EVENT #010

[larkers]

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam and any other megacity the Displaced happen to be in/travel to!
WHEN: May 28, 2512
WHAT: Golden-eyed monsters stream into New Amsterdam and other megacities the world over.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Violence, death, body horror, mind control, and transformation.

> EVENT #010

It starts in the middle of the night, when most everyone should be fast asleep in their beds, whether they're still taking up a cot in the safehouse or staying in their own apartment. One moment it's quiet, with most of the rest of the city having also turned in for the night, and then in the next? It isn't.

There will be mass confusion as the scope of the situation becomes clear. Monsters stream out onto the streets, thundering up the stairs of a train station, skittering out of construction sites, or climbing up the walls. Some of them fly. Others slither. Others run, loping forward with only one goal in mind: to find something to sink their teeth or claws into and to leave destruction in their wake at every turn. They are a horde, a swarm, a teeming mass of creatures that have no intention of stopping. All of them have eyes or bodies that shine gold and wherever they go, they seem to leave decay. Concrete turns black and porous where they step; plants wither and die.

There is no real preparing for an attack of this scale. New Amsterdam will awaken as the sound of these monsters crashing down on cars or bursting through storefronts or into homes forces people to run screaming from their dwellings or places of work. There is no discrimination in who these beasts might target, and no discernable pattern in where they go.

All that one can really tell is that they seem to want to spread out. They're constantly on the move, leaping from victim to victim, and they're relentless. No one knows why they've come, where they're come from, or what will make them stop. At least for now, the only option seems to be to cut down their numbers. It's time to fight the horde.

The first night will be utter chaos as everyone reacts to the monsters' sudden appearance, but by the morning hours news reports will start streaming in. This is not only happening in New Amsterdam, or wherever else a Displaced might be staying, but seemingly everywhere. Some cities seem harder hit than others, but practically every megacity is overrun with the creatures.

With no way of knowing who might have unleashed the monsters, all of these cities have essentially been turned into battlefields. Not many civilians are prepared to fight for their lives, and it will take a mobilization effort from the police, Morningstar, the Displaced, and anyone else who's willing to take up arms in order to survive.

◉ As a note, this attack starts simultaneously in multiple cities. While it's the middle of the night in New Amsterdam, the monsters will appear at other times of the day in other parts of the world depending on the timezone!

> BESTIARY

So as to not make this post overly long, we have compiled all of the monster descriptions into a Google doc here for everyone's reference!

> (NOT SO) SAFEHOUSE

For those Displaced who stay at (or spend any time in) the safehouse under the hoverbike shop or the Red Wings bar, they may become aware of the presence of the monsters sooner than others, due to the fact that at least a few of the giant mole monsters will end up burrowing up through the concrete basements to wreak havoc. The screeching noise of steel claws tearing through the floor will be sure to wake up even the deepest of sleepers.

This won't just be an occurrence on the first night of the attack, either. Unless something is done to deter them, tunnels leading straight into the safehouses will continue to be created, allowing even other types of monsters to find their way through (the smaller ones, that is). Where exactly they're coming from won't be entirely clear, though it's a safe bet to assume that they must have originated in the cave system somehow.

Suffice to say that El won't be happy about the safehouse being compromised in this way, though this isn't a possibility that ze or anyone else could have really prepared for. While ze can't do much to physically help with containing the invasion of the monsters, ze will offer whatever resources ze can—though Morningstar is going to be busy in plenty of other locations, as well, and they only have so many resources.

The Red Wings, being a Displaced-operated location, will also be in need of assistance, especially if it's meant to be a point of safety and a hub for handing out supplies. Speaking of—

> RED WINGS HQ

As things begin to deteriorate, Clarke Griffin and Stephen Strange sink their resources into Red Wings, adapting it into a base of operations for the Displaced. Clarke also called in PRESERVE to set up a checkpoint here, too, and anyone—from the Displaced to civilians—will be able to seek aid here. (Of course, Red Wings will be just one of a few locations throughout the city where they attempt to set up shop, but Red Wings may prove to be more fortified thanks to the talents of the Displaced.) Civilians will not have access to Red Wings' safehouse, however. That's still something that Clarke and Stephen want to keep under wraps, for now.

In the bar proper, there will be medical aid, supplies, and even weapons for those who can use them. During rare moments of downtime, the gang at Red Wings will also work on reconnaissance missions to find safe spots throughout the city to provide much needed protection and safety for the people of New Amsterdam. This task may be much easier said than done. Gathering intel on the monsters is a high priority, too, and for anyone who tries to capture a monster to learn more about them, the basement might be a good place to hold them. If the Displaced are going to be able to fight back, they need to know exactly what it is they're fighting.

However, the truth of the matter is that this attack happened quickly, and in the middle of the night to boot. As much as the group at Red Wings tries, resources are stretched thin, and they didn't have time to prepare as much as they wanted to. Supplies need to be rationed, bandages and stitches used for wounds that really need them, and if you're not a great shot, it might be best to let someone with more training take that gun you're eyeing.

More than anything, despite the difficulty, this is a way for the Displaced to help out as many people as they can, and a way for them to cement their humanitarian efforts and affect the population's opinion of them. The citizens of New Amsterdam are sick of this cycle of destruction, and are just waiting to be empowered. Now's the time to teach them to fight back and help them protect their city.

Red Wings' safehouse underground will be damaged by burrowing monsters as well, and will need protection. The bar itself will escape relatively unscathed.

> INVESTIGATING / GATES

Maybe the best way of dealing with the monsters isn't violence at all. Maybe there's a more strategic way to deal with this.

