(Untitled)
Castiel is in the bar, but his mind is in a hospital room somewhere in Ohio.
He sits staring at a cup of coffee he’d ordered solely to make himself look occupied. Outwardly, he appears to have been carved from an especially inexpressive stone.
Inwardly, his thoughts are something akin to atoms in a nuclear reactor.
[OOC: Plotlocked this time ( Read more... )
He sits staring at a cup of coffee he’d ordered solely to make himself look occupied. Outwardly, he appears to have been carved from an especially inexpressive stone.
Inwardly, his thoughts are something akin to atoms in a nuclear reactor.
[OOC: Plotlocked this time ( Read more... )
At least that's what Dean's thinking as he storms in the door. Seeing your little brother use freaky-ass mind powers to exorcise demons --
Seeing goddamn Ruby again -- and who the fuck knows how she got the new meatsuit --
If he doesn't get some time on his own to figure out what the fuck to do, some bad shit is gonna go down. And there's no guarantee that ain't gonna happen anyway.
Then he catches sight of Castiel, the angel that seems to be right at the root of this whole fucking mess.
Well, hell.
He hesitates for a second, torn between throwing down and sneaking away like a pussy. Except -- fuck that shit.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
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Whose brother he has not so indirectly threatened.
Castiel blinks a bit. It is not so much an expression of surprise as it is a slight outward sign that his mind is switching gears.
"Dean."
He inclines his head slightly.
"I suppose it was inevitable that we would meet here."
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Patience and Dean are not close friends at the best of times, and these are really not the best of times.
"What, playing stalked by an angel back home ain't enough, you've gotta bring it in here, too?"
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And, technically, they have met here before, after a fashion. Though Dean's mind was apparently in no shape to remember it.
Castiel's voice is clipped.
"I was led to this place some time ago. And the circumstances had nothing to do with you."
Though he knows that, in the Grand Scheme of Things, it is highly likely that this statement is not true--that his order to come to Milliways may have Dean Winchester right at the heart of it--lack of patience spurs the comment.
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"Yeah? You tellin' me you got sent here to keep an eye on Sam or something?"
This would be what they call 'scoffing'.
"Good job there, asshole."
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A small sign of an angel keeping a rein on his temper.
"And how did you find your brother?" he asks.
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"Like you don't know already. Jesus. You're the one that gave me the address."
There are a lot of things Dean really doesn't want to think about right now.
The way Sam looked is way up there.
Tonight's Hell-flashbacks might almost be a relief.
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"You needed to know."
No matter how bitter the pills might be, and Castiel has no doubt that Dean is finding them very hard to swallow.
"You are now better armed for whatever may lie ahead."
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Please.
Someone's gotta have some idea, or no one would be freaking the fuck out.
It's just a question of getting someone to fucking tell him.
(So simple objectives are comforting. Sue him.)
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Another bar patron? Who knows.
"And as I told you before. You now know as much as we do."
Does Dean not think that if the angels knew what was to come, they wouldn't do something about it?
"Only that the path your brother is currently on will lead to no good place." Castiel considers for a moment. "And from what I have seen of the two of you, you are the only one who will convince him of this."
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This time, though, it's probably more self-directed than anything else.
"Yeah, well. Here's hoping."
He looks away then, crossing his arms as he does so. Being this tired fucking sucks.
A second later he's setting his jaw and looking back. The crossed arms aren't going anywhere, though.
"Tell me this, have any of you guys even tried with Sammy? I mean, he's the one that's all gung-ho about angels, not me."
At least he was, back when the Archangel Michael was really the ghost of a priest.
Man.
It's weird to be missing the good ol' days of pain and terror and utter confusion. But considering that that basically described his whole entirely life --
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When angels have the fidgets.
Manners would dictate that he invite Dean to sit down. Castiel is not certain that the invitation wouldn't induce Dean to remain standing just from obstinance. So he does not issue it.
He has no doubt that if Dean feels like sitting, he will sit, invitation or no.
"To my knowledge, no orders have been issued for anyone of us to approach Sam directly."
"And before you ask, I do not know why. It is the will of Heaven."
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"What, you need orders to freaking say 'hi'? How spineless are you."
Looks like that combativeness hasn't actually gone away after all. It's been a long day.
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"Yes. We have a chain of command. One that we respect."
He would think Dean would understand.
"Perhaps the reason we have not been ordered to intercede yet with Sam is that you are already displaying an inclination to want us to solve your problems for you."
It's been a long day for both of them.
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It comes out quick and sharp.
Dean can already feel his hands itching to hit something.
Or pick up a chair and hurl it at that smug face.
"You smarmy fuckers and your asshole God didn't do anything to stop this from happening, so get down of your goddamn high horse."
What's worse is that Dean didn't stop it, either. He couldn't.
Like that inability makes a lick of difference.
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He calmly (or so it would seem to the casual eye) pushes his chair back from his table and stands. He circles the piece of furniture, stopping only when he is inches away from Dean.
"We are not responsible for what your brother is doing. Nor is God."
"Nor are you."
That, Castiel has an idea, may be the point that rankles with Dean the most. That Sam has stepped so far beyond his control.
"Azazel planted the seeds. But Sam's actions are his own."
There is only so much control you can have over a wayward sibling.
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