Hᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜsᴀɴᴅ ᴍɪʟᴇs ᴀᴡᴀʏ ( ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ )

[righteously]

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

I ᴡᴏᴋᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ
ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴄᴏɢɴɪᴢᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀ

Comments

[righteously]

Nero goes and almost immediately starts knocking shit over where Dean left off with his own bizarre looking set of wings, and for a moment there... even as weird as it is, he's gotta admit, there's a deep sense of this guy gets it unfolding. Relatable.

He'd probably feel that a little bit less if he'd seen the arm do the arm thing, but that skirted completely past him.

To his we're leaving, the guy at the front only responds with a long, tired sigh. Much like using currency is completely pointless here, physically picking up their mess is utterly unnecessary — and yet, Jack's going to do it anyway, because it doesn't occur to him to magically will things back into place. Such is the nature of humanity sometimes.

"Yeah," Dean agrees briskly, yanking his nachos back and offering up one more apologetic wave before leading them out the door and back into the parking lot. As they go, he absently glances at Nero's wings again and mumbles a faintly annoyed, "Why do yours get hands?"

At least that would make them useful.

[ofthesword]

"All right, all right, grandpa, hang on --" He got at least half of the chips back, but if they're leaving, uh -- "Here." He leaves his own money on the counter for the guy, except Fortuna is not exactly America in that vague video game way, so what he does leave is a bunch of coins printed with faces no one on this plane has ever seen. But hey. They're real silver.

Nero makes sure to scoop his nachos back up as they walk back out, ducking under the door so his wings can fit. One of the wing-hands holds his nachos as he stops to tighten the laces on his boots, but that's really just him showing off.

Thank fuckin' god they aren't made of real feathers. Jeez.

"They just came that way." And the tail, but he's not dealing with the tail in the Horizon. Not yet. That's a whole -- detached thing he's not thinking about. "I mean, you can fly, right? You really gonna complain?"

Though it's weird. Nero isn't sure what to peg him as. Not a demon, but not not a demon, either. Does Geralt know? He knew about the wings in the first place. And humans aren't walkin' around with wings -- unless they're trying to turn themselves into demons.

It's not Dean's fault he's wary. Nero's had bad experiences with humans becoming something that isn't human anymore.

"Come on, Geralt, you're up next in this bunch of freaks. When're your wings gonna drop?"

[gynvael]

Nothing else is destroyed on their way out. He finishes the rest of his hot dog in another bite and leans back against the window outside the shop.

His gaze shifts to Nero. He can sense the questions swirling, but he also doesn't know what that change in Nero's arm means. Only that it's indicated something not quite right. Which, yes. He's aware. Dean's been off for months. What Nero might be sensing is not so much an entity as a curse. Or both.

Gods help Vesemir if the four of them had developed wings after the Trials.

"No wings," he replies. "Singularity bestowed me with claws, though."

And teeth. He's not fond of it, but he can't deny its uses. At least he isn't the only one sprouting...gifts.

[righteously]

You can fly, right?

The face Dean makes probably immediately casts some doubt on that assertion, something he immediately affirms with a mumbled, faintly defensive, "Ish."

He can fly in the sense that Cas possessed him one time and training wheels'd him through the basics, so now when he jumps off cliffs he doesn't immediately plummet to the ground. He's like a half-step above paragliding. He can fall with style.

No comment on the claws, though he's tempted to say and freaky black eyes. Probably not helpful commentary, and who's he to go spilling people's weird body horror secrets Geralt.

[ofthesword]

Ish.

Nero gives Geralt a significant look, raising his brow while mouthing yikes. That must be pretty humiliating, huh? Big ol' molting wings, and the guy doesn't even know how to use them?

Maybe it's best that way. Not for nothing, but this whole thing is kind of... really fuckin' weird.

"Claws?" He loses the plot for a second, looking Geralt over. What the hell do claws have to do with this guy's weird-ass wings? The faint touch of the demonic? He doesn't get the same thing off Geralt, though; it would've come through a lot earlier than now.

From the --

Oh. Right.

Nero's gotten so used to the tail now he didn't even notice it hasn't popped up off his ass in the Horizon. One of those out of sight, out of mind, things. "Oh. Yeah. Right. Me too. I mean --" He has claws, but not because of the Singularity. It felt way less fucking shady hanging out with people involved in demon business; here he suddenly feels out of place. A whatever-the-fuck Geralt is and a demon-human-angel. Yet Nero still feels like the weirdest one here.

He was just born this way.

"A tail. I guess."

Take your shot when you can, Dean. They all have issues.

[gynvael]

Geralt gives a shrug back. He's not one to keep track of Dean's flying lessons. Sam's flying, Dean's flying, Jaskier's a damn bird; apparently everyone has found their wings these days.

"Mm-hm." Claws. Like he's confirming he has five fingers on each hand.

He glances behind Nero, as if noticing for the first time the man hasn't got his tail in the Horizon. Interesting. Something about this reminds him of when they all survived the Trials, and he remembers Lambert grabbing him one day—some weeks later, out in the stables—and going, Your hair's grown fucking white. And it certainly fucking had.

He passes off the remainder of his liquid chips to Nero. Doesn't remark on the tail or the arm. If they took stock of everything unusual between them, they'd be here until spring.