is nothing to drink in that house, I need something to pass the time
and being interrogated for days by my host, who, I might add, still
refuses to believe me, left me with a particular desire to quench.
That of getting myself roaring drunk. No one knows that I'm here and
from what Jacob has told me, no other Demons have been hanging
around. I feel confident enough to wander out of the house and walk
the short distance to Jacobs bar, which thankfully is still open for
I don't really pay attention to my surroundings, I stop a few times and close my eyes just taking in the chill of the night, I'm out here without adequate protection from the cold and snow, but there is always a fire under my skin and this weather does not phase me in the slightest.
I 'feel' him before I see him, though I must have mistaken that presence for someone else as an Angel blade slips into my right hand and I look around ready to defend myself against some wayward, holier-than-thou Angel set on rooting out all the Demons. At least, this is the scenario I have in my head. I was expecting Demons, really. I seriously don't need this right now and am almost tempted to tiptoe back to the house and hope it hasn't noticed me. What I notice, though, is someone, hunched over against the outside wall of the bar. A victim, a drunk..too far yet to make out his face. Blade in hand I steadily grow closer.
The cold, crisp night air did nothing to help him sober up. But, he had nowhere else to be, nowhere else he even particularly wanted to be. Not even the lure of the silence of the woods around the cabin was enough to stir him to move from where he leaned against the outside of the bar, hidden in shadow. There was just something nice about being able to just lean here, not worrying about much of anything. He hadn't truly gotten intoxicated since the apocalypse had been an issue, and he found it to be much more pleasant a feeling when there wasn't that undercurrent of hopelessness and helplessness marring the experience.
With a sigh that sent a plume of white mist up around his face, he slid down until he was crouched, with his back braced against the wall. He was still feeling a little unsteady on his feet, and this was just so much more comfortable. Briefly, he considered rousing himself to go back into the bar to gather up his coats, but the thought drifted from his mind almost as soon as it had appeared. Instead, a smile curved his lips with the memory of wrapping Donna in his wings, mantling her as he'd not done with a human in a couple thousand years.
His head slowly rose and he looked around into the dark, squinting, head tilting. Someone was out there. He could feel the faint oily-black-smoke feel of a demon nearby, and growing closer. He'd felt it as a constant, distant thing ever since arriving at the bar earlier in the evening, but he'd dismissed it until now. This was growing stronger, closer, but...there was something <i>off</i> about it now. There was something almost...honey-sweet about it, twined in with the oily feel of the sensation. Something...familiar.
With a grunt, he realized his blade was still inside, along with his coats. He could call it to him despite that, but he was wary now of using any hint of grace unless he needed to. Use of his power could alert the demon to his presence, if it didn't already know he was here. And, even if it did, if this demon was familiar to him – though he just could not grasp in the fuzziness of intoxication who it could be, what demon that he knew, except that he was certain now it wasn't Jacob, and it wasn't Crowley – then he might be familiar to the demon as well. He didn't want to do anything that might give away who he was, the one advantage, the one bit of surprise he had to use.
moved and I stop, perhaps my victim and the Angel are one in t he
same, lying in wait, no doubt did it sense me already, but even now I
can smell the strong scent of alcohol emanating from it's direction.
Is it drunk? That would explain it's current slouching condition. I
didn't think an Angel could get drunk without significant effort on
it's part and what Angel would defile itself so completely by
attempting this feat in the first place. Out here, alone and
seemingly vulnerable. Though I wouldn't put it past the asshats to
use this tactic as a trap. I grip the blade tightly and it glitters
in the harsh light that illuminates most of the parking lot when I
step into view.
"Look at you, slumming with the rest of the rats." That easy smirk crosses my lips, too mouthy for my own good, too mouthy for anyone's good. But I was never good at being good anyway. Still not able to view his face or much of his features. I move slowly, the constant motion to help me remain focused. I could have turned back, but once I felt it, I knew it felt me in return, there would be no running away this time, hopefully Jacob isn't too far away, I'm not going down easy or at all if I can help it, but neither am I wanting some Angel reporting my whereabouts to anyone else right now.
There, a gleam of light on the silvery-metal of an angel blade caught his eye, just before a figure stepped into the light of the parking lot. The sight, instead of having him ready to defend himself, left him stunned. And then...that voice, honey-sweet just like the honey-sweet sensation threaded through that oily smoke feel of the demonic essence curled through her vessel. His heart started to race, fear and confusion overwhelming his muddled mind. It couldn't be her. She was dead. She was...gone, and had been for years.
Castiel scrubbed a hand over his face, then looked again to see if she was still there. And she was, approaching him slowly, that familiar strut she used when she was on guard and ready to fight for her life, or....he'd sometimes felt, that she used just to fluster and toy with him. Every movement she made was bittersweet in it's familiarity.
He remained still as she approached, fighting against the effects of the intoxication to understand how he could be seeing something that....simply couldn't exist. But, finally, some deeply rooted instinct took hold and Cas staggered to his feet, still leaning against the wall unsteadily. A thought, a whisper of his grace, and a flick of his wrist...and he was gripping his own blade tightly, though he let it remain at his side. He was ready to use it if he had to, but he made no threatening moves with it.
