Can you hear me, I know I'm just a whisper [Open]

[freetobe]

characters: Castiel & Open
location: The Ferry, the Church and potentially anywhere around Beacon
date/time: March 1st and later (post Bulletin going up)
content: There's a loss Castiel feels as a friend and brother disappears from Beacon
warnings: Religious themes, mentions of death/corpses, some musings on kinship, regret and guilt. While not at the forefront, Castiel does struggle with depression, so there might be mention of that. Other warnings will be added to tags as necessary.



➣ Docks/Network, before the bulletin goes up [Closed to Cast + Established CR]
{No need to hide away your life, unique, yet so alike}

[ It's not that the bodies fool him, per se. Castiel is an angel with senses beyond...

Castiel is.

Castiel...

... remembers standing among a pile of Dean-shaped corpses, all dead at his own hands.

His jaw clenches, tight, and to those near and dear to his heart whose corpses he spotted on the ferry while gathering his delivery, he sends a message: ]

I would appreciate if you could humour me, and confirm your current status as alive.

[ There's a moment of pause, Castiel frowning slightly at the tablet before he rolls his eyes towards the dark skies above and sends a second message: ]

You know what I mean.

➣ Church, shortly after the bulletin
{There's yet life in these words I speak for peace of mind and our release}

[ The church is a natural place for him to reatreat to, at least concerning this particular subject matter. He may have lost his faith in his Father, and most likely his Father has lost faith in him, but there is a simplicity about turning to a building like this, a house made for worship, that houses a trap door through which in their not-quite-death they may yet be reborn.

Not always.

Not everyone.

Not Aziraphale.

Castiel stalks into the building, billions of years of intent focus, able to stand still and behold over centuries, untouched by time. Yet there is now to him a restless agitation, and he paces the church floor, jaw set tight. Eventually, he moves to the trap door. Draws closer, then drifts away. Circles it, eyes affixed, like a bird of prey. Stands, finally, right next to it, and lowers himself into a crouch slowly.

The inability to accept, initially, is something he attributes to the Winchesters' influence. ]

Can there not be an exception, this once? Can you not return him to me?

[ His fingertips curls inwards. He looks up to the stained glass, feeling judged by the closed slab. What a mockery. None of it is fair. Aziraphale is the better angel, the better person to keep in this community. What is Castiel but a broken soldier who fails every opportunity he's burdened with? But it is perhaps the nature of this place, to break them all apart. This place gave him charges he loved fiercly, and ripped them away again.

Castiel thinks with unease of the few who remain. He thinks with cold dread of the Winchesters, just given to him. ]

... I fear I needed him.

[ Should anyone approach him here, he will move away from the tapdoor quickly, embarrassed at having been caught making what he knows is an utterly futile plea. ]

➣ Church, for hours after the above
{You flow inside of me, language and imagery, pure in simplicity}

[ From denial and bargaining, he moves on to a somber acceptance. It's difficult for him to process; loss. Despite all the angels who have died or left, it leaves an ache he feels deeper than anything else. They're one, no matter how different and distanced they are. Molded by one Father, a kin of light and divine intent.

Aziraphale was the first angel since Castiel's rebellion and subsequent crimes who didn't know, who saw him without judgment. And there's shame and guilt in that, too, because Castiel should have told Aziraphale what kind of angel he was choosing to associate with.

The girls are far beyond his reach, if there is even a stardust trace of them as they were here left. Aziraphale, however, is an angel...

So over the course of hours, perhaps even a day or two, Castiel finds himself in prayer. Sitting in pews with folded hands, kneeling, in cross-legged meditation, supine before the altar with his head touching cool stone. If there is a way to pray, he employs it.

Aziraphale might not hear, but Castiel... tries.

The words would sound strange to anyone else. Enochian, the language of angels, like a soft ritual chant in his gravel deep voice. Aziraphale's name, in it, is percussive, protective, protected.

Oh, brother mine, won't you hear me.

And the words, perhaps, matter less than the intent.

It is possible, however, to spot the occasional frown - for an angel, Castiel can be remarkably impatient with tasks he knows will yield no result. Eventually, he just pinches the bridge of his knows and mutters, softly: ]

I'm beginning to understand what headaches are.

