paradisa | 1st Hunt ✖ Action/Dictated

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dean winchester

1st Hunt ✖ Action/Dictated

[He wakes up to darkness.

Something in him registers the chill in the air, the crinkle of dead leaves tangled in his hair, trapped under his body.

His heart beats a-one, a-two, and then blood roars in his ears and he springs to his feet, all senses on red-alert as he reaches for a knife that isn't there. His knife's not there - shit, fuck, damn - and where the hell is he, anyway? Where's Sam? Where's Cas?

The closed journal half-buried in leaves next to him doesn't get noticed, at least not right away. His pulse that had been so calm mere moments before is now hammering at a jackrabbit's pace. They'd done it. Killed the big bad, saved the day - so why wasn't he back in Roman's lab? What, exactly, had gone wrong, and how was he gonna get home? And where the hell had his weapons gone?

Hyperaware of the weights he always carries on him, their absence is all too obvious. The gun tucked into the back of his pants, the blades in his boots and his sleeves - even the knife that had been in his hand, all gone.

Whatever trick Dick Roman played on them, Dean doesn't want to stick around to find out. Experience tells him that he's the punchline. Better to get out of here - wherever here is. The trees are thick around him, leaves gold, red, and brown at his feet. When he looks up he can see pale silver fingers of moonlight.

The prickle at the back of his neck cautions him to stay silent, but the urge to find his brother trumps that.]

Sam? [He waits a beat. No response.] Sam! [It doesn't take a genius to figure out that wherever Sam is, it's not somewhere nearby.

But he knows there's someone who can hear him no matter how far apart they are from each other. Dean clenches his eyes closed to pray. His words aren't snarky or tinged with ironic comments like Dean's prayers usually are, instead grimly sincere; the prayer of a desperate man.]

I dunno where you are, Cas, or where Sam is, but I need you, buddy.

[Again he waits. Eventually he cracks one eye open - there was no rustle of feathers - of wings. He looks around again, stunned. Cas didn't answer.

Something is very, very wrong.

Dean presses through the trees - it doesn't take very long until he reaches the fringe of the woods he was in. If he wasn't surprised before - well, now he's floored. Ahead of him, within maybe ten minutes' walking distance, is a giant castle.]

Not in Kansas anymore...

[He's out of options - suspicious as he is, seems like the castle is his only option for the moment. He shoves his hands into his pockets, not sure if he wants to risk it - he could always lay low out here; not very comfortable, but he's had worse.

And that's when his hand makes contact with the journal, which sure as hell wasn't in his pocket before. He's never even seen anything like this. It's clearly for him, though - it's got his name on the front.

He takes the chance to flip through it, accidentally smearing a bit of black Leviathan blood across the page when he turns it.

It doesn't take long for him to snap the journal closed.]

No way. No freakin' way.

[That just further turns him off to the idea of staying in the Castle. But Dean rarely takes his own discomfort into account, and it doesn't take long for him to reach the doors to the Lobby.]

---

[A little later, Dean's had time to discover the journal and take some time to really flip through it. He's settled in the Lobby, having checked the nearest entrances and exits: back outside or up staircases he's not sure he wants to go up yet. Not without a plan, at least. He still doesn't like what he's read. This castle seems more like a witch he'd hunt than anything, or the work of some douchebag angel.]

Look. I did my research, got the memo. Sentient castle, grants wishes, raises hell. Regular little carnival of fun you got goin' here.

But I'm not starrin' in another Shack in the Forest. Alright? [Snort.] I've got enough crap on my plate already.

Now. I know there's a bunch of ya. We can worry about how many later. But one of you musta seen my brother, Sam - ten feet tall, needs a haircut? Or my friend Cas. Castiel. Tax accountant in a trench coat, stares into your soul? If either of you are out there, you got some serious explainin' to do.

In the meantime, where can a guy get a little Jimmy Buffet around here? Far cry from paradise, but I could do with a beer and a burger.

((On his way into the Castle, in the Lobby, or simply over the journal - just specify.))

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[Castiel watches him carefully, watching his expression shift and the hesitation. He's always been better at reading Dean than anyone else, and he can tell his friend is uncertain, not that Castiel blames him. He had been more than a little nervous when he'd first arrived himself.

At the question, there's silence, and then Castiel shakes his head. He reaches into his pocket--slowly, so as not to startle Dean into shooting him or something--and pulls out the notepad he carries, scribbling a quick message before stepping forward and holding it out.]

It's a long story, Dean.

[At first Cas just stares at him, and that is the most normal their reunion has been so far. But he's not sure what to think at Cas's shaking head - no, he's not Cas? Nothing happened that he wants to talk about?

Dean doesn't have a weapon on him, so all he can do is tense up as Cas slowly reaches into his pocket, trying not to take a half-step back. Not for an angel blade, obviously - thankfully. His confused expression gets even more comical as he realizes that Cas grabbed a pen and paper, but he trusts that this really is his friend enough to read the offered message.