“Meg,” he said despite knowing this thing, whatever it really was, couldn't be her....couldn't possibly be her. His his voice was low, and rougher than usual, grief and confusion suffusing it.
I knew it would be armed, not so helpless, not so vulnerable. Ready
to strike me down despite it apparently having some familiarity with
my face. That alone makes my pulse race, who does it belong to? Seems
despite it all, each faction of Angels is more crazy than the other.
We are not so different in the end, They and Us. Madness is just more
readily easy to grasp when you have nothing else to hold onto, what
else could you be when everything else is stripped away. I lick my
lips slowly as I continue my approach.
"It knows my name, that's..unfortunate." I croon.
Meters away now and I see it there for the first time, frumpy but with a hard determination in it's blue eyes like the worst of the kicked dogs I have ever seen, kicked but still standing, still ready to take on Hell and Heaven and everything in between. Because what else is there when giving up will never be an option. So familiar, that look, I see it in the mirror when I happen to look, not that I look very often. Still standing, still alive and still ready to raise Hell. I sneer delicately, weapon at the ready.
"Do I know you, Clarence?"
<i>'It'</i> she called him. Somehow, that caused more pain to flare in his chest than even the sight of her did. Cas scowled, reminding himself that this demon could not possibly be Meg, no matter how much she felt like her...moved like her...and, of course, looks meant nothing, just as they meant nothing in relation to his own true form. Vessels could change, and even more readily for demons than for angels. But no matter how much he repeated these simple facts in the silences of his own mind, the pain didn't fade.
Even the sneer, an expression that spoke so eloquently to him of loathing of self as much as of the intended target of the expression, was achingly familiar. Every fiber of his being screamed at him that this was Meg, even as every tattered and fraying scrap of logic he could gather to himself desperately told him it was an impossibility.
<i>'Do I know you, Clarence?'</i> The words echoed in his mind, even as his blade clattered to the concrete at his feet, dropped from nerveless fingers without his awareness. The memories he'd allowed himself to get lost in all-too-recently whirled in his mind, the intoxication making them nearly impossible to push away. They were too fresh, as they always were when he'd forced himself to relive them.
He wondered, briefly, if this feeling – as though the world had dropped out beneath him – was how Dean had felt when he'd found Cas all those years ago, living as Emmanuel, with no memory of anything before walking out of a river, and certainly no memory of a man with green eyes who had once been the center of his world.
The demon moving ever closer to him couldn't be Meg, not his Meg. She couldn't be. But, with that single word – <i>'Clarence'</i> – he couldn't believe anything but that this was Meg. She'd had so many clever, cute, even mildly insulting nicknames for him, but her use of the one she'd always come back to, time and again, sealed it for him. This demon didn't just look like Meg, move like Meg, sound like Meg, <i>feel</i> like Meg...this demon <i>was</i> Meg. The thought that perhaps he'd somehow gone insane again, reality twisting and warping, occurred to him then.
He pushed himself away from the wall, staggering slightly. One hand, the very one that had held his blade only moments ago, reached out toward her helplessly as he took one step toward her, then another, before stopping, unsure. “Cas,” he whispered, voice strained and desperate. “Castiel. I'm...Castiel. You know me Meg. You... You were my caretaker.” He paused, searching his mind desperately for something to say, words to express what she was to him. “I was...broken. You were the one who stayed when everyone else left me.”
He took another hesitant step toward her, shaking now, his outstretched hand trembling, unsure if he could even remain standing much longer. But he couldn't take his eyes from her, he couldn't seem to stop himself from trying to reach out for her, to find something to make her recognize him...
see it flinch with almost every word I speak, my taunts like
beautiful whip marks on its skin and I smell the stink of desperation
and alcohol from where I stand. I glance around quickly, assuring
myself that we are indeed alone, was it indulging at the bar? Is it
something that Jacob knows, surely neither would have been, civil to
each other. That smirking bastard could have warned me, I'll skin him
My attention returns to the Angel again, it apparently has a name too, but then all things do, Bullet, Blade, Castiel. Castiel...It virtually cries its name at me again in delightful agony. How completely broken it seems all of a sudden, that glimmer of recognition in its eyes and the utterly gut wrenching gaze speaks volumes and I suddenly wish I could read it all. Bask in it, feed on it. My grin becomes predatory.
"Every syllable you speak, thrills me, but it rings hollow inside me like an empty room, all echos and dust." I twirl the blade in my hand, once, twice before holding it out before me as it starts to approach again.
Her words, harsh and cold, stop him in his tracks, even making him take an unsteady step back, more surely than the threat the blade she wielded represented. She was Meg, he was still certain of this. But she was a Meg who didn't know him. Who didn't remember a ring of holy fire and his escape, who didn't remember a stolen kiss and a stolen blade, who didn't remember watching over him when he was more vulnerable than at any other point in his long, long life.
