The Intimacy Meme
The Intimacy Meme
(Shamelessly taken from... all the rest's and modified!)
Intimacy is the glue of any relationship, albeit romantic or friendship. It's getting to the root of humanity, and expanding upon ourselves and letting others in.
Rules:
1. Post with your character.
2. Go to rng and roll from 1-6.
3. Post to others.
4. Profit
Scenes:
1. First Kiss. ( Read more... )
(Shamelessly taken from... all the rest's and modified!)
Intimacy is the glue of any relationship, albeit romantic or friendship. It's getting to the root of humanity, and expanding upon ourselves and letting others in.
Rules:
1. Post with your character.
2. Go to rng and roll from 1-6.
3. Post to others.
4. Profit
Scenes:
1. First Kiss. ( Read more... )
[Sleep has been just one of a long list of things Castiel has been having trouble getting used to since going mortal. The idea of just... Lying in bed with one's eyes closed and eventually slipping into unconsciousness is.. unsettling, to put it mildly. It's taking some getting used to, and some nights he's able to manage it without much effort, just slides into the bed Bobby and the Winchesters had set up for him at the end of the house and stops for a while ( ... )
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[Cas isn't the only one with trouble sleeping. On the best of days, he gets maybe five hours. Once you take a jaunty trip to hell, you can pretty much kiss dreamless sleep goodbye. Hard to avoid the things you shove down into your subconscious when you can't control the way they play out at night.
He can deal with it, though. It's not exactly new, and it's not exactly impossible. Unpleasant, sure, but hell, when's life ever been pleasant for him? Normally, he'd at least put forth his best effort. Not tonight. So not tonight.
Sam's saying yes. One of three thing is going to happen. Option A, they all die. The end. Flat out dead as fuck, and Lucifer rules the world. At least they won't be there to see it. Option B- and the worse one, in his opinion- shit goes down like Zachariah made him see it. He turns into a vengeful, empty, hollow dick. Bobby dies. Cas gets fucked up on pills and sex. They spend their remaining years in the fucking apocalypse, and Dean slowly poisons everyone around ( ... )
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[Once upon a time, Castiel probably could have fixed that. For the night, at least, just a press of cool fingertips to his forehead and Dean might have been granted a dreamless sleep, a night free of memories of hell ( ... )
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He's got a feeling, after tonight, after he lets Sam throw himself into the Pit, those dreams are only going to be worse. And... they probably won't be far from reality. He's supposed to save his brother. Protect Sam.
Has anybody ever failed anything more thoroughly? Sam is going to hell. Fucking nice one, big bro. Not only is he allowing this, hell, he's practically giving Sam the final push ( ... )
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While Dean's getting comfortable, Castiel is... Not. He's not moving at all save the rising and falling of his shoulders and the knitting together of his brows. Dean's given him an opening, he just needs to take it... But it seems this is more difficult than he'd imagined. He hadn't actually thought of anything to say, any place to start, and he's actually surprised at Dean's willingness to listen- God knows he has enough on his plate already.
Sighing, he picks a hand up and runs it through his hair in a surprising unstilted, almost human way. It hasn't even been that long and already he seems to be picking up on little things that make him feel less and less what he used to be. He isn't quite sure how he feels about that, and he folds his hands in his lap to keep from doing it again.]Perhaps a bit of both. I need to... ( ... )
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Meet Dean: Negative Nancy.
He furrows his brow and patiently waits for Cas to continue. For all of two seconds.]
Well, take your time, not like it's the end of the world or anything.
[Pardon the sarcasm, it's late and he's flipping his shit. He doesn't particularly mean to take it out on Cas, but the fact that he did is a little worrisome considering his train of thought from a moment ago. He sighs a deep, heavy thing and kicks the blankets off. Twists, swings his legs over and lets them touch down so that they're sitting shoulder to shoulder.
Let's try that again.]Sorry. I ( ... )
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He scowls at Dean even though he's aware the other man can't see him- at least he's assuming he can't, since Castiel can barely make out his face from a few feet away- more out of habit than anything else. He will take his time, thanks. He's just... Not sure how he wants to go about this. There's a twisting in his stomach that's foreign and uncomfortable every time he thinks about opening his mouth ( ... )
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A second passed.
No such luck.
Anger flooded him in one single fell swoop and he shoved off of the bed, rounded on the former angel, eyes wide.]
You- you let him- what the hell, Cas?!
[Sam might have had a chance. He might have been able to make it, fight it off, and they might have--
And now Sam was going to burn in hell. His little brother, his only family, the brother he was supposed to protect was going to spend fucking eternity as Satan's bitch.
And Dean was going to be alone.
And they were going to die tomorrow.
His voice picked up an octave as he plowed on, heedless of the fact that Bobby was downstairs trying to sleep, that it was well past midnight, that Cas was giving himself an anxiety attack over this.]