➣ Museum, March 2 [Closed to Riku]
{Rich in variety, heartfelt and open, wide like a life, unique, yet so alike}

[ They've been doing this for a while. At first, Castiel found himself drifting back to the museum every once in a while with a genuine interest in the artworks - humans create things angels cannot, and it holds a fascination for him - as well as an interest in the presences within. Still unsure on his feelings regarding Vanitas, Castiel has had few reservations seeking out Riku. Or rather... lingering until the inevitable offer of coffee is made by the young man, at which point Castiel has been happy to accept, partake in the drink and the conversation, and then depart.

He enjoys Riku's company. There's something about his quiet calm, steadfast nature and wry humour that resonates well with the angel.

Upgrading to sparring after a conversation about swords was a pleasant surprise. The wooden training swords, however, have long since been left behind.

They are well matched despite the differences in what they call swords - the angel blade short and flexible, the key blade a... well. A... key. Castiel can utilize his wings in moving around their sparring area without having to worry about losing Riku, and they are both skilled and careful enough not to let their blade clash against anything but the other blade.

Except...

Except Castiel's thoughts are elsewhere, and he's going through the motions more than paying full attention to the match at hand. He's not fully over the most recent, painful loss, and leaves an opening that Riku, naturally, uses - it's just that Castiel is usually more than fast enough to course correct such mistakes and block the strike.

Today, the keyblade slips past trench coat and suit jacket, rips through the white dress shirt and bites into the skin underneath. But more then leave a gash along Castiel's ribs, the wound spills light in addition to blood, and Castiel doubles over in shocked pain, angel blade clattering to the ground and one hand curling over the wound. ]

➣ Beacon, wildcard
{Hiding deep within, doors cry opening}

[ Castiel doesn't hide himself away completely, but if you know him, you might find him a little more sullen than usual, a little more silent, with a gaze that keeps going far away into the distance. It's not a heartache he carries with him, at least not in the usual sense. Loss is something he's always bottled up, after all.

He can be encountered all over Beacon on his patrols, often on roof tops and other elevation, standing guard like a statue. ]

Comments

[cained]

( it's bad enough dean has to suffer through dancing queen while retrieving the supplies he's, honestly, surprised rastus managed to fetch for them. it was a pretty tall order, but it looks like big bird pulled through after all. doesn't mean dean trusts him any better than he did before, but he is at least begrudgingly grateful to be well-armed now. the little surprise on the ferry, though? spirits fucking around pretending to be corpses? he's sure as hell not laughing about it. if sam hadn't been there to keep him in check, he might have tested a few rounds on one of them (or, hell, the fucking speakers, just to put out the damn hippie music).

so it's something of a relief to see cas' text. grounding, in a way. a fraction of anger seeps from his shoulders, but he's still thinking about the bodies, broken and decaying (he'd almost believed it, too, until he'd heard sam's voice, the weight of a hand on his shoulder) and the memories that unearths, buried deep beneath years of ceaseless other traumas. the mark was a long time ago, but he's never forgotten the people he hurt, the people he killed, the thing it turned him into (the thing he sometimes fears he's still capable of turning into). and, now, if michael got out? the entire damn town would look like the spirits playing dead, only without the pretend.

he can't let it bother him. they've got work to do.

once the supplies have been dropped off at the cabin, he finally responds. )

still kickin cas

( he almost leaves it at that, but there's ... something he's been putting off that they should probably talk about, just not over text. )

where are you?
don't think about flying, i'll come to you

[freetobe]

The docks. I just left the ferry.

[ Castiel sends the message and stands there, overlooking the dark waters and waiting.

It doesn't take him long to grow impatient, and he sends another message: ]

This is highly inefficient. Just pray to me and let me come to you.

[ He doesn't even want to know who or what Dean has been kicking, so long as he's alive or something akin to it in this place. ]

[cained]

i got legs don't i? i'll walk

( mostly because he needs to ... think or ... clear his head. not that he hasn't been thinking about this for days already, not wanting to bring it up out of, well, consideration, really. but now the opal feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket and he hates cas not knowing that he knows more than the fact that he does know now, that he's seen inside cas' head without his permission. if he could, he'd forget about it. but some things you just can't unsee.

still. he can compromise on this one. )

how bout i meet u halfway huh

[freetobe]

[ It's... better than nothing. The truth is, the corpses on the ferry have made Castiel restless. Unlike Dean, he doesn't walk or drive to clear his head. He flies - but Beacon has restricted his ability to do so freely. He can't just beat his wings and find a comfortable ledge on a mountain overlooking Tibet...