She was Meg...but she was a threat as surely as any other demon. No. She was worse, because he wasn't sure he could bring himself to snuff out her life, even at the risk of losing his own.
“What happened to you? We... I thought you were dead, I thought Crowley had killed you,” he couldn't help but ask, voice rough and full of pain. “Meg...what happened to you?” As he spoke, he'd stepped back further, until his back was once again against the wall, and his blade was at his feet. He made no move to reach down for it, however. Not yet. Muddled thoughts raced, seeking a way out, seeking...something, anything to make her understand.
like watching a train wreck and I simply can't help wanting to back
it up and see it all again, over and over until It is nothing but a
wounded mess at my feet. I step closer to him, out of arms reach,
mind you, but close enough that I lower my blade, his is weaponless
and I surmise, too shaken up to act against me at this point. It has
the most delicious light inside, a glorious heat, passion, desire,
under the pain, that stuff that keep it on its feet no matter what.
Hidden in plain sight and I find myself wanting to reach into it and
siphon some off into myself. Consume him.
The mention of Crowley's name has me tense, a smarmy bastard I never wanted to see again though that could potentially change, given the right..tools. "I did die, Clarence. Many, many times." I lower the blade completely and step closer now until we are virtually toe to toe. "The King of Hell bores easily."
She moved closer still, and the desire – almost need – to step toward her and enfold her in his arms warred with the cold knowledge that she might well kill him if he were to do so. Still, hope flared up when her blade lowered, but he made no move of any kind, except to slump further against the wall behind him.
Even now, in his inebriated state – or perhaps because of it, he couldn't be sure at this point – she was beautiful to him. Of course, her true face, the face of the demon within, was there to be seen. But that didn't detract from the beauty he saw in her, as it had never really been the vessel that had fascinated him, attracted him.
No, her very essence was what he found beautiful. She was the first demon he'd ever seen that seemed to harbour within her the potential for something more, something different, something that his own mind, his very grace had translated as <i>honey-sweet</i>, marking her forever to him as different from all the rest of her kind. After all, it hadn't been mere chance that his mind, in his insanity, had latched onto bees – and their honey – as a focal point.
He winced at her words, yet made no move to escape from her as she stepped closer, so close it would take the barest effort to reach out and touch her. In fact, his hand twitched at his side with the urge to do just that. “Meg...oh, Meg, I'm sorry,” came his broken whisper. He could resist no longer. Lost, in pain, intoxicated and broken, he reached his hand up to cup her cheek. “I should have been there to save you,” he whispered again, leaning forward until his lips brushed hers as he spoke.
- - - - - - -
taken aback by his blatant grief, for me or at least, for the person
he thinks I am. It resonates hard inside me, deep in the shadows of
what I used to be, so very long ago. My desire to torment him further
wanes and is replaced with annoyance, I thought he was playing with
me, but now..What is he talking about, I don't know him, how could he
know me, feel for me as deeply as is quite evident on his face. I
want to deny that anything is wrong with me, but I have these gaps,
great gaping holes that I cannot account for after spending so long
in Hell, what need have I of memories and emotion when my path is
clear, I never questioned it. Since when has it been replaced with
I tense when he touches me and lays his lips on mine, so unfocussed for a moment that I never noticed him move. Big mistake, Meg, he could have ended you then and there. The kiss is glorious and sweet and gentle and so full of something I never thought I would ever behold again. Pure love, offered so freely and completely, its so bright it makes my eyes water and my darkness rebels against it with violent rage. My first instinct is to shove him back hard, the Angel Blade coming down with a cry of rage at such a violation, but my arm stop in mid air as a hand holds me back from ending this pathetic excuse for an Angel. Jacob stands between us now looking calm and undisturbed. I wonder for just how long he's been watching us. What does he care if I kill this bastard who dared to kiss me?
Jacob shakes his head slowly and forcefully removes the Angel Blade from my hand, even going as far as picking up the one Castiel dropped before turning a long suffering gaze back to both of us. "You don't get these back until you can act civilized-like." With that he turns around and walks back to his bar and I watch him not even able to utter a word of protest. I glance back at Castiel wondering who this Angel actually is that Jacob of all people would defend him from me. "I don't understand what the Hell is going on here but you better offer up some really good explanations..why did you kiss me?" I cross my arms, a barrier of sorts against any of that disturbing force directed towards me.
Her lips tasted of the same honey-sweetness he feels in her very essence, the same honey-sweetness in her voice, and his eyes slip closed as he savours the taste and feel of her. His very grace sings within him, humming with the contact, with the emotions he'd long left buried that now rushed to the fore. She'd meant so much to him, the one who'd stayed behind when he'd been otherwise abandoned to madness, but so much had happened, and he'd never been free to really <i>feel</i> any of it. Now, though...his life was his own, and his choices were his own, and he didn't want to add to the regret of missed chances anymore.
He was suddenly, violently slammed back against the wall. Gasping, his eyes flew open to see the gleam of light on her blade, raised, poised to strike him down, her cry of rage ringing in his ears. He found that even now, with his life at risk, he couldn't make a move to stop her. After what he'd left her to suffer, even if unknowingly, some part of him felt he might even deserve it.
