(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... )
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Then, some bastard backed into the Impala. Actually backed into her, totally cracked a tail light. Oh, there would have been some serious blood, except he drove off without even a fuck you. He spent the whole day repairing some douchebag's cracked radiator, and the man kept slipping in snide comments about how sketchy mechanics were, how they weren't to be trusted, how they'd rip you off rather than do an honest day's work ( ... )
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As always, thanks for the contribution. For a minute, there, I thought you were gonna be a cynical jackass. Sharp change.
[Said flatter than a pancake, and topped off with a thumbs up.]
That's real nice.
[He crosses the kitchen and tugs the door open, digs through the shelves to find a beer. God damn it they're out of beer? Are you fucking shitting him?. He shuts the fridge with about the same reverence and enthusiasm as he did the front door.]
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He should ask what the problem is. He should ask what has Dean so riled up, since it's not exactly a common occurrence for him to come slamming into the apartment like this... Not while sober, anyway. Yep, those are things he should probably do.
But what he does do, of course, is roll his eyes.]
Yeah, well, you know me. Just trying to keep you on your toes.
[He crosses his arms over his chest, and watches as Colt, clearly getting the measure of the situation a lot better than Cas, scampers off to hide in his crate. That should probably be a tip-off, but Cas is choosing to ignore it in favor of narrowing his eyes as the fridge door's slammed closed. Really ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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[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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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... ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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- ( ... )
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