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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[Crowley is, in fact, not all right.

He had made the poor decision to go out and try to get food for the rest of his household. Crowley still can't eat (thanks HINT-O-MATIC), but they can, and they need to eat. He remembers the month the human soldier person wasn't eating and that bothers him, so he wraps up in his warmest attire, puts a blessing on himself to stay warm, and heads out.

That's when he remembers that all of his powers are really, really stunted in this place, because it is insanely cold. And Crowley is, of course, cold-blooded.

Suddenly that person, that angel person, is up next to him. Crowley will jump back, clearly startled]

What the hell are you doing out here?

[Link has been trying to sleep in his usual spot: on the low branch of a tree at the edge of town.

The snow gathers on his cap and arms as he tries to curl himself into a ball to preserve warmth.

Maybe, he thinks, he should find shelter... But what is the worst that could happen to him if he stays outside? Will he die all over again?

He's thinking dark thoughts when he hears a voice from close by and shrieks.]

HOLY--

Gods, where did you come from!?

[ Castiel looks at the man, curled up and snow covered, and gestures away from them. ]

Over there.

[ Of course, there are no tracks in the snow that would indicate he'd walked the distance. ]

It seems unwise to sleep outside.

[ Castiel would not admit it out loud... but the fact that the demon startled does give him some small amount of satisfaction.

He hasn't experienced it often, but knows to name this emotion: Smugness.

He thinks he gets the appeal, now.

Still, he inclines his head towards Crowley. ]

Patrolling. What are you doing out here?

[Link does look and upon seeing no tracks, turns his eyes back to the stranger.]

Yeah.

But what's the worst that could happen, right?

Aren't we already dead?

[ People don't really come here. More over, Bruce doesn't bring people here very often. Vanitas can't recall it ever really happening before— beyond, maybe, Jason. But the most recent instance had been Vanitas forcing that boy to come with him with Bruce's sleeping body. Not like this, of his own volition; and the circumstances are stranger still. The blizzard still shrieks outside, howling eerily through the yawning spaces, turning even the safety of the interior of the building cool with the lower temperature.

It would be utterly impossible for Vanitas not to know Castiel was in this place.

His grace is too powerful a thing, even dim as it is now. As soon as he crossed the threshold of the building, every Unversed in the immediate area reacted— skirting him with interest like an curious but hesitant pack of wolves. When he walks through the halls, the ones in the ceiling stir and flap away into more remote corners in a hush of leathery wings, invisible in the shadows of the dark, vaulted ceilings.

Vanitas, too, clings to the shadows, instead of approaching the angel openly. Whether that's in whatever space he's been sequestered to rest, or some other corner of the museum, where one of the many old sculptures or paintings might be— Vanitas lingers near the wall, watching. ]

[ Hm... Nihilism. Castiel shakes his head. ]

Depending on your interpretation of 'worst' - you could experience freezing to 'death'.

[ He's doing the airquotes with his fingers. ]

And then perhaps you will return. Perhaps you will not, and in the latter case you could find your very essence purged from existence, depending on the metaphysical reality of our existence here.

That aside. We don't know if our existence here means we are, truly, dead.

[A deep, long suffering sigh.]

Shit. Right. Double dying is a thing, huh?

[He knocks his head backwards against the trunk of the tree.]

That's not fair.

[Snow is jostled from the branch above him and lands in a heap on his upturned face.

He sits like this for a moment before slowly reaching up and brushing it from his eyes with a fingerless gauntlet.]

Where would I go?

[Bruce is not an idiot. He stayed inside for the worst of the blizzard because while Gotham might not become a winter wonderland, he's no stranger to snowy conditions and plunging temperatures. Besides, after Riku had turned up half frozen on his doorstep and given Vanitas the fright of his life- they had their hands full. But conditions are beginning to wane and he can see the first signs as the howling wind starts to quiet one day, and then the next. It still isn't safe to be out for very long and exposure continues to be a real risk. So Bruce pulls his mask down over his face- then two layers of socks, then his gloves. He wraps extra fabric around his neck and layers his shirts.

He's made a habit of stocking supplies for months now and had more than enough to sustain himself during the ferry's crash and absence. Circumstances are much the same now- there's a great deal inside the museum to keep themselves safe and healthy and warm. But Bruce doesn't keep all of his supplies in one location, and that's the reason he makes his way to the church now. One of the pews has a hollowed out leg that he's been carefully folding rations in- not just food, but tools and weapons, medical equipment.

There are no prints in the snow when he approaches the church and he isn't surprised then, when he enters and finds it empty. Or rather- His gaze moves immediately to the trap door. Where he knows the other occupant resides.

But instead of allowing himself to be sidetracked, he makes his way to the pew. Second from the back, left hand side. Bruce crouches, all but invisible to anyone surveying the chamber- and he takes a knife from the mouth of his boot to wedge the tip into the crevice, to begin to pop the false panel out. When he hears it. Hello.

