ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛᴇᴏᴜs ᴍᴀɴ ( ᴊᴇɴɴɪғᴇʀ ᴀɴᴋʟᴇs ) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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abraxaslogs2023-05-20 02:32 pm
righteously) wrote in abraxaslogs2023-05-20 02:32 pm
Tʜᴇʀᴇ's ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛᴀᴄʜᴇ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ
Who: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Jo Harvelle, Castiel, Ciri, Geralt, Jaskier, Sam Wilson, probably others that I'm forgetting
When: Last week and a half of May
Where: Cadens, the bad lands, and the Winchester-Harvelle house
What: Demon Dean triggers his master plan to snatch Ciri and take her to the singularity to portal him off-world. The gang catches up and things get violent before Dean is eventually subdued and cured.
Warnings: Demons trying to be as demonic as possible, with all the gross violence and mean language that entails. Also, needles.
𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒
𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ
𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒
𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛' 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑜
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦
𝐼𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒
𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
When: Last week and a half of May
Where: Cadens, the bad lands, and the Winchester-Harvelle house
What: Demon Dean triggers his master plan to snatch Ciri and take her to the singularity to portal him off-world. The gang catches up and things get violent before Dean is eventually subdued and cured.
Warnings: Demons trying to be as demonic as possible, with all the gross violence and mean language that entails. Also, needles.
𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ
𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒
𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛' 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑜
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦
𝐼𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒
𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
no subject
As it stands, for a moment it feels an awful lot like his brain is going to explode out of his fucking head. Knight of Hell or no, he's frozen, suspended by the unrelenting assault of it. The power that washes over him with every heartbeat, wom, wom, wom.
His fist clenches. The muscles in his forearms tense. He strains, ligaments bulging, arteries popping, one single step barely mustered in Ciri's direction.
Then comes Jo, barreling in like a freight train. She slams into him, knocking him loose his rigid state with a surprising amount of athleticism for her tiny form.
As it so happens, she makes a pretty convenient outlet for his rage.
The man she loves backhands her so hard she's sent airborne, flying a dozen yards easy toward an unforgiving, unempathetic hunk of rock. It does not yield for her skull, nor her spine. He watches her land, waiting for the satisfying crack of one or the other, or both.
Except that neither come.
A glow from beneath her shirt, an energy familiar to her but weeks-long lacking in the body of the man it came from, surrounds her. Fills her heart, her ribs, the places in her bones that should be broken. A snarl of frustration escapes him, and he means to advance on her to finish what he started after he rips that necklace from around her throat. To end her, to finally start dropping these sons of bitches one after another until they're all dead.
And then his head does, actually, fucking explode.
Well, kind of. A bullet bursts through it, spraying the ground in front of him and leaving a smoking hole in his forehead.
His entire body ragdolls, and he drops into the dirt.
Until the bullet wound slowly... knits.... itself closed, and he sucks in a gasping inhale. )
Um, ow?
( Holy crap that sucked.
It's gonna take him a second to recover — perfect time to lock his ass down, gang. )
no subject
That's the face that meets Jaskier when the angel's cold focus shifts to him, vines curling tight around him. There's little resembling the hapless hobo from the alley in desperate need of fashion advice and a fancy hat. For an instant, it does look like the bard's about to have a real bad time, but nothing comes from it. Jaskier’s human. Sending him flying might break something important, and angry as he is, murder remains strictly off the table.
Least of all when he watches, heart lodged in his throat, as Jo's sent careening towards a rocky end, as Geralt fires off a bullet that rips through Dean's skull. In one horrifying moment that seems to drag on for eternity, Castiel's terrified he's lost both of them. The world drops out from beneath him, gravity suspends, time is a cruel, still, endless ocean stretched horizon to horizon without current or hope. ]
No!
[ The word rakes up Castiel’s throat as an inhuman wail, broken and haunting with a faint, high-pitched ring singing beneath it. Frozen for that handful of seconds, Cas strains to hear any sign of life in either - breathing, a heartbeat, a murmur - before Jo's necklace glows, before Dean's crumbled body jerks back to life. Relief like a flood, and then fury.
A burst of telekinetic energy shoots out from him, shredding the vines and kicking up another small dust storm. From within it, Cas barrels into Geralt like an 18-wheeler late for delivery, with no regard for the life and rights of compact cars.
