Vigil
Who: Anna (grace_optional,) Bobby (junkyard_hunter,) Castiel (to_rebel,) Dean (will_end_you,) Sam (chosefamily)
What: Cas was just pining for the fjords.
Where: Winchester household
When: Backdated to Monday the 21st, following Hades' death
Rating: PG-13 at worst, probably
Status: Ongoing
[On the third day, he rose again.]
The Winchester household had been uncharacteristically quiet over the last day, as Castiel's family coped as best they could with his death and kept vigil, hoping his return to life (or whatever state he awoke to) would come soon and be less traumatic than the manner of his passing.
Anna had returned from her confrontation with Balthazar's double pale, eyes red, and leaking blood and grace; once patched up, she'd commandeered her usual armchair near the couch, from which she had not moved since. Castiel's silver blade was held clutched in her lap; any attempt to take it from her was met with a snarl and an unladylike promise as to where it would wind up if the issue was pushed.
She hadn't heard from the real Balthazar since the fight. Just as well, probably, since she wouldn't know what the hell to say to him. He hadn't done this, but she was fairly sure the thought must have crossed his mind, likely more than a few times. Where else would his doppelganger have gotten the idea?
Leppard had been prowling the room agitatedly since the body had been brought home, stopping by the couch every little while and then going from person to person and meowing urgently, refusing to be calmed. Anna didn't have to be fluent in catspeak to understand her: This is not right. My human is broken. Fix him immediately!
Dean had made coffee...once. No one had drunk any, and the coffeemaker had been sitting idle since.
What: Cas was just pining for the fjords.
Where: Winchester household
When: Backdated to Monday the 21st, following Hades' death
Rating: PG-13 at worst, probably
Status: Ongoing
[On the third day, he rose again.]
The Winchester household had been uncharacteristically quiet over the last day, as Castiel's family coped as best they could with his death and kept vigil, hoping his return to life (or whatever state he awoke to) would come soon and be less traumatic than the manner of his passing.
Anna had returned from her confrontation with Balthazar's double pale, eyes red, and leaking blood and grace; once patched up, she'd commandeered her usual armchair near the couch, from which she had not moved since. Castiel's silver blade was held clutched in her lap; any attempt to take it from her was met with a snarl and an unladylike promise as to where it would wind up if the issue was pushed.
She hadn't heard from the real Balthazar since the fight. Just as well, probably, since she wouldn't know what the hell to say to him. He hadn't done this, but she was fairly sure the thought must have crossed his mind, likely more than a few times. Where else would his doppelganger have gotten the idea?
Leppard had been prowling the room agitatedly since the body had been brought home, stopping by the couch every little while and then going from person to person and meowing urgently, refusing to be calmed. Anna didn't have to be fluent in catspeak to understand her: This is not right. My human is broken. Fix him immediately!
Dean had made coffee...once. No one had drunk any, and the coffeemaker had been sitting idle since.