But, he was spared, anyway. A hand held her arm, keeping her from completing the stroke that could have so easily ended his life in a burst of exploding grace. His eyes flicked to the side, and met Jacob's eyes. Stunned, genuinely shocked that the demon would actually move to save his life despite their little working arrangement, he could only stare helplessly as Jacob collected their blades, telling them to...behave, as though this were nothing more than a spat between petulant children.
Jacob strolls off, and if Castiel had been thinking a little more clearly, he might have even thought there was a hint of smugness about the demon. But, his entire focus was taken up once more by honey-sweet words, demanding an explanation from him, this time. He let himself lean heavily against the wall once more, shaking his head slowly. “Because I've wanted to do that again for so very long,” he murmured, his eyes flicking over her form, taking in everything.
It occurred to him then that Jacob must have known she was here, and, he suspected, must have known they had history...even if she no longer did. But he pushed that thought away to deal with later. The fuzziness of intoxication made it too hard to concentrate on more than one thing at a time, and all of his attention was for...<i>her</i>.
Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair, then rubbed at the back of his neck for a moment before letting his hand drop back own to his side. Though, this time he noted with a subdued amusement how his hand twitched with the desire to reach out for her again, even though the last time had nearly ended in his death. “You know me, Meg. Or...you used to, once, before,” his voice shifted here to something closer to a growl, his hand fisting up at his side, “Crowley got his hands on you again.”
He took a deep breath, working to calm himself. The last thing he wanted was to let Crowley come between them now, even if it was only thoughts of him. “I thought, once, you might even care for me. I... I cared for you. I...still do.” It was as close as he could come to expressing the depths of his feelings for her, at least in words. But where words failed him, his grace stepped in to fill the gaps, reaching out to her without his thought or direction, seeking something within her that he wanted, perhaps even needed.
take a few steps away from him as if I were standing too close to a
blazing sun, the way he looks at me, this feeling I really don't need
or want or..Hell, could likely never reciprocate, not that I want to.
He claims that I know him or knew him, fine, it's obvious, no one
could have such a total meltdown without having some kind of history
to back it up. Fine. Whatever, I don,t know him now, so what the
unholy fuck does that mean?
"But I don't know you..now. I don't understand, this doesn't make any lick of sense you are a flipping Angel and I am a delicious Demon. From my understanding, Angels do NOT kiss Demons, I thought I was going to implode!." Or at least get struck down by holy fire or something with bright explosions. Well, there was a bit of an explosion and if I dared, I might blush a bit, remembering how deeply soul consuming his mouth was. Not that I have a soul.
I do not comment on the King. That is a subject that does not matter right now, I just want to get to the bottom of this mystery. "I have no memory of you, of much..I.." I frown, hating to have to explain myself like some naughty child. "I don't know you." There, deal with it Angelboy. "Your meltdown was pointless. Maybe you're still drunk."
She backed away from him, and it was all he could do to not pursue her, to crowd close to her and taste her lips again, to wrap his arms around her. He shook his head, trying to shake away the thoughts as well. “I wouldn't hurt you,” he stated simply, looking at her with a steady gaze, vividly blue eyes drinking her in. There was no question this was really Meg, not now, but on some level he was still having trouble believing that this wasn't some sort of madness-induced dream. Except, of course, that angels didn't sleep, and, so, they didn't really dream.
“Yeah,” he agreed easily, “I'm still intoxicated on whatever it was Jacob gave me. Still...drunk.” He shrugged, the movement still a bit awkward after all the years of playing at human for the comfort of the humans around him. “You don't remember me. I....remember you, vividly. I've never forgotten you.” He paused, and, with a grunt, shoved himself away from the wall to stand unsteadily. “I don't think I ever will, not if I live for another several eons.” Granted, the way his life had gone ever since meeting the Winchesters, ever since he chose humanity over Heaven, he considered such a long life highly unlikely. But the words were no less true for that belief.
He took a slow step toward her, watching for her reaction, and then another, and another, until he was looking down at her, barely inches away. “My meltdown, if you want to call it that, might be pointless, but it's real, Meg,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion. “This is real.” He might almost be trying to convince himself of this as much as her, maybe even more. “I care.” He hesitated, an old quote he'd seen somewhere – probably in Metatron's 'download' he'd find if he cared enough to examine it that closely – rose to the surface of his mind through the haze of alcohol, and his lips quirked. “Chaos is an angel who fell in love with a demon,” he recited in a murmur, his eyes searching hers, his voice gentle with a mix of pain and amusement. “I want...to kiss you again. But I don't want to distress you any more, little bee.” He huffed out a sigh, the old, oh-so-private little nickname bringing up fresh grief despite that she stood before him now.
should put him out of his misery. It's my first thought. I would be
doing him and the world a favor, Angels are insane and this one..well
he didn't just take the cake, he damned well burned down the bakery.
I should walk away, just turn around and put this behind me and never
think about it again, but his eyes are stuck in the forefront of my
brain, all that dazzling azure blue full of unshed tears and love and
hope smacking me in the face with every puppydog look. Makes me sick.
