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righteously) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2023-03-25 11:37 am
righteously) wrote in abraxaslogs2023-03-25 11:37 am
๐ผ๐ ๐ป๐๐๐, ๐ผ'๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ฆ ( open )
Who: Dean Winchester & Open.
When: April 1 - early May.
Where: Aquila; Cadens; The Horizon;
What: Demon shenanigans part 1 โ featuring hobo'ing through the Horizon, hiding out in Aquila, and then returning to the Free Cities.
Warnings: Rated R for sexual content, demonic violence, psychological abuse, and suicidal ideation.
๐ป๐๐๐'๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ , ๐๐๐ ๐ -๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ , ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ฆ ๐๐๐๐๐
๐ผ๐ก ๐๐๐๐'๐ก โ๐ข๐๐ก, ๐๐๐๐๐ก, ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ข๐๐๐ก, ๐ ๐ก๐ข๐๐๐๐ ๐ โ๐๐๐ก, โ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐ก๐๐๐
๐ด๐๐ก๐๐ ๐ผ ๐๐๐ข๐๐ก ๐๐๐ค๐ ๐กโ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ข๐๐๐ , ๐๐ ๐ป๐๐๐ ๐ผ'๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ฆ
๐ท๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ฃ๐ ๐๐๐ข๐๐๐'๐ก ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ข๐๐กโ๐๐
๐๐๐๐ข๐ ๐๐, ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ข๐ ๐ก๐๐ ๐๐ฆ โ๐๐
๐๐ข๐ โ, ๐ โ๐๐ฃ๐, ๐ ๐๐๐ก๐ก๐๐ ๐๐๐ข๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ก๐ก๐๐๐๐
๐โ ๐ฟ๐๐๐, ๐ผ ๐๐๐'๐ก ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โ๐๐๐ ๐ค๐๐กโ ๐ฆ๐๐ข
๐๐ฆ ๐๐๐๐'๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ก ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐ท๐๐๐ ๐ค๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐คโ๐๐ก ๐ผ ๐ก๐๐๐ โ๐๐
๐ต๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฆ ๐ โ๐๐ข๐๐๐๐
๐โ ๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐'๐ก ๐๐๐๐ค ๐คโ๐๐ก ๐ผ'๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐
When: April 1 - early May.
Where: Aquila; Cadens; The Horizon;
What: Demon shenanigans part 1 โ featuring hobo'ing through the Horizon, hiding out in Aquila, and then returning to the Free Cities.
Warnings: Rated R for sexual content, demonic violence, psychological abuse, and suicidal ideation.
๐ผ๐ก ๐๐๐๐'๐ก โ๐ข๐๐ก, ๐๐๐๐๐ก, ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ข๐๐๐ก, ๐ ๐ก๐ข๐๐๐๐ ๐ โ๐๐๐ก, โ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐ก๐๐๐
๐ด๐๐ก๐๐ ๐ผ ๐๐๐ข๐๐ก ๐๐๐ค๐ ๐กโ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ข๐๐๐ , ๐๐ ๐ป๐๐๐ ๐ผ'๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ฆ
๐ท๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ฃ๐ ๐๐๐ข๐๐๐'๐ก ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ข๐๐กโ๐๐
๐๐๐๐ข๐ ๐๐, ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ข๐ ๐ก๐๐ ๐๐ฆ โ๐๐
๐๐ข๐ โ, ๐ โ๐๐ฃ๐, ๐ ๐๐๐ก๐ก๐๐ ๐๐๐ข๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ก๐ก๐๐๐๐
๐โ ๐ฟ๐๐๐, ๐ผ ๐๐๐'๐ก ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โ๐๐๐ ๐ค๐๐กโ ๐ฆ๐๐ข
๐๐ฆ ๐๐๐๐'๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ก ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐ท๐๐๐ ๐ค๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐คโ๐๐ก ๐ผ ๐ก๐๐๐ โ๐๐
๐ต๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฆ ๐ โ๐๐ข๐๐๐๐
๐โ ๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐'๐ก ๐๐๐๐ค ๐คโ๐๐ก ๐ผ'๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐
no subject
The problem with teleporting into a domain is the lack of foresight, or opportunity to knock first. Cas touches down just inside the wide open doors, marches in like he's on a mission, and abruptly catches an eyeful of Kyle's love life, coming to an abrupt halt.