Sometimes, he feels more caged than he thinks anyone in this place would understand, perhaps with the exception of Aziraphale.

It's good to know another angel here.

Castiel walks until he can see Dean's lantern light. At that point, he beats his wings and lets them carry him the rest of the distance. ]

Hello, Dean.

[ And it's right in the way the crease between his brows softens, the way his jaw unclenches a little bit. After the ferry, it's good to see Dean. It's a relief. ]

[cained]

( it almost startles him, cas showing up like that, but only because his mind was elsewhere — not off guard, exactly, not with michael still fighting back constantly, just otherwise occupied. trying to work things out in his head without it coming out like a prayer.

the smile he offers is strained when cas finally does pull his attention away from the several messes he's been trying to sort out internally. )

Hiya, Cas. Uh — ( he clears his throat ) — listen, we should probably head somewhere a little more private. There's something I — need to talk to you about. It's important.

( and he's paranoid enough discussing this kind of sensitive information that he doesn't even want spirits eavesdropping. )

Church pt II

[worthallthis]

[Soldat has spent most of the intervening time since the ferry finished unloading searching, and are only now, close to the time they're supposed to be headed to sleep, stopping by the church. Clearly sleep is not happening today.

They stop just inside, hearing the voice, not understanding anything but the name (which in and of itself is weird; there's not many languages they don't speak). They almost slip back away until Castiel breaks his litany with something that sounds like he's talking to them. Or to someone, anyway.]

Yeah, I get that. Don't want to intrude, but....

[They point vaguely at the pew in the back. Won't interrupt further, promise.]

[freetobe]

[ Castiel glances up at Soldat, nodding slightly in acknowledgement. ]

You're not. It's what these places were built for, isn't it? Community, united by faith.

[ His lip twists a little on the world, turns his expression almost into a snarl. Castiel briefly shakes his head. ]

Or mourning.

[ They considered Crowley and Aziraphale theirs to guard. Castiel's gaze grows a little more intent. ]

It's a great loss.

[worthallthis]

Could still come back. It's only been a day.

[Why else would Soldat be here. They have no real belief system, even given the vague memories of Hanukkah, and find no real comfort in prayer. Their comfort is in people, noise, the sounds of life, not a quiet and usually empty building, pretty though it might be.]

And Crowley's not even on the bulletin yet. Though if he went off trying to avenge Aziraphale. Probably will be soon.

[Look, Soldat loves Crowley. But Crowley is a dumbass who needs watching over.]

[freetobe]

[ Castiel is not so sure. His senses may not be as sharp as they are back home, they may not stretch so far, but... He doesn't feel Aziraphale. Not the way he should, even here. Angels arent's subtle, not to others of their kind.

The place might surprise him...

Castiel doubts it. ]

Have you died yet, in your time here?

[worthallthis]

[But is an angel without a working lantern also something Castiel could sense? It's entirely possible Aziraphale is only "here" when his lantern is functioning. Can't take that tiny bit of hope away from Soldat yet. ... give them a few days, though. That'll be enough.]

Yes, once. During the siege in November. I think you were asleep. Had to use a grenade.

[At least it'd been fast. They don't recall seeing Castiel's name on the bulletin before, though.]

You haven't yet. Have you?

@cuttingedge; text response

[knifecollecting]

I'm still around.

Was it really everyone? But not us?

[She didn't go onto the ferry. She couldn't bring herself to.]

[freetobe]

Everyone as far as I could tell. I found all three of you.

[ It hurt. Dean more than anyone because of everything they've been through, because of everything that happened so very recently in Castiel's own past before coming here. But Sam and Jo there as well... that hurt, too.

They didn't know each other well, before, and Castiel hadn't grown more open to emotions and attachments. Hers was a loss he barely felt the way he later would feel the loss of Bobby. Angels aren't designed like that. He's had to learn.