I stand no chance against his overwhelming power. Is this something all Angels are capable of? Turn on the devastating vulnerability like a light bulb, crush your resolve to dust and just lay waste to all that hate and rage and fear. That's what Demons are made of, with a dash of lust and a pinch of greed. What can I do when some deep seated thread of need rises up from that dark place inside me and I look away so that he won't see it in my eyes.
I don't move away when he comes closer, so close that I feel him there, not hot, not cold, just a weight hovering over my skin, the press of the air and I shiver, suddenly cold. "How can it be real..it's impossible, you can't feel this, you just can't how broken are you, how hard did you fall to be so...human." Not meeting his eyes, also wondering if this is all real, surely an Angel would strike me down for calling it human. I meet his eyes again, before drifting down to his mouth and I find that maybe I'd like that a little too much if I let him. It would be a terrible mistake to let him in, I am a soldier of Hell..this is..twisted, even for me. "Little..bee?" Of all the names I have ever been called, none have ever seemed so sweet and I glare a bit, hiding my embarrassment behind a mask of disdain.
In a sudden flash of insight, he saw through her masks. Somewhere inside of her, buried where even she couldn't quite see it, was the same being he'd come to care so deeply for in his madness. Determination rose, a desire – a <i>need</i> - to find a way to make her see again, to remember. Somehow, there must be a way to restore what had been taken from her.
Unable to help himself, he laughed. “I feel a lot of things angels were told we were never supposed to feel. I think...I probably always did. Caring for a demon isn't even the worst of my sins.” He paused, head tilting to the side a bit as he considered. “It's...funny, that you think I'm broken. I suppose I am.” He sighed, hand twitching again at his side. “You've seen me more broken, even if you no longer remember. You were my caretaker, my guardian, the one who didn't abandon me.” His voice broke, and he closed his eyes against that particular secret pain, a pain he'd only ever shared with her.
When her honey-sweet voice interrupted his thoughts and drew his attention back to her and away from the precipice he'd been balancing precariously on, his eyes opened to look down at her once again. “Yes. You called me so many names, I had to find one for you. It seemed...important at the time. I wanted something to show you that you weren't just some demon to me. You were...are...special. Different.” Slowly, he smiled, a bittersweet curving of his lips. “You called me Clarence, and I called you little bee. Because you felt like honey.”
His head tilted down, but stopped mere inches from her face, stopped before he actually did what he ached to do, before his lips actually brushed hers. Instead, he reached up to place his index finger on her chin, tilting it until he could look into her eyes. “Nothing's changed,” he murmured, his voice low, rough with a passion he hadn't felt in years, but a passion gentled with caring, with...love. “You still feel like honey, it's there in your very essence. You might not remember, but it's still there...”
certainly feels impossible to deny anything he claims when he speaks
to me like that. I have never felt this..cherished, loved, even. Not
in the life I recall and certainly not in the life I can't recall,
the one from before, the one that made it seem as if being what I am
now was preferable to what I was. "Why can't I remember? Why
would I choose to forget this..you?" It's not like I can walk up
to the King and demand answers. But sentimentality asside, what am I
supposed to do with this information?
"I don't..feel..I..it's a bit much, it's warring in my guts like a cat and a dog..too much." I make a face not knowing how to feel, not just what to feel. I have been nothing but rage for as long as I can remember, a soldier in a war. This goes against everything but feels so..warm.
He forces me to look into his eyes and I am caught again, completely open and vulnerable and everything I am so fucking NOT. This other me must have been weak or insane or Hell, aren't we all insane? I want to beat my head against the brick wall, I'm stuck in the unfamiliar and I just want to scream and maybe cry, I don't know.
"I don't know..I DON'T KNOW!" I just want. Everything else can sort itself out tomorrow, right? Is that too much to ask right now cus I'm drained and fucking out of my mind right now and the only thing I want..My eyes go from his eyes to his mouth. I want to die because this is all manner of fucked up, even for me. "Just shut up and kiss me, Clarence.."
He shook his head, sadly. “I don't know why you chose to forget. It...might not have been your choice.” He could – and did – empathize with her on that. He, too, had forgotten his past and even his very self, and to this day he had no idea if it was some subconscious choice he had made to escape what he had done, everything he had experienced, or if it had been nothing but a result of the conditions of that particular death and resurrection.
Her struggle with feelings that she wasn't prepared to handle, wasn't even sure she was capable of feeling...well, that, too was achingly familiar. Unlike her rage, he remembered cold obedience, and colder wrath when necessary. But, the experience of feeling things one had never been capable of, or at least that one had been made to believe were impossible... Yes, that was too familiar.
He remained calm during her outburst, some instinct that really wasn't all that angelic telling him she needed this, needed to rage against what was happening to her, needed, even, to rage against him for simply making her <i>feel</i>. But he wasn't about to apologize for it, either. He'd gone through this pain once, and come out the other side better for it, even if his brethren wouldn't agree. He believed it could be the same for her. He <i>hoped</i> it could be the same for her.
