"I'll be gone when you wake... just let yourself out the door if you feel well enough... stay here if you don't... you really don't want to go outside right now. London's picking up pieces, and I'm sure everywhere else is too."
She moved back to the bedroom. "Goodnight Castiel," she murmured as she closed the door and locked it.
He's already fallen sideways onto the couch, face smushed up against the pillow like he hadn't taken any care at all in how he landed. His eyes are as heavy as his limbs and they're already closed even before Martha's closed her door. Just a little longer, just a little bit more rest... That's all he needs.
There's probably another low murmur of gratitude before he's out completely.
[Crowley should really be surprised, dismayed, put off, or any other of a variety of displeased sentiments at the sight of a trenchcoat-wearing angel in his bed.
Instead, what he feels is relief.
He'd been worried concerned somewhat troubled when neither of the Winchesters had known what had happened to Cas after that ridiculous stunt of using himself as an angel banishing sigil. There's a part of him that wants to shake Cas awake and ask him what the bloody Hell he'd thought he was doing. Heaven really ought to have torn him apart. But, he's vaguely certain the angel wouldn't give him anything useful. Probably blink those blue eyes and say something deadpan about 'I'm sorry, I thought we were trying to stop the Apocalypse'.
And so instead he just nudges him over so Crowley can crawl into his own bed. His face noses into the angel's hair, and his fingers brush strands back from his forehead, and he presses a light kiss to his temple, an arm going around his waist to pull him closer.
[In Castiel's defense, that stunt had probably saved the lives of half the people on the planet... Not that that'd been his only intention, of course- the element of anger, of disappointment and rage and hurt at Dean's resignation to say yes had been undeniable and as much of a factor in his choice as the fact that he hadn't seen any other way. With his grace blocked from Heaven and slowly trickling away, he hadn't had much of a choice; it was either die fighting and take perhaps one of his brothers out with him, or do what he'd done and take them all out
( ... )
[Crowley is less bothered by Castiel's presence here than he would have felt obligated to insist upon, if there had been someone around conscious to see. And so instead he just cuddles into the warmth of the angel's body, pulling the angel in close against him. One of his wings decides that curling over the angel is the thing to do. And if it's a vaguely protective gesture, well, at least there's no one else around to notice.
Gabriel's gone and the wings haven't shown any inclination of going away. Of course, if Crowley's completely honest, he minds that a lot less than he'd admit to. He'd miss the way that Castiel's hands card through the feathers, the way that they touch. Despite his initial protests, he's actually perversely fond of them.
He tucks his head into to curve of Castiel's neck and quietly holds onto him.]
[Castiel makes a vague, snuffling sound as that wing's draped over him, feathers brushing over his clothed arm. He can feel the warmth of them even in his sleep, and his shifts toward the source of that familiar comfort. His wakeful self might protest, but in sleep all he wants is to be closer to that feeling, especially now that it escapes him when he's awake.
He's still for a few moments, until Crowley's head resting at his neck registers in his dream as a suffocating weight bearing down on him, dragging him from the sky and pulling him down to the charred earth he'd been soaring over. Twitching, he groans as his eyes slit open slightly and immediately squeeze closed again.]
[Crowley offers with a low drawl of amusement, as the fallen angel stirs into wakefulness. He shifts just slightly, body not quite so thoroughly ensconced around Castiel's, though his wing still curves over the angel's body. He's alive, but Crowley is still worried about him, not that he'd ever admit to it, admit that he feels something for the angel that isn't quite as selfishly motivated as the rest of it.
Castiel's light has been slowly fading, but now, the demon can't feel anything under his fingertips at all. There's none of that intrinsic flicker of the angel's nature he can feel when he touches him, that warmth that should burn but doesn't, that should be far more terrifying than it is.]
finally getting over my tagging fail.. kinda. =/ onparkbenchesApril 25 2012, 23:42:45 UTC
[That... Voice. That voice is the last thing he'd expected to hear, and his eyes crack open a bit more at the sound of it. If he were awake enough to do so, he'd admit that he's been imagining the warmth curved over his back as belonging to someone else... But at the moment all he can do is blink tiredly and shift a bit further away.]
Where-- [He coughs lightly, clears his throat which seems to be blocked by something thick and rather unpleasant] Where am I?
Yay for tags! I'm trying to be less lame, but people want me to do -stuff-. :OsoulkinkApril 26 2012, 04:44:51 UTC
In my bed, love.
[Crowley doesn't even bother trying to keep the amusement from his voice. He pulls his wing away, lets it stretch and flutter before tucking behind him with the other one. His fingers draw down the angel's side, a lift of an eyebrow that Castiel can't see but might be able to catch in the inflection of his voice.]