"Forgive me, you're busy." He's about to turn on a heel and march back out, when Kyle's partner turns them to crowds him against a wall. "Dean?"
First of all, the Pizza Man requires finesse, a quirky, slow-burned romance, and someone's death must be imminent, so jot that down. Second, a multi-layered cake of a bafflement, shock, and a frustration flavored mousse filling slaps into Castiel's slack face as he tries to comprehend what he's seeing. Dean's alive, Dean's not in mortal peril, Dean's stealing his moves to seduce the nice man who ate nachos with him.
It all prods uncomfortably at a buried, sore spot he can't quite put concept or words to, and it only builds on the irritation of it all. It's been weeks without a word to any of them, not even Sam, and this is how he finds him?
"Where have you been?"
slightly nsfw
Or, that's what would have started, if not for the man who suddenly appears at the entrance.
Kahlil pulls back as far as he can, the hands that hand been gripping Dean at his shoulder and hip releasing, his hair mussed and his face flushed.
He's watched a handful of Nayeshi soap operas. It pops into his head out of nowhere, the sense of being the other woman in this situation.
All he can do is stand there with his back against the wall, a deer in headlights.
no subject
So of course it immediately crashes and burns. The sound of his name makes him stiffen, though his hands don't leave Kyle's body even as the guy peels away wide-eyed. At first, Dean's only reaction is to sigh, his breath hot and chasing down Kyle's throat as his head bows.
And then the irritation follows, flaring up from his gut, through his chest โ surging up into his eyes, which flicker into a deep, dark black as he raises his head in front of Kyle's face.
"One second, sweetheart," he says with a forced, painful smile, and then peels away to round on the half-winged formerly angelic pain in his ass.
"Look, feathers, as touching as this reunion is, I'm kind of in the middle of something. How 'bout we rain check this in about... forty-five minutes? Maybe call it a strong hour? Then you can come back and we can do the whole, oh no, not my very bestest friend, boo hoo thing with a little post-nut clarity, huh?"
no subject
Post what? Cas's head tilts, eyes skimming nearby tables for the mentioned mixed nuts or a bowl of party snacks he assumes Dean's referring to. He'll have to be more on the nose about his ejaculate themed euphemisms.
All concern about decoding consummation cashews vanish with an obsidian black swallowing the vibrant green he's so used to peering into, leaving cold, empty void where the soul of his friend used to be. He finally places the odd scent in the air, pieces together it's presence at the tavern he'd investigated with Blake - sulfur. The angel stiffens, rolls his shoulders as if wings shudder and flex at his back, head tipping forward as his voice drops a gravely octave.
"My apologies, Kyle, my friend isn't himself today. He's not safe for company, much less intercourse." This is the Horizon, where Cas can be fully an angel, and it's possible Dean, altered by the Mark, dreamed this visage up. But sulfur at the tavern was real, and it'd make sense why he hadn't reached out.
Castiel's much more loathe to leave Kyle alone with Dean and his forty-five minutes of tree reproduction involved debauchery (ohโ he gets it now). He paces cautiously forward, acutely aware of demon-Dean's hands still close enough to reach his friend. "Satisfy your baser urges later, Dean. We'll talk now."
no subject
Castiel's warning is appreciated, but his caution out of concern for Kahlil's safety isn't necessary. This is his domain.
He vanishes from his place behind Dean, reappearing a few meters away. His face is still flushed though, and he doesn't quite make eye contact with Castiel.
no subject
This, this is why he's been avoiding the entire gang. He's not afraid of them, he's fatigued by them. Wet blankets, too uptight, too interested in leashing him.
"No, I don't think we will. See, I'm not sure if you fully grasp the situation here, so I'll lay it out for you in black and white: I don't want you here. I don't give a single shit about what you have to say, I don't care if your sad little heart is all broken up about me. I'd rather spend fifteen minutes in bed with Rando McPriest than fifteen seconds watching you make pathetic puppy eyes about your poor, dead friend. So unless you wanna stay and watch... you can go now, Cas."
no subject
Yes, he's sad, he's heartbroken, he's pathetic and puppy-eyed and mourning and yearning and all those gross and embarrassing, feeling things. Being called on it rubs salt in the wound, and Castiel's just as human as the rest of them in this. He seals up before any of it slips free, the stoic, flat statue of an angel. But the little things - the minute twitch at the corner of his lips, the barely there flinch. Dean knows them.