Snarling, Castiel's head whips forward, smashing brutally against Geralt’s, solid as a steel, splattering the black-red mess from his wounds into the Witcher's face. Whatever punches he was pulling before apparently forgotten, he headbutts him a second time, and a third. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's pretty sure Geralt can survive it. The rest of him is just pissed (and afraid, so goddamn afraid). Meanwhile, that rifle is not long for this world. Whether or not he can yank the rifle from Geralt’s grip, the second he has two hands on, it starts to bend. The barrel warps and whines a sharp, screeching squeal until it's curved at a useless angle. He's always disliked guns. ]
no subject
The bullet is a shocking noise and the strange silence that follows is actually a roar in Sam's head so loud it's deafened Sam to everything. The entirety of the world pinpoints in on Dean and it's only when Dean breaths that Sam can again.
Fuck, that felt close.
Making no effort to telegraph his intent, he's back on Dean, dirty hands grasping and pulling until he's got Dean up on his feet. He's a parasite, then, like a backpack under Dean's arms and around his shoulders, fingers linked behind his neck, holding on and holding on. ]
They will kill you.
[ The warning is hissed through Sam's sore, tight throat, barely croaked as he tries to use his greater height and the leverage of his position to subdue Dean before more blood is shed. He's trying to drag him back, pull him away, tear the demon from its purpose to save the man beneath the tar-black before it's too damn late. ]
no subject
from there on out, it's just a matter of getting this done. jaskier dives off first, peeling down to where cas and geralt are wound up with each other, and red follows. he's quicker than sam and his wings, so when sam turns and joins the dive downward, he's a few seconds behind. just enough to hear what part of him thinks is a scream, but also...there's no way it can be, is there? he's able to parse out very basic information while he's in dive - that castiel and geralt are at each other's throat, that the demon in dean is superhuman in more ways than one; there are other bodies, ciri on roach's back and a blinding light that comes from jo and then another too, but sam's attention snaps back to what he focuses on first, and what he thinks he can focus on.
it's going to take a lot more than a couple of hands to slow whatever that demon is down, and sam's attention is on the two arguably most powerful of the group, whose attention appears to instead be on each other. and so sam dives, pulling up (and putting arguably a bit too much strain on his wings, but that's something for viktor to worry about later) at the last second and his boots hitting the ground with a thud, just about the same moment the shot rings out. it's only another step or two before he's physically putting himself between cas and geralt - he knows it's a risk, judging by the heat in their previous exchanges and the amount of blood, but it's one he's willing to take.
( and if there is any sort of calm feeling to the air, it's less directed and more a general sort of aura emitting from sam. something that might subtly get the two of them to listen, rather than react. ) ]
Y'all, there are bigger things to worry about than each other. [ a glance over to the demon shows him breathing again, and shows the other man grabbing onto him and hauling him back up. with his hands up between geralt and cas, sam's attention is on the angel, knowing that's where he's going to make headway there. he knows where geralt's focus is - it's ciri, and it will always be ciri, and jaskier has that direction handled - but cas' will be dean. ] You got a plan for him? Cause now's the time.
no subject
—Before another body lands in his path. He growls at it on instinct before the familiar scent catches up to him.
(Should have known. Sam would have gone to Jaskier as soon as he heard.)
Geralt pushes to his feet, not as steady as he'd been but probably steadier than anyone who faced off with both demon and angel has a right to be. There's blood staining his fingers, in his teeth, copper soaking the back of his throat. Jo is on the ground, Dean's brother is latched on desperately like an oversized potato sack, and he is not as surprised as he should be to see the demon perfectly alive, perfectly whole. Not one damn mark on his forehead.
He shoots a glance at Sam, then at Jaskier. There's something protective in the way he stands with them. Sam is right: his focus is Ciri, and Castiel's will be Dean. And where Geralt hasn't any desire to spill blood except the demon chasing after his daughter—and anyone (a singular angel, mostly) preventing him from doing so—he can't help doubting Castiel will choose the same.
But there is no time to split his focus. The moment for talk and plans is long gone. He makes a gesture at Jaskier—in part because he trusts him the most with his daughter and in part because he wants Jaskier out of Castiel's vicinity. ] Get Ciri.
[ Sam, he thinks, can handle himself. He'll have to believe that; he can't be in two places. And unless someone stops him, he's already stalking across the sand in the demon's direction, reaching to snatch up his sword as he passes it. Seeing as a fucking bullet hardly slowed him, Geralt has no qualms about driving his blade through the demon's stomach to pin it down. ]
no subject
It appear to be a retreat, Cas rapidly moving back towards Dean and the others. Sam Wilson wants a stop to the fighting, and Cas hopes he'll intercede if Geralt lunges again, but he can't risk either Jo or his own Sam being thrown into rocks again. ]
Your daughter, Geralt. Go. [ Ciri’s defended herself effectively, the three of them have a window to fuck off with. In Castiel’s mind, it’s over, end of conflict. ] Dean's ours.
