logsinthenight | [Open] Carry you to peaceful fields

Entry tags:

[Open] Carry you to peaceful fields

characters: Castiel & You (Open) | Castiel & Bruce (Closed)
location: Beacon & In Your Dreams (no really)
date/time: During the Blizzard (Jan 7 - 11)
content: Dreamwalking! Patrolling Beacon during a Blizzard! An angel helping out and endangering himself through it! Whoo!
warnings: CWs dependant on the content of dreams

➣ Beacon {Kiss the feathers of a hummingbird in flight}

[ Castiel doesn't rely on his flesh and blood to keep him in continued existence. The cold doesn't bother him per se, though the weather proved quite vexing to navigate. He hopes that the more mortal of his allies and charges in his place are sensible and will stay inside.

Yet he himself braves the blizzard, patrolling Beacon. Checking on the Bonire, to know for certain that the fire will not be beaten down by the snow. Checking on the edges of the forest, to make sure nothing takes this opportunity to creep in and wreak havoc. Looking for anyone else foolish enough to have stepped outside in this weather. He carries in his hand a peculiar looking, shiny silver blade. His dark hair and coat are dusted with snow, and whenever visibility allows, he moves not by pushing through the snow that's piling up, but by seemingly teleporting with the sound of rustling feathers. Never far - like Crowley and Aziraphale, his flight is limited by how far his lantern allows him to see, though his wings aren't visible to the naked eye. Not unless he wishes to show them, at least.

If he happens to spot someone outside, they might see him at a lantern-light distance, and then suddenly right next to them, blue eyes on the person, and then back to scanning the surroundings. ]

Are you alright?

➣ Dreams and Nightmares {Breaking up into a million specks of light}

[ooc: This one gives you an opportunity to do some dream sharing. This is completely opt in, if you want this prompt, it happens with the OOC permission to enter/invade your character's dream - or nightmare and be witness to its contents. If you already have close-ish CR with him, he might step into any regular old dream you have to check up on you while the blizzard keeps you cooped up. Close CR or strangers having nightmares will also prompt him to make "the trip" as it were, in an attempt to help you through the nightmare and towards restful sleep. If you want him to show up in your dream/nightmare, feel free to respond with a description of the dream. Please put appropriate CWs on nightmares!

Doing this will start to sap his powers, which by the end of the blizzard's duration will run quite low, and the light of his lantern begins dimming accordingly. The implication of this is not known to most people in beacon.]

➣ [Closed to Bruce, Jan 10] Church {Take the shape of an angel in the night}

[ It's towards the end of the blizzard's duration that Castiel finds himself taking momentary shelter in the church. He's been here a few times, though not as often as one might assume an angel to come here. He doesn't bother to brush the snow from his hair, just quietly walks alongside the pews. The church has recently seen restoration efforts, and he can practically feel the care put into the project. Fascinating, the hard work and dedication people put into it. Though he supposes, here in this place, it might have more practical reasons related to that hatch, and the strange conditions of their supposed death.

He's carrying his blade in one hand, serious features trained though on the stained glass, on the alter, on the pews. He looks contemplative, maybe. Or perhaps lost. There's a certain tension in the set of his shoulders, in the tightness of his jawline, and something oddly stilted to his movements. The light of his lantern is strangely dim, and he looks tired.

Castiel eels it in the bones of his vessel, how he has strained himself to grant more peaceful rest to the souls Beacon harbours. No regrets. He won't kill himself for most of them, though if some of them happen to have nightmares, he might be lured into draining himself - draining his lantern - a little more.

He knows he's not alone. Whether Bruce enters after him, or has been there the entire time. Castiel doesn't turn towards him, but says: ]

Hello.