Should I be flattered?
[Teasing, mostly. He might have strange, awkward feelings for the angel, but he's not foolish enough to think Castiel might return them, no matter how well their flesh fits together. But, the teasing cadence of his voice helps to hide the concern beneath it as he looks down at the angel in his bed.]
Totally feel you man! I love that with LJ RP the tags are always there not matter how long it takesonparkbenchesApril 30 2012, 00:13:02 UTC
[He blinks once, twice, tips his head down and peers at the mattress before accepting that as the truth. He's... In Crowley's bed. Something must have gone horribly wrong, the Winchesters-- jerking up slightly, he makes an attempt to pull himself into a seated position. It's... Hard. His limbs feel tight and heavy, and it's not until he finally registers the fact that he can't hear anything from Heaven that the gravity of his situation sets it.
He's mortal. He's fallen.
He's also ignoring Crowley's question; he doesn't think he really needs to say anything. His brows pull together seriously, but he gives up on trying to move, for now.]
Are they safe? The Winchesters, did they make it?
[There's a crushing sense of something bearing down on him, heavy and suffocating and tightening in his chest. He doesn't like it.]
Yesss. I agree. Can be all "remember that thread we did months ago? No? Well, have a tag anyway" xDDsoulkinkApril 30 2012, 19:17:52 UTC
Sam and Dean are fine.
[And that's Crowley's as-politic-as-he-can-manage reply to the situation. Michael has a vessel, but it's not Dean, which in his mind is really the important part. Thankfully Lucifer still seems to want Sam, or they'd already be heading for the oh-so-garish showdown. Small mercies, he supposes.
He reaches out, brushes fingers against the angel's cheek. He can feel that there's something wrong, but he's not thinking about what, not putting words to the fact that he can hardly feel his light. It doesn't really change much, not for Crowley, but it does make their arsenal against the inevitable even smaller.]
And after that stunt you pulled, you're still alive. Better than things should have turned out, really.
[A weight is lifted from Castiel's shoulders at the assurance that his friends are safe... Though he can't be too trusting, this is Crowley he's dealing with, after all. He blinks at the demon's finger against his cheek but doesn't protest; he's weak, and it's too much effort.
He does pull back slightly at that admonishment, though, frowning slightly.]
It had to be done, I wasn't left with much choice.
[He glances down at his hands.]
I'm... Not entirely unaffected.
[Can Crowley tell? Castiel eyes him warily, as if suddenly awake enough to realize his predicament. He's mortal and holed up with a demon with no reason to keep him around... This could be dangerous...]
[Crowley frowns because he can feel it in his fingers that something's wrong. This isn't something he can fix, not even with a wish and someone's soul on his lips. There are a few things that not even the King of the Crossroads can offer.]
Are you alright?
[He can't help the worry that flashes in his hazel eyes, sliding a hand against the angel's face, tipping Castiel's head up so he can look into those blue eyes. Not that he's supposed to care, not beyond the way their bodies fit together, not more than the sex and the pleasure and the distraction from their mutually fucked situations.
Demon on the run from Hell, angel cast out from Heaven. There was never supposed to be anything to this, demons aren't supposed to feel anything, really. Not like this, not for an angel.
I THINK. I may be getting some tagging done today...onparkbenchesMay 8 2012, 00:16:21 UTC
No. I'm mortal.
[He supposes Crowley will puzzle it out eventually, it's just a matter of time, and though he's wary of admitting such a staggering weakness... He may as well get it over with. Also, he's tired, and the questioning looks he can live without. He can't be sure, but the concern in the demon's face seems genuine enough... And frankly, he doesn't know what to make of it. It's throwing him off balance, making him uncomfortable.
He's never been uncomfortable before, not like this. The experience is one he would have preferred to avoid.]
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She moved back to the bedroom. "Goodnight Castiel," she murmured as she closed the door and locked it.
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He's already fallen sideways onto the couch, face smushed up against the pillow like he hadn't taken any care at all in how he landed. His eyes are as heavy as his limbs and they're already closed even before Martha's closed her door. Just a little longer, just a little bit more rest... That's all he needs.
There's probably another low murmur of gratitude before he's out completely.
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Instead, what he feels is relief.
He'd been worried concerned somewhat troubled when neither of the Winchesters had known what had happened to Cas after that ridiculous stunt of using himself as an angel banishing sigil. There's a part of him that wants to shake Cas awake and ask him what the bloody Hell he'd thought he was doing. Heaven really ought to have torn him apart. But, he's vaguely certain the angel wouldn't give him anything useful. Probably blink those blue eyes and say something deadpan about 'I'm sorry, I thought we were trying to stop the Apocalypse'.
