godless_son: (lips)
Castiel sits back on his heels for a moment, considering Dean's words and tones. He's not been worried; he hasn't been trying to fix it. He doesn't seem disappointed.

He will still want Castiel just the same.

"Later," he murmurs, pulling Dean's pants and underwear down just enough to swallow him down.

It is my birthday, he pushes into Dean's mind. I want to hear how much you like this. I want to hear that you love me.

For Derek

Sep. 8th, 2016 09:09 pm
godless_son: (Default)
Derek says that the appointed time is 9pm, at his cabin and that for the third time, no Derek will not be in costume and yes, Castiel can call him Derek in public.

This still, after the third explanation made no sense to Castiel but he'd gotten the impression that if he kept pushing, Derek would not allow him to come. He wants to better understand, he needs to if he is to stop making Derek's lover so angry by asking questions. He thinks it is curiosity but according to reliable sources, it often presents as incredulity. He shrugs on his leather jacket, Dean insisting that he at least look semi cool if Castiel insists on his favorite, lavender sweater vest underneath and grabs his blade.

He flies into Derek's cabin at precisely 9pm, taking a moment to look around before opening the refrigerator, wondering what sort of food Derek stocks. He imagines Derek's kitchen to contain mostly meat and he wants to know if he is correct. Dean has always taken umbrage at Castiel's own organization and stocking of their own refrigerator and he's keen to see who is correct.
godless_son: (head tilty curious)
It's been three years since Castiel's wings were temporarily burned away and in that time he would not have thought it possible that he could have truly forgotten how painful and irritating that type of injury could be.

The sick, hollow feeling left in his skin has faded but the words themselves seem to be untouched by his Grace or Dean's sword, healing slowly and as if he were the same pathetic wretch washed up onshore those years ago. He craves sleep more than he ought to but cannot achieve it nor can he find any remedy to touch the constant burn and ache. He feels too exposed to go far from the house without a shirt and the lack of one feels odd even in his own home. He's certain the animals have been judging him, the cats at least.

The message itself is too unsettling to properly process, at this present moment. He knows what he thinks it is, although he cannot fathom what it would want with a defunct Angel and why it would bother giving him a warning. If it is Darkness itself, there is nothing to be done and he'd rather not spend whatever time they do have moping and irritated and sickly. He searches the internet for hours before turning to his new Netflix machine and watching six straight hours of documentaries and movies about the various affects of medicinal and recreational drugs. He knows Dean feels very strongly about Castiel's ingestion of drugs but he thinks he knows something that would work. It comes, unfortunately, with a substantial portion of humble pie but Dean does not outright balk at the idea.

He gathers up the energy and flies straight to Noah, hoping the ghost does not heed the same ideas about 'daytime' visits versus 'nighttime' visits as others have explained to him and invites him to dinner with a plea for his help. His flight to Derek's is slightly less successful as he's unsure if Derek and his singing lover were unclothed underneath the covers but the message was received, regardless.

Burgers and beer in exchange for Noah's magic drugs and a lesson on how to...do drugs. He's even agreed to purchase actual beef rather than the black bean burgers he'd tried to pass off to Dean last week.

It's a plan.

Ok so tagging order would be top level Dean then Noah, Derek then Castiel again. Castiel will be awkwardly shirtless and still has 'I Am Coming' burned into his chest.
godless_son: (dean gay shit)
Castiel is not certain if this is weird or not.

Generally, when he has such thoughts, he is being weird and he knows that he has an actual anniversary in only a matter of weeks but he wants to recognize this day.

7 years ago (according to his timeline, anyway), he announced to all that could listen that Dean Winchester was saved. 7 years ago he gripped him tight, raised him up and took buckshot to the chest in response to what he would later understand was not an appropriate introduction.

7 years ago thousands of years of certainty and glory were made to pale in comparison to 7 years of frustration and fear and overwhelming love.

This day at least deserves a pie. He expects Dean home soon and has prepared a meal that he suspects will be a surprise given Dean's tendency to be late to dinner on the nights Castiel cooks. He has followed the instructions of a startling looking, heavyset woman he found on the internet to the letter and a veritable feast of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and apple pie awaits. It is horrifically unhealthy and Castiel is certain he'll have to sneak pureed vegetables into Dean's food for at least the next month.