➣ Wildcard {On the whispering wind}

[ ooc: Maybe you want to seek Castiel out differently, contact him on the network, or have a different idea for a plot. Feel free to hit me up on plurk or discord to discuss <3 ]

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[ Castiel just stares back, head tilting to one sight slightly. The human before him is puzzling in different ways than many of the ones he's encountered. He's quiet, for one, and for Castiel that doesn't just mean how he moves. He knows humans can be stealthy. No, there's something quiet about him that goes deeper.

It's tempting to just look deeper, too. He can already see beyond cloth and flesh and bone to what matters, to the light inside, the glow of a soul, but there's something achingly familiar in the caverns of his heart and mind. Privacy for such things is such a human concept - but one Castiel has grown to at least try and respect, unless he feels it impractical to do so.

So he doesn't pry. Not... yet, at least.

Not deeply, at least.

He muses on the mask instead. Wonders if it's mere protection against the cold, or if it's similar to Peter's odd, masked pyjamas. There are gazes no mask can protect you from, though. Castiel's is one of those.

At the question, Castiel looks down, following the gaze he can feel on himself. He looks at his hand as if puzzled by it. Flexes the fingers. Contemplates, for a moment, the strangeness of existing in this body, this vessel, when Jimmy Novak's soul has long passed on.

It doesn't look as if he's paying any attention to Bruce anymore, but his senses rarely rely on mere sight. He's aware of the young man's position and movements, if there are any. ]

No. I was patrolling. Nothing has hurt me.

[There's something catlike about the gesture- the way his head tilts very slightly to one side as if he's puzzled and Bruce can't determine yet if it's because he's been asked in the first place, or if it's because he doesn't understand the cause. His fingers flex, perhaps self-consciously for the way a stranger's gaze has landed on him and it leaves them at a kind of stand-still. Because Bruce has learned that the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence; the man is inspecting himself and that doesn't mean that he has, in any way, forgotten about Bruce's presence.

This is the reason he chooses to keep his stillness. Drawing attention to the knife in his hand is dangerous, sudden movements are dangerous. He doesn't have the advantage of height or high ground and he isn't willing to reveal the hiding place for his supplies either.]

You aren't dressed for the weather.

[He says instead- aware of the thin layer of his coat and his bare fingers, his bare wrists.]

I am not.

[ A good observation though. If Castiel cared about subterfuge, he'd have given that some thought, perhaps - the fact that he very obviously is striding through the blizzard in clothes that are unsuitable for the conditions for anyone who would actually feel the bite of cold.

Granted - maintaining his vessel like that has been sapping his strength, too. ]

I've been patrolling, but intended to rest for a short while. You don't need to be concerned. I barely feel anything.

[ It's meant to be a reassurance, and Castiel shifts, angling his glance towards the altar. The movement reveals the lantern, for a moment - and shows quite starkly that the light isn't just hidden by the fabric of his coat, but barely there to begin with, notably dimmer than any of the lanterns usually are. ]

Don't let my presence keep you from your own pursuits.

[Bruce considers this.

He has, in his time here, encountered people of all kinds- with abilities he is only just beginning to puzzle out, with baseline needs that vary wildly from his own. People who aren't even human. He has no reason not to take the statement at face value and accept it as truth. The evidence available supports the claim after all- he doesn't seem to suffer neurological damage; he's speaking coherently and in complete sentences, his posture is upright, his expression is alert.

But then Bruce's experience of the truth is that it rarely uncovers itself so readily, it is always nuanced, and it always comes at a cost. The man turns towards the altar and in doing so uncovers his lantern- the flame inside a small, guttering thing.

Instead of reaching for the pew he turns the comment over in his mind: I barely feel anything, and asks-]

Do you feel comfortable?

[ The question catches Castiel off guard. His head tilts, brows drawing together and eyes squinting - his expression more open for a moment, showing surprise and puzzlement. Something inquisitive in his gaze.

Castiel isn't used to being questioned on his wellbeing beyond having to confirm that he's fine. He doesn't read it as concern, but it does make him curious about this young man. ]

No... I suppose I can't claim to be.