He's learned. ]

I know it's irrational. I just had to make sure.

[knifecollecting]

[She honestly wouldn't blame him. There hadn't been a lot of time for them to get to know each other. Even the drive to Carthage had been quiet. Not a road trip of conversations at all.]

The Winchesters responded, right? They're okay?

[freetobe]

[ It's strange how death has bound them more closely together. He's initially mostly taken an interest in her because of their shares connections more than anything, but his heart has grown wide open compared to how closed off he used to keep it, and she's grown to matter to him in ways he had no chance to be open towards when she was still alive. ]

I've heard from Dean. Not from Sam, though given Dean's lack of tearing Beacon apart I find it safe to assume he's well.

[knifecollecting]

[She wouldn't blame him for it. It was a matter of time, and she didn't have enough of it.]

Yeah, if Dean is responding, it's probably a good sign.

[She's pretty sure of that. It seemed like that had gotten even more true while she was dead.]

[equinoctials]

[ Since Castiel brought Vanitas back to them, terrifically injured, Riku's been tirelessly preoccupied with his recovery. He's eating to make up for the refusal to sleep. The thing is, the museum's residents are a kind of team - which is why Riku has a chance to burn off steam.

Considering how worried he is about his friend's condition, there's quite a lot of pressure to vent off. Maintaining self control is ever on Riku's mind, knowing full well what can happen if he fails, so fortunately at first he doesn't blame himself or his worries for the slip in Castiel's defenses.

Riku's eyes widen at the impression of light that nevertheless fails to illuminate and immediately steps back. With his eyebrows furrowed in consternation, he points Braveheart towards the museum's vaulted ceiling. ]

Heal!

[ Over Castiel's head, the spell unfurls like verdant greenery, a glimmer of lightless petals blossom open, dripping its condensed curative magic down over the man's bent frame. ]

That never should have hit you, Cas. ...Are you okay?

[freetobe]

[ Castiel straightens with a small wince. Pain doesn't come to him often. He can be shot and stabbed, and will on most days only feel minor annoyance about the inconvenience it causes, unless his energies are very low. But something that wounds him, not just his vessel?

It hurts.

Still, when Riku casts his spell, Castiel has to look up. He's used to the way his own grace works, light knitting back together tissue, regrowing ruined organs. Once, he remade Dean Winchester's entire body. There's a fascination in him for the powers of other people in Beacon. He removes the hand from the wound and reaches out to cup it underneath a lightless petal drifting downwards. It sinks into him, like the rest of the spell, and Castiel feels the wound close like a relieved sigh. His expression eases, and he pulls coat and jacket aside to inspect the now smooth skin. The cut was shallow - he's still grateful not to have to expend his own grace to heal. ]

Vanitas would have enjoyed that.

[ Castiel looks back to Riku, but doesn't quite meet his eyes. ]

Thank you, for the... and my apologies. That was careless of me.

[ Uncharacteristically so, and still, with the way he rubs a hand across the back of his neck and looks so strangely embarrassed when he's usually so stoic, it's more than obvious that he has not, in fact, answered Riku's question. Castiel bends to pick up his own weapon. ]

It seems I didn't give your blade enough credit. Few things can cut me like that.

[equinoctials]

[ Riku hears a different meaning in "Vanitas would have enjoyed that", he thinks instead of how horrific his injuries are and how slow his healing is. He doesn't think about how cutting Castiel might have thrilled him. It's not that he forgets what he is, it's that his condition is always in his thoughts right now. ]

I keep trying... my magic isn't always reliable.

[ The difficulty in admitting this is demonstrated in the clench of his fist at his side and around his keyblade. Time after time, he's poured every ounce of his magical reserves into casting this magic to help Vanitas's wounds. That it seemed to so easily close that unearthly injury in Castiel's side seems like salt rubbed into his.

Shaking that thought off, he looks steadily at Castiel, eventually he rests a fist against his cocked hip, his Keyblade disappearing into a lightless shatter of translucent, crystalline shards that fade into nothing. ]

Let's stop this. Neither of our heads are in the game.