He has much to discuss with Dean aside from the significance of this day but he is very pleased to take a moment to acknowledge what they have been through, together. Ernest winds impatiently through his legs as he ignores him in favor of walking to the front door, listening to the sound of Dean's imposter car roll up the driveway. He enjoys watching Dean return to their home.
godless_son: (Default)
"I want to fuck you as I do it," he says, blunt as ever but staring up at Dean with pure adoration for letting him do this. He pushes up, walking behind Dean as he summons one of the many small bottles of lube within these walls. "I'm not going to prep you very much," he warns, shoving a slick finger inside. "If you need me to stop, you don't need to speak if you don't want to. I'll be able to hear you if you think it. I'll be able to hear most everything but if it's too much, just tell me to stop."

For Rukia

Jan. 24th, 2015 02:00 pm
godless_son: (Default)
Castiel does not do well with a lack of control. He is unsure how much of this is his own personality (he is not entirely sure what that personality even is, having only contemplated having one for a short number of years) and how much is part of the hardware he was built with as an Angel of the Lord.

Regardless, he does not deal well with uncertainty and his enthusiasm for seeking out Rukia's help in exploring not only his power but also that he does not understand has surprised him. He attributes it largely to Dean, who was brave (and perhaps reckless) enough to seek out his own limitations not long ago. Rukia's power is one he does not understand. She is not a ghost, per se and there is a stillness and a finesse on top of a great power that he lacks. It is fascinating and he marvels yet again how small his world has grown, how small he has managed to make himself to fit inside this body at the same time everything he thought he could be or comprehend continues to grow.

He hesitates outside of Urahara's shop, the only part of this exercise he is not looking forward to lies underneath. What he remembers of being held down there is distorted, the hallucinations and the real thing blending. He has tried to forget the blood and pain that he caused but he hopes it does not look as he remembers. Dean has tried to explain to him the changeable nature of the place. He hopes it looks radically different.
godless_son: (Default)
This year, Castiel did not purchase a pie for Dean's birthday. This year, Castiel baked a pie. A real pie with sugar and butter with nothing remotely healthy about it accompanied by full fat vanilla ice cream. It had taken 28 practice pies baked at Neil's house (sometimes at very odd hours of the night, he hopes they aren't angry) and he had taken the liberty of ensuring that Dean got a good night's sleep so he could make the official birthday pie exactly perfect.

There is a fortuitous fresh blanket of snow on the ground and he thinks their home, for all of its flaws, has never looked more perfect. Yukio had chosen to remain at his own apartment last night so aside from the their veritable herd, they have the house to themselves. After feeding, walking and generally tending to the hoard, he readies an overlarge piece of pie a la mode and a cup of coffee and carefully makes his way into their still dark bedroom.

Once the pie and coffee is safely in place he peels off his t-shirt and pauses, looking down at Dean's face in the pale morning light. He has a few more gray hairs than last year, an almost imperceptible deepening of the fine lines around his eyes. In Castiel's eyes, he looks somehow better for it, the signs of aging a badge of pride considering all they have gone through. While Castiel may have celebrated his vessel's fortieth birthday, his hair has not more gray and the lines around his eyes look basically the same as the day he inhabited this body. Jimmy was 35 when Castiel took the body from him so he supposes that Dean looks older than him, now. He wonders if the difference between 35 and 40 are obvious, if people wonder about his age. He is unsure how much longer he can stand watching Dean age without him but knows he is lucky to be able to still protect him as he can. He is a very lucky man.

"Dean," he murmurs, crawling onto the bed and running his fingers through those short, gray hairs at Dean's temple. "Happy Birthday."

For Derek

Jan. 4th, 2015 05:35 pm
godless_son: (Default)
Castiel does not trust this place. He does not trust it and he cannot fathom how nearly the entire city felt it was a good idea to hold a celebration here mere days after its arrival. He's also heard tale that it is being used as a place to engage in the recreational act of snow-skiing.