[ He feels more disconnected from his vessel, and yet still more trapped by it, larger than life and folded into the fascinating works of art that human bodies are. ]

I could... turn my back, if you'd prefer. To give you the illusion I won't know where you want to reach.

[This is-

He can't say that it's unhelpful, because the information he's been provided is. This man has told him precisely how much he knows and it erases any pretense Bruce might have of trying to disguise or deflect. But instead of crowing about his victory or responding with smug superiority, there's something genuine about the offer. Bruce tries to be honest and conversely, it's made him a very good liar. From this perspective, it's easy to recognize a kind gesture when it's been made, especially when presented with no strings attached.

Bruce watches him for a long moment, and then, because it seems the only reasonable thing to do, he returns to the false plank and withdraws the bag of supplies from underneath. The wood groans when it's pushed back into place, and Bruce uses the side of his fist to hammer it flush; good as new. It still leaves him sitting on the floor, with the black bag settled in his lap. And it still leaves him facing a strange man that's stationed himself inside a church during a blizzard.

How then to amend the question.]

This building isn't very well insulated.

Most people staying here through the storm would be uncomfortable.

[ Castiel waits patiently while Bruce retrieves his prize, glad now he showed parts of his hand and made the offer. It doesn't exactly put them at ease with one another - or rather: Bruce with Castiel, as the angel himself is rarely put off by anyone enough to not feel pleasantly neutral to utterly indifferent about the fact of their existence. Still, perhaps it has eased some tension.

After a moment, Castiel raises his lantern to peer better at how dim his grace has gotten, how weak the light is. ]

I've been wandering through the storm. Helping, or so I'd like to think.

[It's a good ground for negotiation. Bruce rarely seeks comfort because the people with whom he's willing to bare himself enough to ask for it is incredibly small- and neither of them have come here with him. He reminds himself that it isn't a good thing or a bad thing, simply a fact- and like every time before Bruce wills himself to keep moving.

The man opposite waits in what might be called polite silence and when Bruce turns around he's still standing there. Considering the observation he's been offered. His lantern raises and Bruce's eyes go to it. This is a constant no matter the individual and no matter the circumstance- he treats lanterns like fingerprints. A universal weakness as different as the person who carries it. In this particular instance the glance is two-fold.

The flame inside is very weak.]

At what cost?

Myself.

[ The answer comes easily enough. Always happy to bleed, and apparently not just for the Winchesters. Castiel keeps looking at the offensively low amount of grace sadly swirling in the lantern, a barely existent light source at this point.

A barely existent life line. ]

Replenishable resources might as well be used.

[Replenishable resources.

People in Beacon have not always been careful with their lanterns and its light, but this is the first time he's heard anyone speak about it so casually. He reconsiders. The absence of vitamin d and sustained light, the omnipresent danger and nearness to grief, the nearness of death itself and occasional loss of those who arrive here. It isn't impossible to imagine that there would be consequences. That the will to live might diminish even when the body continues to carry on.

He climbs to his feet but makes no move to close or expand upon the distance.]

And the risk?

Death.

[ That answer, at least, comes easily and immediate.

Castiel turns away then, and it might seem like dismissal, the way he gazes towards the altar, shoulders slumped. He knows Bruce watches yet, and so holds up a hand. Light gathers in his palm, pure energy that would be painful to behold anywhere but here - and the light in the lantern, in response, momentarily dims further, until Castiel lets the light in his palm dissipate, not allowing the weak light to wink out.

If the human is clever, he'll put the facts together; Castiel has powers, and to use them is to erode himself by way of the lantern. ]

Yes. But why?

[The evidence is an answer in and of itself- the way the man turns and makes this small demonstration. That he links his ability to gather light (already a remarkable feat in Beacon, where the resource is incredibly precious) with the flame flickering inside his lantern. It would require only a strong wind. A cup of water. To an extent this holds true of all lanterns, fire is fragile thing- but even moreso at its weakest. Where it barely maintains its shape.]

