Losyngerie in the Devilles mouth (8/?)whit_meruleMay 17 2012, 08:55:27 UTC
The trouble was, Castiel might have been happy (by his standards), but he still didn’t have a great grip on reality. And that made him vulnerable.
For starters, Castiel didn’t understand logical progression anymore, didn’t follow conversations, wandered off on his own tangents. He understood need, and he usually answered direct questions, and he read emotion a little too well (and that could really screw him over because he had no shields against it anymore, against all the little cruelties and indifferences of everyone around him). But the physical reality of the world and the potential for consequences? Not in the slightest. He’d trip over a rake on the ground because he was too busy pondering the metalwork of the iron teeth to realise that if he stepped on it just so, the handle would spring up and hit him on the cheek.
Anyway. Wandering the streets in bare feet and hospital pyjamas and trenchcoat, looking vague and polite? Not really the way to avoid notice. And the most important thing for him, right now, was not being noticed
( ... )
Losyngerie in the Devilles mouth (9/?)whit_meruleMay 17 2012, 08:56:41 UTC
[I'm sorry.This is really not bending itself properly to the whole comment-fic length thing.]
“Hey, Cas. What’s with the Dean-avoidance?” Sam tossed Castiel a large packet of rolled oats for the shopping basket, and Castiel peered at it with benevolent curiosity. “I mean, you’re sitting around with me like there’s nowhere else you’re ever gonna need to be, then Dean comes to the door and you make like a tree.”
Castiel smiled at him, a little vacantly, and made a thoughtful noise. “Cats,” he pronounced after a moment.
“I don’t follow you, man.”
Lucifer lifted an eye delicately in their direction, smirked to himself, and went back to reading food labels as if they were particularly interesting bugs. Sam ignored him.
“I didn’t follow you either,” Castiel pointed out serenely. Hold on. Was he playing up this whole spaced-out thing as a reproachSam gave him a Look, and some canned vegetables. He was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the half twinkle under those sly dark lashes
( ... )
Re: Losyngerie in the Devilles mouth (9/?)whit_meruleMay 17 2012, 11:05:35 UTC
Likewise. *eyes the wayward boys*
Lucifer. Sam. Cas. Stoppit. I have OTHER FIC to write.
... granted, in that fic, Lucifer is dead and Sam is stuck in canine form and Castiel is elsewhere for weeks, so I can see why they might collectively have ulterior motives here.
Losyngerie in the Devilles mouth (12/?)whit_meruleMay 18 2012, 04:38:36 UTC
Sam closed his book and stood up. The chair rattled loudly over the floor, but not an eye in the room flickered towards him. Castiel and Dean were locked in one of their old eye-duels, full of wordless words and meaning without specificity, emotions running higher and higher, and Castiel, who was so impossibly badly equipped to deal with accusation and anger just now - Castiel looked terrified.
“He’s not fighting anymore, remember Dean? Hasn’t he earned that?”
“I said that I was sorry,” Castiel mutters gingerly. “You didn’t know how to believe me. You wanted other words, and I didn’t have them.”
“It was a damn game, Cas,” Dean snapped, voice rising sharply, and Sam heard his own voice rap out Dean’s name harsh and reproachful over the top of it
( ... )
Losyngerie in the Devilles mouth (13/?)whit_meruleMay 18 2012, 04:40:10 UTC
Castiel was in his pyjamas again. He was sitting on a bench in the dismal evening-grey park, with the trenchcoat folded carefully besid him, looking slight and small and soft. Lucifer was standing over, him fierce and cold, with his hand hovering in the air near Castiel’s shoulder but not quite touching. Everything about his stance looked odd on him, and it took a moment for Sam to fasten, with some incredulity, on the word and protective. And then, when Lucifer looked up at Sam with eyes that burned cold and grey and dared him to say a word, the word helpless. Castiel’s brother. Lucifer’s brother. For each of them, effectively the only one remaining, out of multitudes
( ... )
Losyngerie in the Devilles mouth (14/?)whit_meruleMay 18 2012, 06:13:11 UTC
“Maybe there’s hope for a Winchester yet,” Lucifer commented, dry and almost warm. Then, when Castiel completely failed to respond and Sam lifted an irritated eyebrow, “Oh, and - he can’t see me just now
( ... )
Re: Losyngerie in the Devilles mouth (14/?)auroramamaMay 18 2012, 17:50:42 UTC
I had no idea you'd even started writing this until fifteen minutes ago. Someone said to check this meme again, and here this was, like fishing for my wallet and finding an unexpected string of opals. I love each bit and this latest is just astonishing.
Reply
For starters, Castiel didn’t understand logical progression anymore, didn’t follow conversations, wandered off on his own tangents. He understood need, and he usually answered direct questions, and he read emotion a little too well (and that could really screw him over because he had no shields against it anymore, against all the little cruelties and indifferences of everyone around him). But the physical reality of the world and the potential for consequences? Not in the slightest. He’d trip over a rake on the ground because he was too busy pondering the metalwork of the iron teeth to realise that if he stepped on it just so, the handle would spring up and hit him on the cheek.
Anyway. Wandering the streets in bare feet and hospital pyjamas and trenchcoat, looking vague and polite? Not really the way to avoid notice. And the most important thing for him, right now, was not being noticed ( ... )
Reply
“Hey, Cas. What’s with the Dean-avoidance?” Sam tossed Castiel a large packet of rolled oats for the shopping basket, and Castiel peered at it with benevolent curiosity. “I mean, you’re sitting around with me like there’s nowhere else you’re ever gonna need to be, then Dean comes to the door and you make like a tree.”
Castiel smiled at him, a little vacantly, and made a thoughtful noise. “Cats,” he pronounced after a moment.
“I don’t follow you, man.”
Lucifer lifted an eye delicately in their direction, smirked to himself, and went back to reading food labels as if they were particularly interesting bugs. Sam ignored him.
“I didn’t follow you either,” Castiel pointed out serenely. Hold on. Was he playing up this whole spaced-out thing as a reproachSam gave him a Look, and some canned vegetables. He was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the half twinkle under those sly dark lashes ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Lucifer. Sam. Cas. Stoppit. I have OTHER FIC to write.
... granted, in that fic, Lucifer is dead and Sam is stuck in canine form and Castiel is elsewhere for weeks, so I can see why they might collectively have ulterior motives here.
Reply
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
*posts a couple more, though it still stops halfway through a conversation, so you might prefer thsi cliffie*
Reply
Reply
“He’s not fighting anymore, remember Dean? Hasn’t he earned that?”
“I said that I was sorry,” Castiel mutters gingerly. “You didn’t know how to believe me. You wanted other words, and I didn’t have them.”
“It was a damn game, Cas,” Dean snapped, voice rising sharply, and Sam heard his own voice rap out Dean’s name harsh and reproachful over the top of it ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
I get about!
Reply
Leave a comment