He scans it once, then looks back up to meet Cas's eyes, torn between demanding real answers now, and giving Cas some time and just being grateful that his friend is here. He ends up blurting out pieces of both.]

I bet it is - you go from havin' a screw loose to helpin' me kill Dick, and now you can't even talk to me? I'm glad to see you, man, but - what happened? I prayed to you, no answer. You got somethin' else goin' on here?

[Castiel's head tilts to the side and his eyes narrow slightly, staring back at his friend as he speaks, a little confused but figuring out what must be going on quickly enough. There had been this issue with he and Meg--the difference in time--and while he isn't sure that's the problem, it's his best guess at the moment.

Having to respond to that much when he couldn't speak is a bit of a frustrating prospect, but Castiel begins to write quickly and methodically responds to each subject. He's gotten very fast at writing, at this point.]

Is killing Dick Roman the last you remember? It has been two years since then, for me. People arrive here from different points in time. I lost my voice upon coming here, as this dimension takes something from each person it brings in.

[Hopefully that covers everything well enough, except for the entire being human thing. He isn't getting into that quite yet.]

[A tilt of Cas's head and squinty eyes - Dean's seen that expression often enough, though usually not levelled at him. Something's confusing the angel.

He speaks as he reads, rather than reading everything and then responding.]

Yeah, s'the last thing that happened.

Two years? Different points in time? What, this place a Time Prince now? We go through a black hole to get here?

[He has to read the last part twice, then pauses and reads it again slowly. He meets Cas's eyes again.]

Your voice? Fuck, no wonder you're writing...

[Cas isn't joking, hasn't got that mischevous gleam in his eye and isn't hiding a smirk. Dean shakes his head.]

You gotta be freakin' kiddin' me, man, it kidnaps you and it mugs you?

Then...What the hell'd it take from me?

[Castiel, of course, can't really respond in the same way, so he waits for Dean to finish and stares seriously back at his friend when he makes eye contact. He gives a small motion of a shoulder that might be a shrug, dropping his gaze so he can write out another reply.]

There are many reasons why timelines might be inconsistent. The details are not of import.

[He pauses a moment, before writing once more.]

I don't know what was taken from you. It could be far more minor than it was for me.

[And hopefully it is.]

[The stare and half-shrug seem like hopeless gestures, like Cas's given up. Dean doesn't like the sound of that, what implications it has. But he lets the 'different points in time' thing drop for now. More important is that the Castle is a lot stronger than he realized if it can not only kidnap an angel, but steal from its very being. ]

Guess I'll find out what it is eventually. Seriously, if it can take your voice, could be anythin'.

[He already knows the answer to the question he asks next, but Dean has to ask anyway.]

You can't just... mojo it back? What's it want with your voice, anyway? If it can kidnap people, pretty sure it can break a few windows.

[A corner of his mouth lifts at his own joke.]

[Castiel, of course, remains silent; he just continues to stare at Dean, but the expression is less intense. Instead, after a moment his eyes flicker a little, and he looks down to write another note... But he hesitates, as if trying to figure out how exactly he wants to word his next message. Eventually, he writes quickly, and it doesn't at all include what he had been considering telling Dean or an answer to his first question.]

I don't know what it wants. It might not matter specifically what it takes, but rather that it takes something.

[Power is power to some types of beings, and for some types of magic; it doesn't matter what form it comes in.]

[Dean's face falls a little when he doesn't even manage a crack in Cas's chassis.

Normally he'd not even think about Cas avoiding his first question. But in his recent experience with Cas - both him lying about working with Crowley, and in his avoiding any sort of conflict, verbal or otherwise - he's gotten better at spotting when the angel doesn't want to tell him something. He'll wait and see if Cas brings it up first, though.]

So it gets stronger with every little piece it takes from people? Almost sounds like a Soulsucker.

[Castiel gives another small shrug and a nod, a clear gesture of 'it could be,' and then shifts on his feet for a moment. There is absolutely no point in not telling Dean what happened, and it's not like he won't find out; Castiel thinks he could probably hide being human for about a day at most before it became obvious, and not only that, but he doesn't have any reason to keep it secret.

And more, he doesn't want to.

So after a moment, he drifts over to sit where Dean had been before, looking up and waiting to see if Dean will sit next to him. Either way, he soon turns his attention to his notepad again and writes two messages, one below the other.]

Something more happened.

I'm human.

[Dean watches Cas almost resignedly until his friend sits down, not quite sure of what will transpire. He meets Dean's eyes again and it hurts Dean to see how sad and hopeless Cas looks. It's clear that whatever Cas has to say, it's Bad News.

Dean settles down next to Cas, rubbing his palms on his jeans before propping his elbows on his thighs to lean over and read what Cas has begun to write.