[ He thinks he can guess what's weighing on Castiel. Aziraphale gave off a similar sense of Light, it seems only natural that the two of them might be drawn to each other, and Aziraphale had many friends. His loss was felt by many. ]

I think I'd rather talk about you saving my friend. He'll pull through, and I have you to thank for that.

[freetobe]

[ Castiel watches Riku wrestle with the emotion, and leaves the misunderstanding uncorrected. There's a closeness between these two that he cannot begin to fathom. Perhaps best not mention the dynamic beteween himself and Vanitas. It's not a concern Riku needs to be burdened with.

Instead Castiel, lets his angel blade slip into the same space his wings occupy - there and always ready to be used, but no longer physical, no longer there for anyone else to see, grab, use. ]

My grace was also ill-equipped to be of much aid. I could restore most people to a significantly higher degree at less expense of my powers. I likely caused him additional agony even just fixing his lung.

[ Castiel... doesn't sound particularly upset about that. He loads guilt upon himself easily and readily. This, however, is not something he feels guilty for. ]

I appreciate the gratitude, but it's not necessary. You and yours have shown me kindness; I have no reason not to do the same.

[ And then, for a moment, he just looks at Riku. Lets his slightly too blue eyes rest on this boy with his vibrant eyes and silver hair. ]

How are you holding up under this?

[equinoctials]

That doesn't surprise me.

[ Riku doesn't immediately explain because he doesn't know how much Castiel already knows about him - Vanitas hasn't been particularly secretive about what he is, he'll readily answer that he's Darkness when asked. It's just that most people don't come from a universe like his, they don't understand how light and darkness are intrinsically linked to each other, to existence itself. ]

...T--

[ Riku had been about to say 'take a picture and stop staring', which by itself would probably sound rude if not for the embarrassed fidget that accompanies it just before he folds his arms across his chest.

But Castiel speaks, so he answers, grateful that he isn't just scrutinizing him with that unsettlingly blue stare. ]

Worried. I wish I knew what happened. [ It's more honest to say he wishes he had been able to protect him. ] How did he get those injuries?

[antiwhat]

[ Ellever had gone to the ferry, like many others, to assist with the unloading of supplies. It's something that makes her feel helpful. But upon seeing the bodies, something inside of her had dropped into her stomach. It isn't the usual kind of dread, either, that one would feel looking at the corpses of their acquaintances and friends.

She can't put a finger on it — she feels frozen on the inside, but it also hurts. Like the bite of a knife, directly into her heart.

The buzz on her tablet is a thankful distraction. ]

i'm alive. are you okay?

[freetobe]

[ It's a relief. Ellever has become a fixture in Castiel's existence here. It speaks to her importance to him that she's not just a room mate, but someone he feels the need to check in with upon such a gruesome discovery. ]

Yes. If you haven't been to the ferry yet, I would recommend not entering.

[antiwhat]

[ Her response comes a bit later this time, as she tries to organize her thoughts. They aren't being cooperative. In fact, it feels like trying to corral a bunch of playful kittens, but much less cute. Ellever takes a few steadying breaths before she, finally, tries to put together a coherent message. ]

i saw them.

i'm on shore now. i couldn't handle it.

[ It speaks to her comfort level with her angel friend that she's just... going to be blunt about it. ]

[freetobe]

Stay where you are. I'll come to you.

[ And he walks down the docks, scanning the shoreline until the lights allow him to see her, at which point he beats his wings to teleport to her side. Not unusual - within the confines of their cabin, he often flies even short distances just because he can, and perhaps a little bit because it tends to spook Sam, Dean and Ellever.

Perhaps.

For now, though, his brows are pulling together in concern. ]

Hello, Ellever.

[antiwhat]

[ She's still taking those steadying breaths when Castiel suddenly appears. Ellever's grown used to it enough that she no longer physically jumps, but it still raises the hair on the back of her neck for some reason she hasn't been able to pinpoint.

Though she doesn't smile at the sight of her roommate, her expression does lighten somewhat. ]

Hi.

[ Part of her is ashamed at how quickly she'd turned tail and briskly walked from the ferry. She's seen such things before. When they'd found the Wendigo, they'd found a field full of half-eaten corpses. ]

...did you find a corpse of yourself, too?