Tʜᴇ ᴊɪɢ ɪs ᴜᴘ, ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴡs ɪs ᴏᴜᴛ ( closed )

[righteously]

Who: Dean Winchester & Co.
When: February
Where: Cadens; Horizon; Nocwich
What: Catch-all for Feb
Warnings: mark of cain shenanigans, violence, alcohol, self-loathing

Oʜ ᴍᴀᴍᴀ, I'ᴍ ɪɴ ғᴇᴀʀ ғᴏʀ ᴍʏ ʟɪғᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀʀᴍ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴡ
Lᴀᴡᴍᴀɴ ʜᴀs ᴘᴜᴛ ᴀɴ ᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴ', ᴀɴᴅ I'ᴍ sᴏ ғᴀʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ʜᴏᴍᴇ

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→ 𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑡

[righteously]

( They pull Geralt for questioning a day after they pull Dean, not that either of them know it. Geralt wasn't on the short list of folks he'd bothered to send a brain-text to, not because he's hiding anything from the guy, it's just not a big deal. It's two days, who gives a crap? Aside from, you know, the people in his life that love and care about him that are concerned for his well-being, but other than them, who gives a crap?

It's just two days.

Two days.

Two long... gruelling... boring... annoying... restless, relentless, trapped, not hunting, not killing, not burning off the energy, not moving, stuck, days. He's gonna lose his entire goddamn mind.

It's early morning on day two that they escort Geralt to his cell, and he may be surprised to find he won't be alone in it. Sprawled out on one of the uncomfortable bunks against the cell wall is Mister Dean Supernatural, who lifts his head slightly when he hears footsteps. Curls up just a few inches to peer suspiciously through the bars, only to look faintly bemused by the radiant blonde hair that comes into view on the other side.

They unlock the cell door to let Geralt in, and Dean offers him a little sup nod and a two-fingered wave. )

Hope you don't want bottom bunk, because I've been workin' on a shiv for about six hours now and I will fight you for it.

( Howdy, Gerald. Fancy seeing you here. )

quest: a lazy jelly

[unwings]

[ Though he did sign up for this work, Cas can’t help but wonder, around the fifth or sixth time a crab has managed to claw into the fragile skin between his fingers while he’s refilling a bucket, if this is karmatic revenge for the incident involving a certain witcher’s trademark hair and a ritual goose.

Waterlogged trenchcoat and heavy layers set aside, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, seawater soaking the trousers that cling to his thighs, cas is looking haggard, with wet sand caked to one side of his face, the evidence of a tumble after a stray jellyfish tendril gave his leg a shock. The sensible shoes might’ve come off too, if it weren’t for the swarm of offended crabs snapping at his ankles and legs in protest of the bumbling feet stomping around on their sand-lawn.

Dean, of course, has somehow managed to secure the job of bucket escort, taking the full buckets to the team irrigating the beached jellyfish, and the empty ones back to cas, and the surrounding crustacean horde, to refill. ]

Any time you might like to trade jobs, enjoy this… refreshing ocean water with your much taller boots, I’d be happy to hand over bucket filling duties. [ Cas huffs out, pointed and petty. ] Just, any time at all, Dean.

[ this is what he gets for taking jaskier’s advice on choosing fashionable over practical in this world. ]