( I don’t think any of my messages are going through. Can those who I’ve been plotting with tell me otherwise, or send me another message?)
The sky whirred overhead, black smoke puffing as if the earth was a locomotive, ever-changing fuzz obscuring an otherwise depthless blue sky, and his sleep-haggard mind rolled with his head to escape falling. Water. The wetness clung to his cheek, climbed higher, and his fingers stretched with intention of wiping it away, only to find the current working around his fingertips. Where…? Moments ago flashed when the sun caught his eyes just right from behind the looming tower of smoke; seated with Dean at the bunker, sharing a beer, his smile broad, heart full of warmth and a sense of pride, in himself, his family history, and even the job. For once in his goddamned life, he felt —okay. Content, even.
H a p p y .
Deliriously, Sam smiled at the glow of the sun’s rays, finally lifting his hand and blinking uncomprehendingly at the sharp contrast of white and red. Snow white. Blood red. He stared, and then he pushed himself up, hand slipping on the slick substance over some sort of straggly fern. He lifted his hand anew, this time to find black strands lining his red palms, and his disoriented hazel eyes turn on the fern, the black, lengthy fern —attached to a woman lying face-down in her own stink. Despite the sweet smell, he sloshed in the blood to feel for her pulse, but only found cold flesh and his senses. Dead. She’s dead. Heart dipping more from surprise than anything, he looked around for a source of the carnage and found maybe two dozen others piled around him. Stomachs torn out. Entrails tangled and sloppy, and he felt the bile rise, choked it back, stumbling to his feed in the mess. Probably all dead.
"What —were we hunting…" He almost pressed a hand to his temple, thought better of it, instead wiping his hand across his unscathed, white dress-top. Now, that made him squint. What the Hell? In the back of his mind, he could almost hear Dean’s Michael Jackson quip, reminding him to dig around for his cell which —no cell? No cell. Great.
Digging a quartet of rings out, his face contorted, bewildered, eying the horsemen’s ring as though they were, well, something much worse than a ghost. What the Hell happened? Calling out to Dean yielded no results predictably, so the first day consisted of examining and burning the bodies (and definitely a change of clothes). Whatever it was never came back. It got what it came for, which, if he wasn’t mistaken, were premature infants directly from the womb. Uck. His nose crinkled at the very thought the next day, when he set off to find civilization, a task that proved more difficult than imagined. Buildings were in ruin, electricity out. So, next best thing: Supplies. He raided homes, cornerstores, found a tiny selection up until hitting what he’d venture to be a doomsday prepper’s storage bin. Even that had been raided (perhaps by its owner), but there were cans here and there, mostly essentials. He could make these last.
It was the weapons he struggled the most to find. Had to get away from the city, where no-doubt everyone had scoured, the obvious place, and it’s to his fortune he found a proper car… up until he noticed the false door. A convenient car, okay, but full of weapons, right when he needed it the most…? Sam casually walked on, hung around the vehicle for a while before he actually took for the hills, literally, toward higher and higher ground until he found the more fruitful mountain towns. Difficult to traverse areas attracted fewer refugees. Then again, most of the people he’d encountered were… quiet. It would be impossible to burn them all. The first infected he crossed was barely twelve hours before, and he recognized the symptoms on sight, shot the woman clear through her skull.
One of the “miracle” weapons glistened between the trees, presently aimed at a… no, it’s human, raiding the weapons as it was. That didn’t make the trespasser any less dangerous. Weapon eye-level, held out straight, he crossed toward the Jeep cautiously and matched the stranger’s stance… only for it to falter. Castiel…? What the hell… how long was he…? God, it was good to see a familiar face.
“Cas? Cas—” The weapon lowered like a heave of breath, relieved smile pulling at his expression while his brows furrow in an unspoken you-look-like-shit-are-you-okay manner. And then he gestured vaguely toward the smoking grounds far below the steep mountain-side. “Hey. What happened, here?” Apologetic twinge to his gaze as though he had any control over being late to the party. “Last I recall, you were working at that, uh, that store. Dean and I just finished knocking one back. Fill me in a little?”
There was no indication that the ex-angel would lower his weapon as he remained stationary, focused solely on keeping the male in his line of sight. He refused to believe that the features he recognised was the owner himself, as the youngest Winchester was no longer able to be rescued; it had been far too long to even cast a glimmer of hope into saving him, and it took a while in order to remind Castiel that - no matter how many times he theorised that Sam could be revived - his abilities from his prior-status were no longer available. “I said don’t move.” The soldier repeated, his tone no longer curious but stone-cold serious as he heard his name fall from that..that creature’s lips. Despite how calming the male’s voice sounded, Castiel knew that his eldest sibling had a way of manipulating what needed to be believed, and this type of persuasion was one step too far for the ex-angel; it was cruel, cynical, and he had it in his right mind to pull the trigger and request immediate attention from his fellow soldiers back at the camp whilst he attempted to compromise with the Devil.