[ Punishment, is the first thought that comes to mind, but Castiel knows - or at least strongly suspects - that not to be the case. Not directly, at least.

Castiel sighs. He glances back towards Bruce. Squints in thought.

There's a sound like rustling feathers and the woosh of displaced air, and just like that Castiel stands right there in front of Bruce, hand going up to tap fingers to his forehead - right where that bruise was forming, expect there's just a small rush of warmth, no pain. The bruise is healed before it forms fully.

The light dims. Flickers. Doesn't go out, but just barely.

Castiel looks tired. ]

To help.

[It is a deeply disquieting experience for several reasons. Bruce is no stranger to those with abilities he cannot perceive- the here and then gone tendency to vanish and reappear. This is perhaps somewhat hypocritical, but Bruce has never been one to suggest he is otherwise. The man is there. And then he is much closer. His body's reflexive need to protect itself has his muscles bunching, adjusts his stance; he's preparing even for what he cannot see. He's preparing to be hurt. And instead of a blow that follows, there's a touch to his forehead, against what he knows will be a shallow bruise. Like the man ahead of him, here and then gone. His lantern light flickers.

Bruce frowns. It isn't anger on his face- perhaps it is closer to disappointment. A sense of intrusion. It's the reason his reply is even clarification and not the leveling of an accusation.]

I didn't ask for help.

That doesn't mean you didn't need it.

[ Castiel says it earnestly, trying to get a read of the situation without just plucking the information from Bruce's mind. That, he knows, is rude, and he has the feeling that this is not the kind of human who would bark displeasure but otherwise overlook the breach of boundaries.

It stands to reason, then, that the proactive aid, however small, might have displeased as well. Castiel is a creature of the most direct path taken. Something breaks, and if he can he fixes it. Threats are eliminated, the wounded are healed.

He's learned, however, that humans are much more complicated than matters of practicality suggest, through much exasperation at the Winchesters' failures to comply with even the seemingly most simple requests at times.

Slowy, Castiel's head tilts again. Bruce is only shorter by an inch or two, and up close can likely tell much more. The way in which Castiel's face only looks impassive from afar or at casual glance. The way his eyes narrow slightly, his lips part, they give much away. The way he looks at Bruce, looks as if he can see far beyond the mask. This close, it's easy to watch him think and come to a realization.

Castiel's eyes flow down, briefly, his lips pressing together lightly. The expression is downright sheepish for a moment.

And perhaps, beneath... guilty. ]

My apologies.

[ He levels his gaze on Bruce directly again. Painfully sincere. He might not be good with humans... but Castiel likes them enough to attempt to learn and course correct, unless he can no longer afford the luxury of caring. ]

[It's a very genuine answer. Perhaps even a kind one. Bruce doesn't resent this quality, it's something he thinks the world as a whole could use more of. Compassion is in short supply in Gotham, where the cost of everything is high. Where survival pares experience down to necessity, where consideration of others can cost someone not just their livelihood, but their life. And yet- where would he be if he'd never felt the sting of his own actions? Who would he be if he'd never been allowed to falter?

Pain is part of the human experience.]

Our actions have consequences. If we're protected or saved from them, we aren't allowed to grow. To make more informed decisions in the future, [A beat-] or even more informed mistakes.

[The man's gaze lowers and Bruce doesn't close the distance or look away for it. It's meaningful, to know that his interference comes from a place of sincerity. And it isn't so different from Alfred, who, like a father and mother- wanted desperately to protect him. Even if it meant protecting him from himself.]

It's true that not everyone is very good at asking for help when they need it. Not everyone has a place, or people, who teach them that they can. But what happens to the person you help when it costs too much? When they see that they're the reason you suffer in turn, or the reason your light goes out?

That isn't a burden that will ever go away. Even if you return, experiences like that-
leave a scar.

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[Open] Carry you to peaceful fields

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