He doesn't double-take, or reread the words. Once is enough; after that he stares at the page blankly.

Cas. Human - he Fell. No wonder he can't try and mojo anything back - his Grace has run dry.

Dean's mind flicks to an alternate series of events - of 2014, of another Fallen Cas who'd been little more than a bone-dry body trying to surround itself with luxury. Who still looked to Dean for orders, but didn't care whether he lived or died - probably welcomed the latter, if he really thought about it.

Dean made a promise to himself that he'd never allow that to happen. Apparently he was too late.

After a long silence, Dean's words are uncharacteristically soft.]

Who did this to you, man?

[At first, he doesn't watch Dean's reaction, not wanting to see anger or pity or disapproval or really any other emotion--good or bad--that the hunter might give. But eventually he does look over, drawing himself up a little and lifting his chin; it's a silent signal that whatever Dean is thinking, this isn't so bad.

Castiel had been devastated at first, and it had taken some time to figure out eating and sleeping and everything else, but he's had some time to adjust. Adaptability is one of Castiel's greatest strengths, and though he doesn't like his situation he's learning to live with it. For now, he's okay.

He shakes his head at the question, not certain if he appreciates the gentleness Dean is showing him or dislikes it--he doesn't need to be treated delicately--but he doesn't show either reaction and he writes an answer.]

An angel. Not one you know.

[Castiel might be partly responsible for what happened to the angels, because he did the first two trials, but losing his own grace was not his fault. He never wanted what Metatron did to him, and he will lay the blame directly and only on the other angel as he deserves.]

[Sometimes he forgets that his friend is more than just Cas - that he's a soldier, that he's got his pride, that he's as old as Creation. When Cas's posture changes it's a hint that Cas has seen a lot in his many years, and that he's handling it. Cas might break a little from time to time, but he doesn't shatter. This Cas is much more well-adjusted than the one he'd left behind when he arrived here.

But Dean's sensitivity is really only the calm before the storm - especially once Cas tells him that a fellow angel did this to him. His fists and jaw clench. Fuckin' angels.]

No offense or anything, but your family is seriously a giant bag of dicks.

[Castiel raises and drops a shoulder in a noncommittal agreement of Dean's words; it isn't true about all his siblings by any means, but for the most part, he's feeling the same. His opinion on his family changes often enough, and at the moment he's torn between guilt and fondness and bitterness when it comes to other angels.

He scribbles out another note, off the subject.]

Have you found your room yet?

[Dean's not done with the subject, but it's clear that, at least for the time being, Cas is; so he allows his friend to steer the conversation to calmer waters. At the moment he's far too used to Cas simply disappearing when he's uncomfortable, and although he can't simply zap away anymore, he can still run.]

I got a room?

[He'd thought he'd just have to squat in one like he tends to do when there isn't enough money for a motel and he doesn't wanna sleep in his car. It's a little suspicious, given that it's a kidnapping castle, but Dean hasn't had his own room in years.]

[Castiel does find being human to be frustrating in that it's a lot harder to get out of conversation, though the fact that he can't talk helps counter that. It's easy enough to refuse to answer or talk about something when he physically can't.

But he appreciates Dean allowing the change of subject, nodding.]

We all do. You can customize it as you desire, and the Castle will provide anything you wish for.

Damn. I guess there're perks to livin' in a magic Castle, then. [The wheels are already turning as to what he's gonna put in it.]

What about yours?

Edited 2013-11-02 20:19 (UTC)

The ceilings are very high.

[He'd felt claustrophobic, trapped in this world, somewhat limited to the Castle and in a body that isn't his that so often feels too small. The Castle had apparently reacted to that, though instead of expanding the room it had vaulted his ceilings to create the illusion of being under open sky, instead of indoors. The room itself isn't huge but it's not tiny either, decorated mostly in soft blues and whites, with a bed and a desk and shelves of books to look through. He thinks he likes it, for the most part.]

I have never had a room before.

As high as our Chrysler building?

Me neither, man. Nice to have a space for yourself, though. Good for you. [He claps his friend on the shoulder.]

Not that high.

[He rocks a little at the gesture, more than a little moveable now in contrast to before. There are so many tiny things that are different now, in addition to the more obvious ones.]

My room is on the seventh floor.

[It's the little things that seem to stand out the most. Cas wasn't bigger than Dean, not really more muscular, either - but angel powers didn't work that way. He'd always been as easy to move as a ton of bricks. To have him yield to a simple clap on the shoulder is strange, to say the least.]

High ceilings and a good view.

[He whistles appreciatively.]

Guess we got a lot of huntin' to do if there are more'n seven floors that my room could be on.

Yes. Would you like assistance?

[Because he's happy to follow Dean around and help. It's something familiar, that hasn't changed.]

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