One of the most ridiculous looking sports, if Castiel says so.

He has been flying and trudging around the mountain for hours now, nose a little pink and a hat pulled onto his head in deference to the bitter cold. Something here feels spiritually...off, as he suspected, but he cannot pin it down. It has the same tension, the same propensity to sudden change that he feels in Darrow, but something a little more sinister. Without any more revelation than that, however, he suspects he will not be able to convince his friends to stay away. The city itself is violently dangerous and he certainly spends enough time there to label him a hypocrite.

He squints against the bright sun as he comes into a clearing, tilting his head as nest of rabbits takes off in front of him. The reason rapidly presents itself as a group of skiers flies down the mountain all around him, shouting angrily as he stands like a stone in a stream.

Interesting.
godless_son: (wary)
Castiel has two weeks off of work. He understands it is time meant for families to prepare for the upcoming holiday, to reflect incorrectly on the birth of Son of God and to indulge in disgusting displays of consumerism. He finds himself, however, simply grateful for the timing that has allowed him to decorate their house to a degree that even he finds borderline excessive and now to keep Dean within his line of sight.

Robin and Ishiah were no more ready to leave Darrow than they are and while Castiel knows that he would find a way to follow Dean wherever he goes, he very much wants this life. It is quiet today in the house, his usual rotating mix of Christmas songs turned down low as he stares absently out the window at the patches of snow still decorating the ground from the last storm. All of Ishiah's birds have gone for the winter and he presses a hand to his chest, feeling precisely where his grace senses the absence of his brethren. Robin's apartment had been the most disturbing, quiet and still for the first time without him. They hadn't stayed long and frankly have no desire to go back and had retreated back to their house with heavy hearts and one more animal.

He suspects Dean is unhappy about the new cat, the third cat. He leans down to pat Cambriel on the head, avoiding Ernest's wounded glare and frowns as he spots a small figure making its way down the road towards their homes. He looks closer, more intently at the soul as it seems like..

"Dean," he calls urgently, making his way towards the front door. "Look outside."
godless_son: (tell me more)
Castiel is very, very glad that his students have returned.

He suspects that Dean may be more glad.

Of all the disturbing things Darrow tends to throw their way, for him at least, this has been the worst. He'd heard the city had been abandoned in the beginning but to see how easily thousands of people could be stolen away only drove home the idea that Dean could go just as easily. He could wake up to an empty bed in an empty house and only one real way of finding him, one that he'd certainly never discuss with Dean or anyone else. Heaven can really only be accessed one way when one is stuck as he is and it isn't something he'd do lightly. Being left behind, however, is not an option.

As such he's been a little...clingy. Concerned is what he'd say but Dean has insisted on calling it 'clingy'. If it is clingy to insist on updates on Dean's whereabouts twice daily under such circumstance and if it is clingy to insist on joining him on tonight's hunt when no other partner is available, then so be it. He'd agreed to meet him outside the bar immediately after his weekly night class, flying directly to the dark alleyway. It is colder than he'd like it to be, considering Dean's relatively fragile human state and there is a strong chance of sleet, tonight. Perhaps the city will be quiet.

Perhaps he ought to have changed out of his tweed blazer and slacks, as well.

Wedding

Oct. 2nd, 2014 01:56 pm
godless_son: (Default)
Two weeks ago Castiel had been sure, at least for a little while, that this was not going to happen. The difference between knowing about your fiance's massacre and seeing it in full screen is very different, but Dean is forgiving and he is a good partner and as Castiel tries and fails yet again to make his hair lie flat, he decides not to include that particular tidbit in his vows.

Everything is reportedly set up, thanks to Mike and Neil, and he can hear the murmurs of the guests walking through the house to the backyard where the tables, chairs, and food await. The documents are signed, he and Dean having chosen to do that in private yesterday after Castiel's last class but the vows are different, he feels. Neither of them are terribly verbally demonstrative but he hopes very much that his are deemed appropriate. He carefully slips on his jacket, knowing that Robin will have words for him if it's not kept neat for at least the vows and fusses with the blue tie and pocket square that he'd been warned by Robin was not to be utilized for any rag-like purposes. Letting out a steady breath he stares at his reflection, at the very human looking man about to engage in a human ceremony with the Righteous Man he pulled from Hell. He frowns, head tilting as he looks for himself in all of that, for the thousands of years old warrior of the Lord with the wrath of Heaven behind him and decides he rather prefers the version that is still having trouble keeping his hair neat and whose biggest worry of the day is avoiding embarrassing himself during the vows. It is very strange and Heaven will never forgive him for it and he could not be happier.

