Iɴ Hᴇʟʟ, I'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ɪɴ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ → sᴇᴍɪ-ᴏᴘᴇɴ

[righteously]

Who: Dean & Various
When: August
Where: Cadens & the Horizon
What: Catch-all

Warnings: Winchester-brand violence, booze, and suicidal ideation I'm sure.

I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ғɪɢʜᴛ
Tᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴠᴇ I'ᴍ ʀɪɢʜᴛ
I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ғᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇɴ

Comments

[dirtytrenchcoat]

[Castiel spends much of his time at Mag's inn and if he's not cleaning and helping with the bar, he's upstairs with a book or somewhere green people-watching. Today, he's fallen back on old habits and is bussing tables to keep the bar clean and functional while Dean does his thing.

His attention is split between the glasses in his bucket, dishes, and Dean's steady hand as he works. In sigil work, there's little room for error and Dean is one of the quickest studies he's ever known. His artwork is seamless and perfect, and he uses that same talent to guarantee the safety of those closest to him.

In the time he'd spent in Cadens he'd become intimately aware of his own power and where it was failing. Though he didn't consider himself aligned with the seraph anymore the presence of Lucifer and what he knew of other people and the monsters from their respective worlds made him more cautious.

When every table not occupied is accounted for Castiel drops his bucket off near the basin, and walks over to Dean's now empty station while cleaning his hand on the small waist apron he uses to keep his clothes clean while working.]

Do you have room for one more?

[righteously]

( He wasn't too sure he'd be any good at it at first. Spent some money on some practice skin from the butcher, took a couple days to get his training wheels off, but now he's done it so many times it's starting to feel like he's got it down to a science. At least, for this one specific sigil.

He's still cleaning up after his last one when Cas wanders over, just a little distracted by wiping the gun down with a clean rag. )

Sure. Who we doin'?

( He asks, finally looking up a second later.

And then catches the expectant look on Castiel's face, the way his body language reads. Surprise hits him — hell, it never even crossed his damn mind. )

Wait, you?

( A second after that his brain logics it out — it makes sense. They've got no guarantees Cas is gonna get to keep his mojo. The singularity is a wildcard. Who the hell knows if a de-angelified angel vessel gets an automatic pass against demonic possession?

It's smart. )

[dirtytrenchcoat]

[Dean approached it the way he did anything, with all of himself. For the most part, Castiel's only partially been paying attention to his art and clientele. He's given Dean a wide birth to tattoo and to see to it that their friends are protected.]

Yes, me.

[It's not the deadpan answer he'd usually return with. The lift of Dean's brows brings a shadow of a smile to his face.]

It won't hurt me, and you can pick the placement. Given the unpredictability at play here I'd rather get that tattoo now than need it later down the line.

[righteously]

Okay.

( He says after a short pause, a little bit of approval clearly written in the undertones and in the way his lips pull back into his cheeks for a second or two. )

It's a good call. Pop a squat.

( He nods his head toward the chair across from him. )

Might as well bring you in on the fun family matchy-matchy spot, huh? You're gonna need to do somethin' about that shirt.

( He's gonna stick it the same place his is, the same place Sam's is. It was the first place that popped into his mind, and it feels immediately right. )

[dirtytrenchcoat]

[Castiel's gotten used to surprising Dean, but not to the features that find his face or the genuine pride he seems to take in his more out of the box choices. Coming to terms with those things had been more difficult at first, just like wrapping his head around the limitations he had while present with him in the Free Cities.

Castiel wipes his hands off on the rumpled apron before setting it to the side to oblige Dean in his request. The tunic he has on is easily removed and with nothing, beneath it, he's sure he's fine to be tattoed.

The pain won't be a problem, given that he's got a higher threshold than the average human, and he's been watching Dean while working for long enough to know that Dean takes it seriously, the placement, the symmetry, like a true artist. Not that he'd ever say as much aloud. Dean was good at many things, but accepting compliments wasn't one of them.

With a sigh, Castiel sits in the chair and slides downward to give Dean a better angle at the matchy-matchy spot he'd mentioned. One he was familiar with, through healing he and his brother and raising him from scorched earth.]

I guess it's a good thing I'm done working. If this takes as long as it did with your other guests the dishes would just keep piling up.

[righteously]

( He can count on one hand the number of times he's seen Cas without a shirt on, and there's a very good chance all of them involved him being covered in blood of some kind. It's strange to see him like this now. Weirdly humanizing, like seeing a knight without his armor. It takes effort not to scope him over, but the last thing he wants is to look like he's checking the guy out or something. Because he wouldn't be. It's completely different. )

Oh, no. ( He says dryly, dousing his rag in strong alcohol and cleaning Castiel's skin with it. Probably not necessary, it's not like angels are gonna get infections, but he's nothing if not methodical. He's done this so many times now it's practically habit, dragging the cloth over that place just beneath his collarbone. ) Not the dishes. Wouldn't that be a tragedy. Whatever would they do without you.

( Next comes the transfer paper — or the closest approximation to it, ink on parchment paper that gets carefully pressed into place to use as a stencil. )

[dirtytrenchcoat]

[That good chance was a one hundred percent possibility. Not needing to change clothes or sweat to remain clean meant that he rarely was seen without his usual ensemble of a coat and casual business attire. Here, some of that changed. His own clothes had been lost to his arrival and now he sported a tunic and breeches, sometimes with a petticoat or cloak to accompany them and the necessary holsters and armor attached.

At the bar, while working the armor was nowhere to be seen and he kept it light, boots, pants, and the tunic and nothing else to weigh him down unnecessarily. He might have been able to unfasten the ties on the tunic to give Dean the room to tattoo but for ease, Dean was right about removing it.]

It keeps me busy when I'm not hunting or elsewhere and it makes me feel better about our arrangement with the inn. I'm certain I could easily be replaced, but you know what they say about idle hands. [Castiel's lips quirk at the corners. A small way of being proud of his own joke - the devil's playthings, and the irony there.]