[ he didn’t miss Sam’s harsh whisper, they will kill you, and the other Sam’s request for a plan. Once close enough, he motions Dean's brother to make room and takes up the space, twists Dean's arm up behind his back, looping his own over Dean's chest to seatbelt him in against Cas's torso. He turns enough he can half-shield Dean with his body from Geralt, should he choose to javelin a sword or dagger at them. finally, with a minimal, piano wire tense space to breathe and collect his mind, he can get back to Sam Wilson's original ask - a plan.
a stuttered moment passes, as he filters back through the intense dream he emerged from, panicked and desperate to bring dean back under his protective proverbial wing (from prison, from Billie, from six weeks of not knowing if he's alive, from his own failure to ensure his safety), and the years of events cluttered in. he frowns, shakes his head, and it comes from him like an abrupt realization. ]
It’s reversible. This happens back home, we— [ A pauses, another second of thinking, interrupted by a nervous glance to check geralt isn't inching too close, isn't reaching for weapons, and he shoots a look to Sam Winchester. He'll understand, he can translate to the others, so Cas can keep his focus on the time bomb in his arms, and the feral beast stalking round. ] We reversed it with the last trial from the Demon Tablet, like Crowley.
[ you know the one, with the purifying and the human blood and the syringes. ]
The Mark was removed with a spell from the Book of the Damned.
[ That’s the harder sell. No book here, no Rowena. They still need an alternative, unless Cas can somehow regurgitate what pieces he saw and utterly did not understand of the spell. Highly unlikely. But this problem, the demon, they can solve. So long as Geralt doesn’t kill him first. ]
no subject
It is a wonder Sam is there. Because Jaskier could easily die here; it is not an idle thought he has that he must be the most vulnerable of all the people here. He is not a hunter, or a soldier, or a healer, or a Witcher. He's jsut a fucking tired, aching, angry man.
As Sam protects the two of them, so does Jaskier move in front of Geralt, a hand on his chest before he can stride any closer. He doesn't know the full picture of what the fuck is happening here -- he came only knowing Ciri and Geralt were, once again, in deep shite -- but he knows that Geralt and Castiel clashing (even if Castiel is a stupid piece of shite at the moment, in Jaskier's eyes) isn't getting anything but Geralt bloodied. He isn't a monster to be put down. It's no longer fucking simple, if his people can stand up after their heads have been turned to pulp.]
Geralt, stop! [He glances at Sam, then Ciri; she's safe, for the moment, and he will go to her, but first, he has to stop Geralt from getting his head ripped off by an unrighteous fool. Back to Geralt's face. To him, there's nothing surprising about the black veins or the ceaseless void that his eyes become. But this fight Geralt is in is not a hunt. Not for Castiel.] Isn't this exactly what demons want? Pain? I know you're afraid for Ciri, but you're helping it happen all over again.
[Or maybe that was only the one. He doesn't know. And he could choke out every person here for leaving him so in the dark, but that's for another time -- Jaskier's hand moves to Geralt's arm, holding his weapon down.] Stop. Please. You are not dying here, for him. For them. We'll subdue him, then take Ciri and go. [Jaskier turns back to them -- a bunch of strangers, at this point, who have come for his people. He suspects they feel the same. Castiel might have planned on breaking him a moment before, but Jaskier still meets his eyes as he crosses the no man's land growing between them.
He takes a deep breath, wishing he was anywhere but here.] I don't care what the fuck you do with him after this, but let me help. [As long as he's gone. Away from Ciri.] I won't hurt him, but I can -- I can sedate him. I can try. I'm sure it will work. You can trust me. I haven't killed a man in my life.
[Which sounds like a comedic plea, but it's entirely true. And maybe that bears remarking upon among all these... ah. Hunters.
As long as they are gone from here, away from this demon. As soon as possible. As soon as they can make sure Ciri is all right.]
no subject
This is the man he loves, who he abandoned heaven for, severed his connection to the divine, became hunted and hated by his brothers and sisters, and still doesn’t regret a second of it. He gave everything, all he’s known since the Earth first coalesced together from ambient gasses and base elements. Cas fought tooth and nail to drag him from hell without ever knowing him, and now Dean’s become some immovable, irreplaceable piece of whatever passes for a soul in him. His most harrowing nightmare is losing him.
There was no scenario Castiel wouldn’t have fought like a creature possessed to keep him from harm. He has no intention at all of hurting Jaskier, Sam or Ciri, but he does eye the bard warily when he approaches. Less aggressive, more hugging Dean tighter to his chest, pulling him in to shield him from the others. If his wings were visible to the human eye, they’d see them cocooned around the demon in his arms.