He gives the stubborn curl spring up in front of his ear a furious swipe with his thumb and checks once more that Dean's ring is in his pocket before stepping out across the hallway to knock on their door. "Dean," he murmurs, "Are you ready?"

Dean feels half strangled by the tie. Long gone are the days disguises and aliases were needed - the last tie he bothered to throw around his neck is probably years past, but this is his wedding, and he means to look nice.

“Yeah,” he calls, adjusting the green silk at his throat a last, futile time. “Just.” He releases it with a sigh. He knows himself well enough to know he’s only nervous, and he passes a hand through his combed hair and takes a few deep breaths before he turns to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

“Am I supposed to see you? Is that a thing?”

For Neil

Jul. 23rd, 2014 08:57 pm
godless_son: (Default)
Castiel ought to have called first, he realizes as he lands outside of Neil's house. It is somewhat late, the girls are likely in bed and he could very well be interrupting the entire household.

Perhaps Neil is used to it by now.

He knocks rather than simply flying in, at least one lesson learned.

He needs council, he needs simply to tell someone what has occurred and to see if what he thinks he understands is anywhere close to correct.

For Dean

Jul. 12th, 2014 11:10 pm
godless_son: (pout)
"I still think that given the chance for a re-match, I would have won," Castiel points out, leaning his head out the window just a bit to let the blessedly cool night air hit his face. They'd decided to take the car, as none of the activities that Castiel had planned would benefit from Dean being either nauseated or constipated and it is a very nice night, besides. It is cooler than they've had recently and it will rain sometime in the next few days. As much as he misses the vivid sensations that humanity lends, he does not miss sweating. It is highly unpleasant.

"That Jersey Devil could have easily been a large bird for as hysterical as people get over urban legends and technically it only skirted the perimeter of the property. It certainly did not feel like a Jersey Devil, anyway, despite my inaccuracy.

The house itself, however, had been proven by and large clean of the supernatural and was well loved by generations of families. Castiel would very much like to have such a home with Dean, although he is doing his best not to push. Dean Winchester, for all that he gives and gives to Castiel, is not one to be pushed.
godless_son: (wide eyed)
Castiel is very fond of the apartment, he is.

It has been, essentially, his first home primarily because it is his first home with Dean. He's learned to cook, learned about what deems a movie 'good' or 'bad' (although his love of Disney and Romantic Comedies stays strong), fought with Dean here, had sex nearly everywhere and made a new family for himself.

The problem is that the apartment holds constant reminders of other memories. The new bedroom carpet that was installed because the volume of blood was too high to ever be removed. The dark stain in the living floor where cleaning supplies could not entirely remove the sigils that had set in for hours. The missing dining room table and chairs. The small crack in the wall where he'd tossed Dean without care. Ernest's food bowl which had remained empty for two days before he returned home from his escape out the broken windows. These are all things he's not sure he or Dean should have to live with any longer and in his current state, things he cannot even fix.

He cautiously opens the computer the University had insisted he take home and types in 'how do I buy a house in Darrow' and follows the trail. He has never paid much attention to his salary or money in general other than to assume Dean takes the appropriate amount out of their joint account to pay for the apartment but quick math reveals that they could afford something small. Something perhaps on the edge of the city where it is a little more quiet and a little more open. He traces a finger over a small, blue house. It looks a little run down and as if it could use some care. Perhaps that is something they could do together.

For Neil

May. 9th, 2014 08:21 pm
godless_son: (pout)
It has been five days.