His lips quirked at the name, and he obliged her demand willingly, even eagerly. His head tilted, closing the remaining distance between them. At first, he only brushed her lips gently with his own. But, that quickly wasn't enough. He pressed closer to her, arms wrapping around her small form, dragging her yet closer, lips crashing together as passion rose up within him, passion denied for so long.
- - - - - - -
can I say about that kiss. He devours me more completely than the
deepest pits of Hell. I am consumed so completely I lose myself in
him, I am we, a part of and whole. I kiss him back with a passionate
hunger, the rage has drained away and I feel for the first time in
such a very long time. I don't want it to end and I show him by
pressing myself more to him from toes to nose.
Can a Demon feel love? I can understand how a souless Angel could learn, could adapt, given the right tools, the right direction, maybe. But Demons are different, they were human once, and their souls were torn away leaving nothing but an ugly, empty shell that is soon filled with the worst emotions Hell has to offer.
I slip my arms over his shoulders, threading my fingers through his hair. This feels so good and not just because the kiss is amazing, but it FEELS good. I don't want to look at it, scrutinize it, not yet, right now there is just the Kiss. Everything else can come back to haunt me tomorrow.
She met him, passion for passion, and he groaned softly. And something about her, as she pressed herself against him willingly, as she slid fingers through his hair, he could feel it shift and change. Even with his eyes closed, he could see and feel that honey-sweetness buried within her expand, and he felt his grace, the very essence of who and what he was, reach out to grasp at it, at her, desperately.
He pulled back reluctantly to look at her, though only enough to be able to look down at her properly, to search her face, to just simply <i>look</i> at her with every sense he possessed, the angelic and the more human both. Despite a distinct need to breathe, Castiel found himself almost panting, breaths coming rapidly in time to the racing of his heart. With a sigh, his embrace shifted to a hug, holding her against him tightly, suddenly afraid to let her go lest she vanish.
“I missed you. I missed you so much, little bee, honey-sweet demon. I missed you, and I mourned you, and I should have saved you the way you saved me once.” He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, continuing in a broken whisper, “I'm so sorry.”
hug is cooling after that kiss and it seems to leech away any
residual resistance I have and I lean into him, listening, my eyes
closed and clinging for everything I have. I don't know what I feel
right now, but tears slip down my face and I'm sure as Hell I have
never cried before. I'm silent for such a long time and my arms
remain around his neck until finally the urge to reassure him is too
strong. "I'm here, now." Maybe not who he wished, but most
of me, at least.
And then comes the somewhat damp and awkward moment where I move to pull away. "So..now what?" What could possibly come next, I release him and find myself colder for it. I need to get out of here, out from the open, been here too long already, too vulnerable.
The silence stretched out, but he found he didn't mind it at all. Silence was, after all, a familiar companion. And he hadn't really expected a response, anyway. He'd said the words because he'd felt they needed said, not because he wanted to prod her into saying anything.
She clung, and he could feel her tears wetting his own cheek where it touched lightly against hers; her tears, something that quietly surprised him. “I'm glad you're here,” he responded, the whisper filled with a fierce, desperate hope.
The moment she shifted, he released her, though he couldn't bring himself to step away. Personal space be damned, he thought. He wanted to cling yet longer, but after everything, the last thing he wanted was to do anything to make her feel trapped.
“I don't know. I... I don't want to leave you.” He thought about it, this fierce protectiveness, is this what humans felt? He wasn't entirely sure, but was sure he didn't really care. He wasn't human, it was time he stopped constantly comparing himself to them in hopes of blending in. He'd never had to do that with her, there was no reason to start now.
Suddenly, he regretted that all his time of late was divided between the academy and the Winchesters. The bunker and the academy were both home to him, but neither was a place purely his own, somewhere he could take Meg, shelter her, give her a place to belong...and hopefully the time to figure herself out, and for the both of them to figure out what was between them. For the first time since he'd first made the choice to openly rebel against Heaven, he found himself wanting something purely for himself.
“I... We could go into Jacob's? Get in out of the cold,” he surprised himself by laughing softly, since neither of them could be harmed by the cold. But, it could be uncomfortable, exposing his vessel to the cold for so long. And, he just enjoyed being warm. “Unless... Well, I don't know what's going on between you.” He tilted his head, considering her, no hint of jealousy in the look, only pure curiosity. “But he does have our blades, and...my coats.”
- - - - - - -
was never overly fond of the awkward silence, but in moments like
this, what is there to say. Now I'm not saying that I trust him nor
am I suddenly realizing that everything he's telling me has to be
true. But circumstances being what they are, I am in need of
protection and Castiel here looks like he'd be more than willing, so
I go with it for now. His simple statement that he's glad I'm here
warms me a bit and I curse my overly emotional state.
Going into the bar is really what I need right now and the reason I was outside in the first place. "Yes, well I need a drink." I need lots of drinks. "I could drink a liquor store." Strange how that just popped into my head like that. I wonder at his question about my relationship with Jacob. "We..worked together, once upon a time." And I came here seeking assistance and was greeted with suspicion and told that no, I could not stay. I really have nowhere else to go right now, out of options and going back really isn't one either.