It startles him so profoundly that Bruce sits up. And smacks his head on part of the wooden armrest.]

[ The sound of the boy smacking his head on the armest echoes in the empty building, and even Castiel finds himself close to wincing. He may not care himself whether he hits his vessel's head on something, but he knows how fragile human bodies are when not currently inhabited by celestial beings.

Fascinating, how much humans can bear before breaking, when they are such fragile creatures.

Quietly, he stops towards the pew, and looks at the bundled up shape.

He's alive, that much Castiel can tell, but not quite if he's hurt.

He thinks, for a moment, and remembers Dean's angry rebukes of Castiel's silent approaches and invasion of personal space. It follows, then, that the blame for any injury incured lies at Castiel's feet. ]

Do you require healing?

[ Castiel thinks he can spare... a little, yet, without risking the light just going on. It's dim, he's exhausted. He's done some good, though, and that's what matters. Purgatory offered penance in the shape of being fodder for monsters. Beacon is penance through using himself up for those in need.

The gaze that rests on Bruce can't exactly be called sympathetic - it's slightly blank, just like Castiel's features. He's observing, waiting, watching. Blinking too little and standing just a little too still. ]

[ Clumsy, Castiel thinks. Wonders, too, about whether this is an existential crisis he's witnessing here. There's something bright in this man, something that might require some kindling to keep shining. ]

That I can't tell you. There's no afterlife for my kind, even under normal circumstances. Perhaps you'd return to life rather than perish. Perhaps you'd move on to your soul's proper resting place. Or, perhaps, you'd merely cease existing altogether.

[ Castiel has never been good at offering comfort. ]

[Link turns his head and stares at the stranger silently for several seconds before his eyes become slightly unfocused.]

Huh?

[He thinks back to the conversation so far.]

Oh.

N-no...

I meant...

If I got outta this tree where would I go? I don't want to intrude on anyone...

[He tilts his head pensively.]

[The knock isn't powerful enough to white out his vision, but it's more than enough to promise a bruise over his eyebrow and a significantly larger bruise to his ego. He's trained the reflex that keeps him from reaching up to touch, to draw attention to an injury, and instead Bruce maintains his grip on the knife in his palm- catches himself just short of stumbling with his opposite hand.

Apart from the sound of his own breathing and the quiet footfalls that approach, the church is an empty space. There are no other voices to fill the void, there's no music. From time to time the wind rattles the door on it's hinges and hisses through the cracks it can find- Bruce's breath clouds in the air.

But as the space between himself and this person narrows he chooses to abandon the pew and it's false panel, glancing instead towards the door as a possible escape route, to the candle stand that he could use, if the need arose. The knife turns over in his grip and his head lifts, face still covered by the black fabric of his mask.

He doesn't recognize the man who looks back at him, impassive but no less aware. Unnaturally still.
Bruce looks back at him but doesn't yet climb to his feet.]

No.

[His eyes move- from the man's face to his shoulders. His bare hands.]

Do you?

[ 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.]

[ Sometimes people wander in here like they don't realize this is somebody's house, maybe they just don't notice things like a kitchen and dining area where one might expect a museum office or gift shop. A workshop in progress getting built out of a former storage area for archives that don't exist anymore. Bedrooms upstairs. Or even the toothbrushes in cups by the bathroom sinks, a comb with black hair in its teeth, a hair tie with tangles of silver.

Bruce doesn't seem like the kind of person who brings people into his space eagerly or readily. That's what should be making Castiel's presence so remarkable.

It is, but only by half.

The rest is how he seems to radiate, not light the way their lanterns do, but with Light, and yet... there's a darkness that clings to him like smoke.

Riku's recent brush with hypothermia has made him keenly aware of how little clothing he's bothered to own. The shirt he wears doesn't belong to him, dark and snug around his chest and arms, but it's warmer than the white v-neck shirt he's wearing under it, and the Museum feels a little drafty due to the blizzard outside.

He's come under the pretense of getting himself something hot to drink, encountering Castiel somewhere between the stairs and their kitchen. ]

Don't usually get visitors.

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.

[ Castiel feels tired and worn, more so than he cares to admit. His grace his hollowed out, and while Bruce brought him here suspecting the wrong kind of damage, Castiel is grateful for it. The museum is a quiet, dark place, and Castiel finds it soothing. Despite Vanitas' presence, which still catches on the jagged edges of everything in Castiel that has mindlessly fought demons for billions of years.

He's taken to wandering the expanse of it, quietly slipping through the hallways. His lantern, currently, barely illuminates his surroundings, the flickering, almost fluid silvery white light in near looking like it may well just wink out in utter exhaustion.