Damn it, Cas, if you weren't such a fucking hammer, none of this-
[His mouth snapped shut ( ... )
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And then Dean's shoving off the bed, whirling to face him, and he doesn't have to see his face- he hears everything he needs to know in his voice.
It's what he'd expected, though that does nothing to make him feel any better about it at all. Dean turns, heads toward the door and for a horrible second Castiel is sure he's going to leave, and that's going to be the end of this, and they're going to go to their deaths tomorrow with this the final exchange between them. He supposes it's what he deserves, better, really, considering he'd half expected Dean to throw a punch or two...
It isn't what Dean deserves, though. He should at least have an explanation, and so when he stops, leans his head against the door frame, Cas continues. He won't deny he'd been a hammer, ( ... )
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[The words were out of his mouth before he could even register that he was saying them, and he let them stand for a second before he heaved out a sigh. Smacked his hand against the paneling of the door frame quietly.]
Just. Give me a minute.
[He was pissed. He was allowed to be pissed, he had a right to be pissed, considering everything that happened after Cas let Sam out.
He was looking for a reason to be pissed. Because shit, being pissed was so much easier, and shoving the blame off on Cas would be so damn easy.
Except, he's the Righteous Man, isn't he? The righteous douchebag who took up the sword in Hell and spilled innocent blood all over the god damn floor. Dad lasted a hundred years without breaking, and Dean trotted his happy ass down there and gave up after thirty.
And Sam, well, Sam finished the job. Brought forth the big man himself. Nobody made him do it- and if Cas hadn't come along, some other angel dick would have at some point, just to keep the fuck train ( ... )
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He nods, sits quietly in the dark as Dean thunks his head against the doorframe again.
Of course Dean's angry, and of course he has the right to be. Castiel has the urge to say something but doesn't, instead waiting it out, giving Dean space. The last thing he wants is to make this any worse. He doesn't imagine that's possible, but he's learned, if nothing else, that it can always be worse and so he really doesn't want to press his luck ( ... )
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Which is also the part that would have given up on Sam if Bobby hadn't set his ass straight and told him he was acting like a goddamn fool. It's the part that, if he were to give into it, would slowly change him and turn him into a gigantic, cold, closed-off dick.
It's conflicting, because Cas looks... well, he looks seriously beat up about it.
The rest of him would like to point out that they're gonna fucking die tomorrow, and going out like this...
Nah. No. Nope, this wasn't how it was gonna be. He squeezed his eyes shut, blew out a breath while common sense fought it out with his temper- not an easy battle, for sure. He needed something to focus on, something to chill him out before he went Bruce Lee on Cas's face. ( ... )
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It takes Castiel a few seconds for it to sink in that the words coming out of Dean's mouth, while clearly short and still very angry, aren't any variation of Get Out. It takes him a bit longer to process that he's... Asking him about firearms. He cocks his head to the side.]
No. Why?
[It's a complete non sequitur, at least to Castiel, who doesn't quite grasp changing the subject just yet... But as he hadn't exactly thought things through all the way, and is at a complete loss as to where this conversation was going to go if it didn't involve being punched in the face, he supposes he's just going to have to follow Dean's lead ( ... )
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Shook his head and moved over to the dresser beside the bed. Grabbed the duffel bag and moved back to the bed, all without eye contact. Stiff and tense while he tried to get over his temper. Doing something mechanical and methodical would help, and he strongly suspected it might help Cas as well. He flopped down indian-style, patted the spot beside him, and started tugging pistols out.
If he heard Cas's question, he decided not to answer it.]Take out the clip, then check the chamber. Plenty of jackoffs have lost appendages by being careless and shooting themselves in the junk. That's not something you wanna experience, trust me. ( ... )
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Dean pats the bed, and Castiel takes that to mean he's supposed to move, and so he does, shifting and mirroring Dean's position on top of the mussed blankets. After pulling out what seems to be many more guns than Castiel would have imagined fitting in that bag, Dean chooses one, pressing something on the side and ejecting the clip. Picking up the piece that's fallen out, he studies it carefully, squinting and turning it over in his hand.]
This is the clip?
[He imagines he should probably put some effort into learning proper names as well as the steps to taking the thing apart. He points to the grip, frowning.]
And that's the chamber?
[Castiel speaks a number of languages... Gun terminology is not one of them.]
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No, this is the chamber. Bullet goes in here, and pressure forces it out. If you catch the latch, it slides off.
[He passed over another handgun, slightly smaller, and a rag with it.]
Here. Now you, show me.
[When he looked up, it wasn't floppy brown hair, but raven bedhead, blue eyes rather than hazel, and the moment was gone. The pain in his chest was sharp, and his eyes dropped down to the gun in his hand. He set it gently on the bed ( ... )
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