As the questions were drilled into his mind, the male took notice of the remaining smoke from the destruction that seemed to drag on forever. Despite day-light, the smoke delivered an ashen colour on the brink of blackness, encouraging the idea of the vast amount of damage that happened a few days ago; he imagined that half of the fuel were his fellow soldiers and survivors that were led astray from the rest of the party. It was meant to be a simple transfer from the inner city back to the camp, but they had not reached within 3 miles of it before they were attacked and slaughtered by the thing that had started it all; Lucifer. The attack was unexpected and the route that was taken through Area B was thought to be safe, as they had monitored any sightings of the Devil and recorded them onto the main map in Dean’s cabin; it was misjudged, and only one soldier was fortunate enough to report back to the cabin before he was caught.Despite the plain clothes - the regular plaid - and an almost exact replica of what Sam used to look like, Castiel had no doubt in his mind that it was a façade. A ‘what-once-was’ to convince the soldier that things weren’t as bad as they seemed, but he was reminded better of that — forget the sympathy, and remember that nobody can be trusted. However, there was nagging in his conscience that this may just be one of those rare miracles, and that he should be open to possibilities, rather than refuse them. The way he was trained kick in, instead, and he decided to remain steady in his defence; his brother was doing this to confuse him, to make him reveal his weaknesses, and the male knew damn well that he wasn’t going to allow Lucifer into his head. With his voice composed, yet with a hint of persistence, Castiel decided that it was better to ask questions than to flee; he wouldn’t stand a chance attempting to run, any way. “Was it really necessary to kill them?”
They were mostly survivors, found in the inner city and reported back to the camp,so they had no training under their belts. The soldiers were the only ones who were fully trained, armed with the latest weapons and enough common sense to resolve a serious situation — but they had nothing against their main enemy. They weren’t ready yet, and even Dean knew that, but there was nothing they would do to at least have some form of protection and defence. It took Castiel a while, but he realised why, exactly, Lucifer was eliminating survivors; he was preventing any more armed forces, and whittling down what strongest soldiers they had in the camp. He was clever, sly, and ahead of them.
Castiel knew his odds of surviving this encounter were slim, but he would go out fighting if it came down to it. At least, he thought with some amount of relief, that Lucifer was here and not elsewhere destroying the city. It was a bitter-sweet balance. “You know perfectly well what happened here.” The male added, eventually swallowing the lump in his throat that was threatening to release his vexation; he was strangely calm at this point, but the resentment he felt for his brother refused to disappear. Geezus, he even had to nerve to mention Dean as though they had mutual respect, and that only made his brother’s sickening joke worse. “You’ve already managed to take Sam from us, so I don’t think your little disguise there would go unnoticed.”
Send me one of these:
- "Don’t you think we should get out of here?"
- "Do you think they’re looking for us?"
- "I miss the sun."
- "It’s so fucking cold in here."
- "Are you hurt?"
- "What did they do to you?"
- "It’ll be okay. We’ll… We’ll be okay."
- "This is my fault… I’m so, so sorry."
- "… Are we going to die?"
- "Where do you suppose we are?"
- "I don’t think I can take much more of this."
- "You’re hurt."
- "Is that blood?"
- "I can’t… I can’t b-breathe!"
- "We’re screwed."
- "Don’t tell them anything."
- "Help me!"
I can feel the heat rising
Everything is on fire
Today’s a painful reminder of why
We can only get brighter
The further you put it behind ya
And right now I’m on the inside
Looking out, cause——
I’m standing in the flames
And it’s a beautiful kind of pain
Setting fire to yesterday
Find a light, find a light, find a light
Standing in the flames
And it’s a beautiful kind of pain
Setting fire to yesterday
Find a light, find a light, find a light
Dean walks in Castiel's cabin at 12 am as if he lives there--there was light leaking around the edges of Cas' door--and throws a chocolate bar wrapped in tin foil on Castiel's bed. "Don't say I never did anything for you" he says plainly, wryly, gesturing at the chocolate bar, hoping it'd make Cas feel kinda better--he knows he's had a rough day and he sure as hell doesn't wanna talk feelings with Cas,but he can at least give him this for now.
With his arms folded across his chest, and his back lay flat on the couch, Castiel swung his legs over the back of it in order to remain on the piece of furniture as he stared up at his cabin ceiling. There were various ‘rituals’ he completed in the middle of the night to relax, ranging from yoga, to reading, to simply studying the contour of the walls and ceiling; it allowed him to fixate on something other than patrolling, or anything he had seen that day that he would much rather erase.
That, or the fact that most nights he couldn’t sleep and had to otherwise occupy himself.
Just as he was about to start studying the ceiling, he heard the all-but familiar scuff of boots on the front porch outside, though the movements were hardly hesitant as they stepped inside without announcing or knocking. “Come in.” Castiel commented, releasing a quiet chuckle as he heard his Leader move across the room and stop a short distance away. Swinging his legs back around, the ex-angel removed himself from the couch to see what the late-night visit was all about — not that this wasn’t anything new, since he often received midnight callings from Dean.
"Now, why would I do that?" Castiel replied, a hint of amusement in his tone before his attention was taken by the chocolate bar thrown on his bed. A large grin made its way on the soldier’s face - incredulous - before he sat on the edge of his bed and took hold of the treat. He guessed that it was a good raid, because anything sweet was difficult to salvage. “Who’d you kill to get this for me, huh?” However way he was given it, it didn’t take much persuading for Castiel to open the seal and break off a piece to pop in his mouth. To say he was ecstatic was an understatement, but he sure as hell was grateful, because these past few days had been a whirl-wind of stress.
"Thanks, Dean, I appreciate it." Another chuckle escaped his mouth, and he was more than happy to offer a piece to his Leader. Sharing is caring, y’know.