Castiel has given too much. It doesn't feel like he's given enough, wanting to hollow himself out seeking atonement, yet knowing he cannot balance the scales of his sins through what little good he can do here before he breaks something or someone else. He just hopes that someone is going to be him, not anyone else.

The young man he encounters has silvery hair and strangely bright eyes, and Castiel looks back at him from the body that looks like a tax accountant in his mid thirties, with eyes that are a shade of blue that's just subtly a little too intense.

Castiel looks at Riku, still and not blinking quite often enough for comfort. ]

I don't usually go on visits.

[ Castiel contemplates for a moment. His experiences with humanity are limited, but... he knows the brightest and even the burdened among them to be charitable enough not to let someone in need die. ]

I don't believe anyone here would turn you away in these conditions. To risk your wellbeing over not wishing to impose on others is foolish.

Maybe you're right.

[He hugs his knees against his chest again and looks the stranger over. Slowly, his frost-addled brain catches up with his ears and he points at the other man.]

Did you say your kind has no afterlife?

[When he realizes he's pointing he lowers his hand back to his legs.]

Who are you?

[ Castiel watches the movement, brows furrowing. ]

My name is Castiel.

[ He hesitates for a moment, just looking at Link. Looking into him, with a stare that holds the weight of galaxies and sees beyond flesh and bone. He takes Link's measure. Sees beyond the parts of him that are 'just' human, to the truth of his soul.

And then he steps closer, and reaches up towards the low branch. ]

There is no need for your suffering here, Link.

[ He reaches out to press two fingers to Link's forehead. He's not hurt, per se, but he's too cold for something mortal, for a life so much more fragile than Castiel's own. So healing here is not aid to close a wound. It's warmth, at least a little. He cannot take the bite of the blizzard away, or ward Link from it. But he can help a little for the moment.

And with the healing, the warmth, the light of Castiel's lantern dims a little. ]

My kind, yes.

[Link meets Castiel's gaze and feels strangely transfixed by it. For a moment it's not one warrior looking back at the angel, but many through one pair of blue eyes.

Then it's just Link again, blinking in confusion at the sensation of warmth.]

How...?

[ Ellever's fallen asleep on the living room floor, an ocarina on her chest, her tablet laying next to her. This is the sort of thing she used to do where she came from, too. But her mind is a much more vulnerable place than it was there. She's been plagued by doubt and hopelessness ever since she came to Beacon, and it manifests in her rolling restlessly from side to side, the ocarina tumbling to the floor next to her.

She's in the main warehouse of Zier Security, a retrofitted massive building in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. Part of it is a parking garage for the company vehicles, most of them black vans; part of it is offices and meeting spaces, for working and dealing with clients; and the rest of it is almost like a cross between a zoo and a prison for the creatures they don't think would make a safe fit with the rest of society.

At present, Ellever finds herself on the sofa in the breakroom. She has a brief flash of laying here, needles in her arm, a stern-looking woman with kind eyes hovering over her with a gun in her hand — Circe, the head of HR, someone she looked up to as a person. The someone who killed her. She gasps, jerking to her feet as a thunderous voice echoes through the warehouse: ]

IT WILL BE HER. THE YOUNGEST OF THE NINE CHILDREN. TEN CHILDREN! SHE WILL BRING ABOUT THE CURTAIN OF EVERLASTING SHADOW AS THE NINE WILL DEVOUR THIS WORLD.

[ She's heard these words in almost every nightmare she's ever had. But they don't distract her from the sight of her body back on the couch, as if she's having an out of body experience. Circe's gun is smoking. The contents of Ellever's head decorate the top of the couch and the wall next to it.

The windows of the warehouse itself darken. Pervasive whispering — what she hears when she focuses on shadows for too long — seems to go right into her ears as she covers them and stumbles out of the room, shaking. Massive noises of impact start outside, deep and unsettling sounds, alongside sirens and screaming of confused and terrified people. Ellever almost stumbles down the long hallway, the walls ending one floor up and the rest of the warehouse visible beyond. At the end of the hallway stands a dignified, fierce-looking man with white hair, dressed like a cowboy cop. He glares at her and then walks away, down another branching corridor. Ellever pales. ]

Dad! Wait—

[ But when she speeds up, the hallway where he should be is empty. Her heart is racing. Her restless turning outside of the dream has only increased. ]

Healing.

[ Castiel holds the gaze, blinking too little for a normal person. He may not know the details of the Hero Soul - but he knows he is looking at something not unlike the Righteous Man in the weight of fate and divine intent upon its shoulders. ]

I'm an angel of the Lord.

What?

[He lowers his gaze and lifts his knuckles against his forehead.]

I dunno what that means, but......It sounds like you shouldn't be here, right?

What sort of place is this?

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[Open] Carry you to peaceful fields

Beacon

Beacon

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wildcard / museum

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obligatory hozier reference

the giggle at a funeral, etc etc

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dreams and nightmares; cw: death, violence

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