He couldn't help but groan when she said she needed a drink. Though, it dropped into silence as he stared at her, head tilted, after mentioning drinking a liquor store. He'd told her that story, once, long ago, during his madness. Could it be she might have a chance of recovering the memories she'd lost? He succumbed eagerly to the flare of hope that sparked at that thought.
Cas lingered for a moment or two longer, not wanting to move away from her, so afraid she'd turn out to be nothing but a figment of his inebriation and his inherent brokenness. Still, either she was real and wouldn't just vanish, or she wasn't...and nothing he did would matter. “Alright, drinks and a warm room, then,” he said, stepping away from her.
He didn't think too hard on her association with Jacob...they were both demons, after all. It made sense to him that they'd had some sort of dealings in the past, since he'd certainly not seemed surprised or threatened by her presence to close to his establishment. But, he did file the information away to think on again later, when his thoughts were less muddled.
He turned, ignoring – for now – the urge to linger close to her, to put an arm around her, anything to be in contact with her, and moved to open the door to the bar and hold it for Meg, then trail in behind her, obviously familiar and relatively comfortable with the place. “Jacob,” he said as he stepped in, probably a bit louder than he'd intended. “We need drinks...and our blades back.”
and a warm room, sounds like Heaven to me. I smirk at the thought and
follow Castiel to the bar, inside is not what I expected to find, the
whole place did not mesh with what I knew of Jacob, the man was a
nasty piece of work and yet this establishment felt homey and lived
in, welcoming even. I walk over to the bar, still glancing around
before looking right at Jacob. "You know what I like, yeah?"
Jacob grunts at both Castiel and I, setting the blades on the bar
next to the coats, but for Castiel it is coffee and for me..it is
ginger ale. Plain ole ginger ale.
"What the Hell, Jacob!" And oh he glares at me like I tried to murder him. "You know why." He tells me, his eyes narrow just a bit before going back to his business and I just pick up my glass of soda. This is ridiculous, after everything I've been through, I want the numbness of alcohol. I look to Castiel feeling ridiculous but not wanting to explain myself just yet.
He made his way to the bar, grateful that he seemed much more in control of his ability to stand and walk now. Slowly, clarity was returning..not quite sobriety, but clarity, at least. Reaching the bar, he ignored the coffee, instead picking up his coats and replacing the slightly over-sized suit jacket, sliding it into place and shrugging his shoulders a bit to get it to settle comfortably. Then came the tan overcoat, sliding on where it belonged. He grabbed up his blade – and he could easily tell which of the two was his, he would know his anywhere, even blinded, because it practically sang to him – and, after inspecting it carefully, slid it into place up the sleeve of his overcoat.
Just as he was picking up Meg's blade to return it to her, her exclamation startled him, his eyes darting from her to Jacob and back again, assessing the potential for danger...primarily to her. He'd been too caught up in putting on his coats, and taking care of his weapon, to realize Jacob had set out drinks for them. But, it appeared, that was what her irritation was over. His eyes flicked between the two demons, his head tilting, trying to puzzle out what their exchange was really about.
Cas stepped over to her, giving in to the urge to touch her, just barely resting his hand against the small of her back as he stood beside her, and looked over to Jacob. He was well aware that he likely appeared to be protecting Meg – which made sense, as that was exactly what he was doing – but he found he just didn't care, even if it showed a weakness to Jacob. He'd deal with it, if it became an issue. Then again, Jacob had stopped her from striking him, potentially killing him, so....maybe it wouldn't be an issue. Gratitude warred with his need to protect Meg for a moment, then he settled on merely remaining where he was, doing what he could to silently let her know he was there if she needed him.
He offered her the blade silently, grip toward her and tip of the blade toward him as was only proper...and, at least amongst angels, displayed a level of trust in a companion. He wasn't sure that she would understand the gesture, but he felt obliged to make it anyway. Some habits and customs didn't really go away, after all, not even after almost a decade living primarily around humans.
“If there's a problem, we can find somewhere else to be,” he murmured, leaning close to her. He wanted to ask what the trouble was, what the exchange between her and Jacob had been about, and that curiosity was written on his face plainly, but he restrained himself, letting her tell him in her own time...or not at all, if she preferred.
- - - - - - -
having a glare war with Jacob when I feel Castiel's hand against my
back and all the fight drains out of me and I look to him curiously.
Yes, he would be perfect for what I need. I almost feel bad for using
him this way, but I need time to think and maybe even to regain some
answers as to why I don't remember him, so it all works out in the
end. I look down to the weapon he is offering me and I take it,
putting it away, never once thinking of using it against him or
"Where will both of you go, you can't take her to that place." Jacob inquires and I wonder what 'that place' is, glancing to Castiel again wondering if he even has a place to stay, doesn't he live in Heaven? It's complicated with beings such as we, what use do we have for homes? Except now, I have nowhere else to go and I can't stay with Jacob, he's made that abundantly clear. I sip my soda and bristle again at the fact that this is not mind numbing alcohol.