"Kyle no longer appears interested. Shame."
His name is not Rando, it is Kyle and he has no last name (as far as Cas is aware). Please respect his nacho-friend's identity.
"Spare me." Cas calls bullshit on 'dead friend', irritation building in the flex of muscle at his jaw. It shouldn't sting the way it does, staring at a face he knows isn't truly Dean. And yet. "I was there. They might not have seen you in the pit, but I did. Reassembling you from this is nothing new."
Dead is an extremely relative term and he's not having it.
no subject
"I think you should leave, Dean."
No, he's no longer interested.
no subject
"Oh, I will. In about... twenty-five seconds." He's speaking to Kyle, but he doesn't take his eyes off of Castiel. He stalks forward slowly, eyes narrowing, scrutinizing the angel's face as the distance between them gradually disappears.
"We both know you can't do a goddamn thing about the Mark. You can't undo this. Even if you actually had the mojo, which you don't. You can fake your wings here all you want, but I can see you. I can see things I was completely blind to as a human. So, tell me something, Cas..." He slows to a stop about a foot away, black eyes flickering back to their old, familiar green. He could almost be mistaken for empathetic, bearing a striking resemblance to Concerned Dean Worried About His Friend โ except there's a touch of mockery hiding behind it. "...Did you fall in love with me as soon as you slapped that hand print on my shoulder, or was it more of a slow build?"
no subject
It hits in the way something just out of reach feels, on the tip of his tongue, something true that he couldnโt find the words to shape in complete honesty. Heโd been edging around this shadowed, vague place of foreign emotion and new cognition for what may have been years, and Dean abruptly rips the curtain away with a too bright spotlight.
He isnโt so naive about it all that he canโt tell the difference between a reference to familial love and falling in love. Romantic love is so frequently spoken about in terms of wounding and fatality. It isnโt the first time either of them have been accused of it, but the first Deanโs ever spoken so directly on it. Castielโs never considered it seriously for an abundance of reasons, but today ends that streak.
Itโs a trick, itโs a noisy distraction. Itโs a slap across his heart and mind, and Cas is shook. He falls for it, hook, line and sinker.
โI donโt- Dean, whatโre you talking about?โ Even as it passes his lips, Cas tastes the falsehood of the words. Their profound bond, heโs always known it was more than friendship, only lacked the certainty of what marker should be applied. His head shakes, and itโs unclear if heโs reasoning with Dean or himself. โYou were my charge. Youโre my best friend.โ
As if these things are mutually exclusive.
no subject
"Oh, you sad son of a bitch," he muses sympathetically, though the expression on his face undercuts the gentleness of the words. "I'm not sure which of the two of us you're trying to convince, but you're not pullin' it off either way. You wanna know a secret?"
He leans in slowly, deliberately. The scruff of his facial hair rasps gently against Castiel's cheek as he brings his lips so close to Castiel's ear, they nearly touch down. There, he whispers, "I might have pity-fucked you, but I'd never love you."
He pulls back just to catch the expression on Castiel's face.
And then, in a blink, he disappears.
no subject
Sucker punched, with a barely realized, barely accepted dawning like an open wound doused with salt and lime. Dean twists the knife in him, and Castiel's breathless, eyes lost and unfocused over his shoulder, meandering somewhere in the distance between Dean's back and Kyle's eyes.
But I'd never love you.
It shouldn't sting like it does. There shouldn't be this shame that crawls along under his skin, making him cringe and squirm. The earth fell out from under his feet, it was a tornado that crashed down. Castiel's blindsided, and when Dean pulls back, it's unguarded, too vulnerable truth there in his eyes, a slightly glassy sheen. Wind knocked out of him. Confused, betrayed hurt and a sorrow bone deep he doesn't know what to do with, how to reconcile.
Not that he's given the opportunity, as Dean vanishes seconds after.
Shocked, empty silence settles in an oppressive cloud around him, eyes floating in the phantom space Dean used to be, the afterimage silhouette of him burned into retinas. Cas's stuck in a moment he can't define, process, swallow. He's vaguely aware he's still hanging out uninvited in Kyle's domain, with his nacho buddy awkwardly observing, but it takes a minute or so to jumpstart his brain again.
Eventually, he blinks rapidly, ducks his head, glances back towards the tall doors he didn't actually stroll through. His face is doing something weird, and Cas quickly, brief as a flinch, scrubs the back of a thumb against his eye like trying to brush a bit of dust away. He tucks his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched, and addresses Kyle, but doesn't meet his gaze.