This close, it’s impossible to miss the fierce but unsteady panic in Castiel’s eyes, the way his fingers curl protectively, possessively, lovingly against his frame. There’s a thick, emotional tremor under the low gravel of his voice and sharp set of his jaw. ]
How? What do you plan to do to him?
no subject
There are only certain sorts of reasons a man could ever hold another man like this. Like they're trying to occupy the same space on their sphere. And, when one considers Dean is infected with a demon, that he just survived some sort of device's blast that obliterated his head (with the evidence still spilled across the sands), then someone like Jaskier, who has staked his entire life on love, can put two and two together.
It doesn't feel like a guess. Castiel must be in love with the man. The man he was before the demon.
It's why he went after Geralt like Geralt was the monster. Why, for a moment, he looked as if he might smite Jaskier in his stead. The wild look in his eye, like a orphaned wolf, still lingers. It is stupidity -- at its highest order. The most respected, beautiful, and dangerous form of utter fucking idiocy.
Jaskier sighs, rubbing his face.]
I can alter the plants. A mild -- [He should refrain from words like "toxin" and "poison." He only knows what he's read, but he's practiced this magic, like he does all of his, to understand its limits.] Sedative. And a paralyzing agent. Until you figure out what to do with him, he won't hurt anyone else. [A small pause.] Or himself.
[He doesn't know if demons are so inclined, but if the creature realizes these things about Castiel, it would not be hard, he thinks, to use it against him. So the vines this time, when they erupt from sand, are less feral, less dangerous; they move slowly, waiting for permission, as Jaskier touches one and moves them across the distance. Liquid beads on their surfaces, covered in tiny spines almost imperceptible to the eye.
Melitele's fucking tits. It's a good thing he researched botany.]
no subject
Not a thought she got, though, when the velocity of that back strike has her slamming into one very large, very sturdy, very not going to give rock face, and the weirdest thing happens. She feels the places her body slams; clothes rip on jagged crags, skin splitting, bones giving a warning bend, pain an electric crescendo everywhere, jarring, drowning red before everything is suddenly, violently, blindingly BLUE.
Warmth floods her body, even as Jo buffets, still in movement,
from the rock to the ground, clouds of dirt getting in her mouth and nose.
She's coughing even as she feels the little orb, hot against the skin of her chest, shatter, harmless pieces falling out the bottom of her shirt. Disorienting clarity, like someone rang a bell straight through her head. She knows there isn't time to stay down, but even as she's getting up, willing her thoughts and vision to clear, she can hear Dean again. (Haunted eyes and rough voice, her hand on his cheek, and possibly still her blood on his.)
But if something lethal were to go down...
Jo shoves it back. (He did it.) She has to. (He—)
Away. Into her magically not broken bones, as she starts sprinting back.
There is no time to celebrate a fluke miracle when this isn't over. Everyone's converged on one point now, with Dean all caught up in the passive-restrain of Cas' hold, the mania of his expression, half-shielding the demon with his body, when Jo slides herself in with the two of them and Sam. Miracle of miracles, people are actually talking and not throwing punches finally, and even catching up mid-conversation; Jo looks around for where Ciri is now, among the other group of them. ]
no subject
Luckily, Jaskier is closer, responds faster. (And, from somewhere, the other fucking Sam also appears, so there's that.)
It's an actual motherfucking circus out here.
Panting, leaning down against Roach's neck, Ciri gets the mare to back up a few more steps, warily keeping an eye on the situation from a distance until Dean appears mostly subdued. She has no intention of getting anywhere near him again, but tries to find where Geralt's ended up, and in how many pieces. ]
no subject
But they also cannot seem to kill it. That much is clear, too. Whether they destroy him or save him, they will need another way. Jaskier is not wrong; there isn't much else to be done here as things stand other than tear each other apart.
When he hears Ciri move, his gaze finally drops from Jaskier. He strides across the bloodstained sand towards her. The world is just a bit too loud, too bright, heartbeats that drum against his ears. He'll probably feel like shit later, but right now, he pushes it aside.
He takes Ciri's arm. She's bruised, but otherwise unharmed. Still, the demon isn't the only threat. The unforgiving desert will not let them linger long, and Ciri is only human. Whatever the angel's plan is, its explanation will have to wait.
For the moment, he wants to be sure Ciri is equally willing to walk away, if there isn't anything else he should know the others may not realize. (Or tell him.) She's the one the demon went after—and she's the one who spent the most time with it. Spoke to it. He trusts her judgment. ]