“I don't know,” he answered Jacob honestly. “You're right, I can't take her back...there.” He expected to tell her about the academy, eventually. But he just didn't want to get into that explanation right now. And, despite his feelings for her, she didn't remember...and so, he realized he would have to exercise some caution with her, until he was more certain of her. He might not be concerned with his own safety where she was concerned, but he wasn't ready to risk the safety of anyone else he'd placed under his protection.
“I can see to the problem in the long term tomorrow.” He thought, perhaps, to call Claire and get her advice on how to acquire somewhere for them to stay, thinking that Claire would be more willing to help without so much suspicion if he begged off any questions she had with a promise to explain later. Jody and Donna were both more likely to press him. And Sam or Dean...well, that was just utterly out of the question right now. “But for tonight...I don't know.”
His had slipped along her back and around her side as he'd considered the problem, gently tugging her closer. Resignation flooded his expression as he regarded Jacob. “I... Is there anything you can do to help me, Jacob? Some arrangement we can come to, perhaps?”
looks at Castiel for an awkwardly long and silent moment before
flicking his eyes to me and back and then, with a long suffering
sigh. "Whatever, mi casa es su casa.." With that he textes
Ren at the house to prep one of the guest bedrooms before pinning
Castiel with a look. "Sort out your shit, Angelboy, we both have
too much to protect for you to get lost in her big brown eyes."
I raise a brow at that and frown at Jacob but I don't say anything
and just sip my soda, appreciative of the small contact Castiel is
keeping with me, it's rather..comforting.
"You're all heart, Jacob." I wonder when he went so soft, but then I met Renard and I kind of get it, that urge to protect something that can't protect itself, it changes things." I mentally shake myself, don't want to think about that right now, don't have to think about it for a while still.
“Mmm,” he hums his acknowledgment to Jacob. Right now, he knows better than to say something as blatantly false as he's not going to get lost in her eyes...or, more likely, just the sensation of her honey-sweet oily-black essence to close to him that his grace reached out toward it eagerly. But, he wasn't completely lost to her. Time would tell if that would become an issue or not, and he didn't care to think on it any more just now.
Giving her waist a light squeeze, he glanced down to Meg. “Thank you, Jacob.” He looked back up to Jacob then. “I will endeavour to get my...'shit' sorted out. I know better than to give an open-ended offer of a favour in return, but... I do owe you.” His lips quirked. “Or, we could consider it even for the interesting and unexpected addition you found for my drink this evening.”
He turned his attention back to her, looking down with a fondness in his blue eyes that would have been impossible to hide, had he even bothered to try. “Would this be alright, little bee? I promise to find somewhere tomorrow. I have someone who could help.” He leaned closer, daring to nuzzle her cheek a bit as he murmured to her, “I'll find somewhere safe, so I can help you.”
Jacob smirks. "Keeping her from gutting you was for that little
extra in your drink, that and also you didn't pay me for your little
party, so yes, you owe me Angelboy and I'll keep racking up the
favors if it means we remain Kosher." He smirks, if he can't
gather Castiel's soul, he can gather his favors, always the deal
maker. I would laugh at that if it wasn't fucking scary to not know
exactly how far Jacob would go to protect his little secrets, are we
even safe here? I look to Castiel and it's a moment before I nod
because the way he looks at me just takes my breath away.
Its hard understanding how anyone could so completely love me like this, no one ever has and it's not right, being a Demon means everything you touch withers, no one loves you, no one cares of you live or die, you are the evil thing that deserves to be squished underfoot and yet, here it is. This Angel..man, whatever, loves me it's plain in his look, I can feel it reaching out from him, our essences mingling at some sub-atomic level. My darkness to his light.
He laughed and raised his head to look at Jacob again, actually enjoying dealing with him, though he suspected that was something he should not let go further than the three of them currently present. Too many of his human friends and family might truly begin to question his sanity if they knew. Then again, the the events of the entire night since he'd seen Donna off would probably have them questioning his sanity. Then again, he knew he was broken, so...maybe he wasn't entirely sane anymore, anyway. Again, it was something he found he didn't care about right now, not with <i>her</i> so tantalizingly close.
“Yes, alright, Jacob. We're...kosher. It's still to my benefit as much as yours to keep to our original deal. That hasn't changed any.” Cas considered him for a moment, then nodded. “I'll settle up what's owed, the money and the favors. I...give you my word, on my own grace.” While angels could lie as easily as any human, or demon for that matter, an oath sworn on an angel's own grace was something no angel would even think of breaking; it was something ingrained from nearly the moment of creation as mere fledglings. It was a risk to him, since he didn't know what the demon may decide would be required to repay the favour, but he felt it was worth the risk, for Meg's sake, if nothing else.
His lips quirked again, as a thought occurred to him. A look that was positively mischievous lit his eyes, crinkling the flesh around them as he looked back down to Meg. “Jacob, is your home warded against angels, by chance..?”
- - - - - - -