter, he peers into the mess that is the sink and then at Dean's face.
it's just... It's pitiful, really, and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips in spite of himself.
And okay, so they're burned and soggy at the same time, but he reaches in and pulls out the most inoffensive looking noodle of the bunch and pops it into his mouth. It burns the shit out of his tongue, but it's all about the gesture and besides, he feels like he probably deserves it.
He turns, both to shield Dean from his face, which is a mixture of pain, horror, and amusement at both the state of the noodles and the situation and to grab a beer out of the bag, which he holds out to Dean.]
Apology beer?
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Then again, Cas is like a hippy peace guru. Maybe they didn't do as impressively as he's hoping. He's pretty sure if they were at an ashram right now he'd have been kicked out for disturbing the vibes. Whatever, screw it, the Beatles got kicked out of an ashram and they're the Beatles.
He can't help the petulant frown that forms as Cas smirks at him. Stupid fucking nature and boiling water and pot and Jesus what the hell. But then he reaches into the sink and actually eats a soggy, crappy noodle.
That's probably the sweetest damn thing he's ever seen. Also the grossest.
Rewind. Cas brought beer. That's the sweetest thing he's ever seen. He strides forward, tugs it from his hand to gently set it on the counter without really looking, and ducks in to press their lips together in the same fluid motion. Screw fighting. Fuck that noise.]
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If they were in an ashram, they'd probably have been kicked out around the time they decided to fool around in the shower, or even decided to get together at all. Abstinence is one teaching Cas chooses to ignore, and if that disturbs the vibe, well... He's willing to deal with that.
He's still in the process of chewing that noodle- and for some reason despite its soggy appearance it's actually chewy enough that it's sticking to his teeth and refusing to go down his throat all the way- when Dean leans forward, plucks the beer from his hand to set it on the table, and closes the distance between them by sealing their mouths together.
Huh. Incentive to get that noodle out of the way as quickly as possible... He does manage to gulp it down, fortunately, right around the time a surprised hum is making its way out of the back of his throat. That's... This isn't what he was expecting... But then again, it isn't usually, not where Dean's concerned, and after a second's pause he leans forward himself, presses his lips more firmly against Dean's as his hands come up to rest at his sides, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.
This is nice, this is so much better than fighting or even talking... Though he supposes that's probably going to have to happen later.
Later. As in not now. Damn is he glad he shut that door.]
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