"I'm sorry you had to witness that."
no subject
He knows nothing about their prior relationship. He doesn't have to, though, to understand that what's being said is being wielded like a weapon against his new friend. He can see Castiel's face even though he can't hear what's being whispered in his ear, with such intimate proximity.
And then Dean's gone, vanished. Kahlil's domain is a quiet place, and for a minute after he leaves that quiet feels oppressive as he watches Castiel blink and duck his head in such a human reaction - in any other situation he might think on how different Castiel wears his skin from the way his brother does. But there's a visceral response to seeing someone else hold back pain that takes over, a mixture between embarrassment and empathy, caught between the two like a vice.
"You don't have to apologize," he starts slowly, unsure if Castiel means to make a quick exit. He wouldn't blame him for it. After a second he steps forward, closer but not as close as Dean had gotten.
"I should apologize, I didn't realize you two were - " Something. He winces, immediately regretting saying that, and shakes his head.
"The way he's acting, it's because of a curse?"
Lucifer had explained something about it to him, in what feels like decades ago now.
no subject
"We aren't." Castiel's quick to correct, perhaps too harshly, a minute winch at his own words, and the next set are gentler. "There's no need to apologize. We're friends. He and his brother fight monsters. I help."
The simplest explanation for it. After Dean's words, he doesn't want to voice more about their relationship, their bond, or whatever misconceptions of it Cas might've been harboring. It strikes him a frivolous and naรฏve in the moment.
"One could assume." Because of the curse. Before his untimely demise, Dean's harshness and cold attitude had already been interfering and upsetting others enough, this does seem like an extreme of that. He searches, looking for somewhere to park himself that isn't awkwardly lingering in the middle of the hall, rooted to the place Dean left him like a sad dog waiting for an owner to return home. Cas wanders to the nearest seat he finds, and heavily slouches into it.
"The Mark of Cain, yes. I'dโ we'd told him we'd protect him from this. But then the pit happened, and his control began to slip. Dean rescued us, but sustained a fatal wound. The Mark must have healed him."
He supposes he ought to be grateful that Dean's at least still alive. But the cost of it was so steep.
"He's changed. Those eyes - it means he's a demon now."
no subject
There are alcoves with benches in the walls, and while Castiel sits Kahlil stands in front of him, arms crossed as he processes the information.
"His eyes were normal when he walked in," he says, a little hesitantly. As an excuse? There's a tinge of guilt to his expression that he tries to banish, eyes fixed on the stone ground.
"I thought maybe he'd been found alive and I just hadn't heard through the grapevine. We've only met once or twice before."
And he'd listened to his cock instead of his instincts, so there's that. He grimaces slightly, then shakes his head before glancing up at Castiel's face again.
"What can be done to... restore him?"
Angels don't exist in his world, but demons did.
no subject
He doesn't blame him for any part of this. Kyle's far from the first or last to be charmed by Dean Winchester, Dean's demonic state is news to Cas as much as it was Kyle. His friend's guilt is misplaced.
"It's alright, Kyle. Truly."
Cas intends for the smile to be reassuring, though it's more hapless. The words, at least, are sincere. As for restoring Dean, the angel's earlier assurance was mostly wishful thinking and bullshit. A Knight of Hell is a whole different creature from what Dean was before.
"I don't know. There's possibilities, maybe." None of them will address the Mark as well as the demon. "A ritual with human blood, perhaps, but it won't fix the root problem."
Sam's trial with Crowley does come to mind, back when Castiel had been busy being tricked by Metatron into booting all the angels from Heaven. But that still doesn't solve the Mark.
no subject
"The mark?" Lucifer had said even removing the offending limb likely wouldn't do the trick. In his own world, a curse affects the physical body and the spirit. The strongest of curses could destroy the spirit entirely, though no one is current times could be capable of that - except Jath'ibaye.
A god.
"There are old powers in this world. If all else fails..." he trails off, not really sure this is good advice. But there are creatures here who work in bargains, if only by sacrifice. And there is magic here powerful enough to bind divine creatures, like Castiel himself.
He shakes his head, taking a small step forward and tentatively putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder.
"You'll find a way to remove it," he says, then nods toward the doorway. "Go."
There must be others he needs to tell about this.