He knows by punishing himself he is essentially also punishing Dean who worries but he cannot help it. His hands still bear scrapes from Dean's face, the floor stained with blood from Dean's mouth, the table gone because he'd destroyed it and nearly killed Annie in the process. He remembers the feel of Dean's snapped arm, his bruised skull. He remembers thousands and thousands of atrocities he'd carried out and he just cannot justify doing anything that he might enjoy.

Dean has been, as always, forgiving, almost too much so. Castiel wishes he cared more about his own well being, wishes he understood how amazing it is that he'd saved him.

But until then, he sits. The animals will not yet get too close, even Ernest is avoiding him. His grace is damaged and torn, a constant ache in his chest and that's the only thing that is comforting. That he is still being punished.

He hopes, at least, that everyone enjoyed the fruit baskets.
godless_son: (unamused)
He does not know this place.

It's not heaven, of that he is certain but it is no place he's ever known on Earth and he can only imagine that he is awaiting his punishment. The target is injured but not dead and his own grace is still reacting to the power in that blade. Every time he thinks about it, tries to remember how he knows it, his head pounds and wounds sting, reminding him of his utter failure. He is just a human, he's done this hundreds of times. The last time had been nearly perfect and they will start over with his training, with his reprogramming for this.

He grips his blade, positioning himself in a far corner of the room and waits, waits to find himself strapped down and punished.
godless_son: (cold as ice)
Number six hundred seven had been nearly perfect.

Nearly.

It had been smart to snap Dean's arm right away, he understands that but there was too much hesitation between that and the final blow. He'd left enough time for him to beg and Castiel gained no satisfaction from it. If anything, it was irritating and displeased his general which meant that next time, the final time, would be perfect. And as promised, once this mission is complete, he can rest and he can come home. Heaven will once again open its gates to him; Father will welcome him back.

He will be restored to his correct place as a warrior of God.

He can stop trying so hard. Everything will make sense and his purpose will be renewed.

He just needs this to be perfect.

He steps out of a bedroom and into a common area. It is a residence and the target has recently arrived. His body temperature is still slightly elevated and he is carrying a weapon Castiel has not entirely anticipated. It has never been a part of the training and he feels uneasy, the uncertainty spurring him on to walk over, ready to put this to an end. Hesitation and unease is swiftly and severely punished and he cannot stand another second of it.
godless_son: (casual blue eyes)
It had taken a little convincing.

Granted, the spot is still a little worse for the wear. The scorch marks have grown over patchy and sparse and there are still trees half felled, missing branches and some altogether missing. It was very nearly the end of them and he understands Dean's reticence, but he has loved this place since his arrival in Darrow. The loves the seclusion and the quiet and the birds. He loves that Annie can run off her leash. It is a truly glorious spring afternoon and he sprawls out, taking more than his fair share of the blanket as he rests his head on Dean's chest, listening to the rhythmic sound of his heart. It is warm enough to resume stealing Dean's old t-shirts and he closes his eyes at the feel of the sun on his arms. It is not as warm as it once was, but even through the veil of his grace, he finds it comforting. They have not had many peaceful moments in the past months, and he intends to enjoy this as long as it lasts.

He blinks up at the bright sun, squinting a little as it causes an ache behind his eyes. It is really very, very bright.

For Neil

Mar. 18th, 2014 07:53 pm
godless_son: (Default)
He is not certain what gift is appropriate to bring when checking on a friend's recently charred, newly human husband.

Humans bring something called casserole in the movies when there is illness but Castiel is an atrocious cook and he doesn't know what that is.

So, the houseplant.

He knocks, wondering belatedly if he ought to have called first but deciding that at least he has stopped entering without permission.

"Neil," he calls through the door. "Are you there? It's Castiel."
godless_son: (Default)
He hopes this goes well.

He is keeping his promise to Ishiah and that is important, he knows Ishiah will find that important. He is not, however, with Dean's encouragement, willing to go to the same extremes he would have only a few years ago. He must think of the city, yes, but first he must think of Dean. And he must, for the first time, think of himself. If things go wrong, and he must be controlled, he wants to find a way to fix it that does not end in a body count, including his own.

He tightens his grip on Dean's hand and knocks, hoping Robin is here as well. He is strangely reassuring when Castiel is uneasy.
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