And so instead he just nudges him over so Crowley can crawl into his own bed. His face noses into the angel's hair, and his fingers brush strands back from his forehead, and he presses a light kiss to his temple, an arm going around his waist to pull him closer.
Shoes on his bed, Castiel? He'll kill you
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Gabriel's gone and the wings haven't shown any inclination of going away. Of course, if Crowley's completely honest, he minds that a lot less than he'd admit to. He'd miss the way that Castiel's hands card through the feathers, the way that they touch. Despite his initial protests, he's actually perversely fond of them.
He tucks his head into to curve of Castiel's neck and quietly holds onto him.]
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He's still for a few moments, until Crowley's head resting at his neck registers in his dream as a suffocating weight bearing down on him, dragging him from the sky and pulling him down to the charred earth he'd been soaring over. Twitching, he groans as his eyes slit open slightly and immediately squeeze closed again.]
Nngh-
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[Crowley offers with a low drawl of amusement, as the fallen angel stirs into wakefulness. He shifts just slightly, body not quite so thoroughly ensconced around Castiel's, though his wing still curves over the angel's body. He's alive, but Crowley is still worried about him, not that he'd ever admit to it, admit that he feels something for the angel that isn't quite as selfishly motivated as the rest of it.
Castiel's light has been slowly fading, but now, the demon can't feel anything under his fingertips at all. There's none of that intrinsic flicker of the angel's nature he can feel when he touches him, that warmth that should burn but doesn't, that should be far more terrifying than it is.]
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Where-- [He coughs lightly, clears his throat which seems to be blocked by something thick and rather unpleasant] Where am I?
[He feels... Off. Wrong.]
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[Crowley doesn't even bother trying to keep the amusement from his voice. He pulls his wing away, lets it stretch and flutter before tucking behind him with the other one. His fingers draw down the angel's side, a lift of an eyebrow that Castiel can't see but might be able to catch in the inflection of his voice.]
Should I be flattered?
[Teasing, mostly. He might have strange, awkward feelings for the angel, but he's not foolish enough to think Castiel might return them, no matter how well their flesh fits together. But, the teasing cadence of his voice helps to hide the concern beneath it as he looks down at the angel in his bed.]
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He's mortal. He's fallen.
He's also ignoring Crowley's question; he doesn't think he really needs to say anything. His brows pull together seriously, but he gives up on trying to move, for now.]
Are they safe? The Winchesters, did they make it?
[There's a crushing sense of something bearing down on him, heavy and suffocating and tightening in his chest. He doesn't like it.]
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[And that's Crowley's as-politic-as-he-can-manage reply to the situation. Michael has a vessel, but it's not Dean, which in his mind is really the important part. Thankfully Lucifer still seems to want Sam, or they'd already be heading for the oh-so-garish showdown. Small mercies, he supposes.
He reaches out, brushes fingers against the angel's cheek. He can feel that there's something wrong, but he's not thinking about what, not putting words to the fact that he can hardly feel his light. It doesn't really change much, not for Crowley, but it does make their arsenal against the inevitable even smaller.]
And after that stunt you pulled, you're still alive. Better than things should have turned out, really.
[Yes, Castiel, the demon was worried about you.]
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He does pull back slightly at that admonishment, though, frowning slightly.]
It had to be done, I wasn't left with much choice.
[He glances down at his hands.]
I'm... Not entirely unaffected.
[Can Crowley tell? Castiel eyes him warily, as if suddenly awake enough to realize his predicament. He's mortal and holed up with a demon with no reason to keep him around... This could be dangerous...]
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[Crowley frowns because he can feel it in his fingers that something's wrong. This isn't something he can fix, not even with a wish and someone's soul on his lips. There are a few things that not even the King of the Crossroads can offer.]
Are you alright?
[He can't help the worry that flashes in his hazel eyes, sliding a hand against the angel's face, tipping Castiel's head up so he can look into those blue eyes. Not that he's supposed to care, not beyond the way their bodies fit together, not more than the sex and the pleasure and the distraction from their mutually fucked situations.
Demon on the run from Hell, angel cast out from Heaven. There was never supposed to be anything to this, demons aren't supposed to feel anything, really. Not like this, not for an angel.
But he does.]
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[He supposes Crowley will puzzle it out eventually, it's just a matter of time, and though he's wary of admitting such a staggering weakness... He may as well get it over with. Also, he's tired, and the questioning looks he can live without. He can't be sure, but the concern in the demon's face seems genuine enough... And frankly, he doesn't know what to make of it. It's throwing him off balance, making him uncomfortable.
He's never been uncomfortable before, not like this. The experience is one he would have preferred to avoid.]
How long has it been?
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