The monsters will be moving from city to city via the gates, just like the Displaced do. There might be a way to keep them from spreading, or at least slow them down, by shutting down the gate network. Of course, with the mag trains shutting down, getting back home could be an issue. One option is the delivery network of hover trucks. They'll still be running to get supplies from city to city, but their batteries don't run indefinitely, so these will be relatively local trips only. No getting from New Tokyo back to New Amsterdam with this method, unfortunately, and convincing a driver to let you hitch a ride might be a challenge, but it's doable.

Of course, there's also the question of where these things are coming from. Intrepid characters might be able to track them back to their nests, which are tucked away in wildly different places depending on the city. In New Amsterdam, they might be in the caves below the city. In other places, they might not be in the city proper at all, but just outside of it. It's important to keep in mind that the nests are far away from any of the action taking place elsewhere. Tracking these origin points may provide some answers, but the cost would be less involvement in the crisis taking place.

And then there's the matter of the monsters themselves. How can you fight an enemy you know nothing about? For those determined or crafty enough, capturing them might be an option, although this will take some creativity. Once these creatures are captured, they'll need to be kept contained, and kept alive. Just because they're monstrous doesn't mean they don't have to eat, after all, and some will need special environmental considerations as well, such as the mind control slugs.

What happens after that is up to the Displaced. Is dissecting them the best bet? Their internal anatomy won't be wildly different from most "normal" animals, with the exception of some creatures who have strange appendages or the like. Still, this might give the Displaced a better idea of how they operate and what their weak spots are. Sending samples to a lab is another possibility, if the Displaced can figure out how to safely store those samples. After all, the world is in a crisis, and no one is running tests at the moment.

All monsters, though, seem drawn to the blue light. When a Displaced uses a power or activates the empathy bond, the creatures will lock onto it, utterly transfixed, and if this is done enough times, that gold glow of theirs will intensify. What does it all mean? Maybe figuring that out will be a pathway to stopping their attacks.

> PITCHING IN

While all of this is going on, it certainly won't be just the Displaced who are heading out into the streets to try and stem the flow of the monster attack. These creatures are certainly not holding back, and no matter how much work might be put in, their numbers are overwhelming. Plenty of people will end up dead as a result, ripped to shreds or dragged off somewhere to be eaten. Yet, for some reason, these monsters are not as vicious toward the Displaced. They'll engage them in a fight and injure them, but they never go so far as dealing a fatal blow.

Seeing how that's not the case for the rest of the populace throughout the world, however, some groups and organizations will be rising up to do their part.

Police departments will be mobilizing in every megacity to put the monsters down, and while they are armed, it's not on the same level as the UNA. They also don't have any sort of training that's prepared them to fight monsters, but they'll still be putting their lives on the line to put a dent in the monsters' onslaught. When it comes to enforcing regular law and order, they certainly won't have the bandwidth for anything like that. Then again, most people won't be in any position to take advantage and commit crimes either, given the chaos that will be a constant everywhere.

Morningstar will also be jumping into action around the world. The New Amsterdam branch will be most likely to work alongside the Displaced and share some of their resources, particularly with those who are signed up as official agents or those who've supported them in the past. In cities like New Prague and New Beijing where the Displaced have made some contact with Morningstar before, they'll also be open to working with the Displaced. However, their resources are by no means robust. Morningstar is an organized rebel group, but they're hardly an official army in any sense of the word. They might be able to hand out a weapon here or there and they have a safehouse set up in almost every city, but beyond that, they'll mainly be getting boots on the ground to help with the fighting.

UNA soldiers who have been left without any sort of purpose or guidance will now have an opportunity to put some of that training to use. Their involvement will be much more scattered, though in some cases small groups of these soldiers who used to work in units together will reconnect in their effort to fight off the horde. However, having been cut off from the UNA in an official capacity, they won't have much in the way of gear or weapons. They're still formidable fighters, though, and now might be the perfect time to reach out and make a connection with some of them.

Mercenaries belonging to various different outfits, depending on what city they're based in, will also be joining the cause. Whether they're acting out of a basic desire to survive the attacks or if they're actually being paid by someone to go out there and risk their lives will be less clear, but they're some of the best-equipped fighters (other than the police). They also won't really find much reason to protest any of the Displaced pitching in to fight with them. The more firepower, the better, right?

A group of regulars from the New Amsterdam fighting rings will be rising up to add their fuel to the monster-fighting fire, as encouraged by Hawke and whoever else might know them well enough to reach out. Given that some of these people have illegal mods to enhance their strength or cybernetic attachments that can do impressive amounts of damage, some of them might hold their own against the monsters. Hell, some of them might even ask the Displaced to demonstrate some of their powers if they end up fighting together, as word of their abilities has become more known among their ranks. Either way, they'll be jumping into the fray with quite a bit of gusto.

PRESERVE will be involved on the other end of these efforts and will be doing their best to tend to the wounded and the dead, along with finding shelter and safe spots for people to barricade themselves from the attacks. It's not like the grand majority of civilians could stand a chance against these monsters, after all, yet not all of them can rely on their homes to be safe enough to stay in. They'll be quick to accept an offer of Displaced help, as they'll be doing their best to try and drag the recently dead to hospitals to get them put into medi-units before they're too late. Along with what's set up at Red Wings, they'll also be cobbling together other relief spots throughout the city for taking care of wounded and offering up what supplies they have (food and water, medical supplies, etc).

And what are the corporations doing in all of this? Well, suffice to say, mainly just panicking. Unsurprisingly, they're not much help during a crisis like this, with most of the super-rich opting to hide away in whatever highly secure bunkers they might have. Too bad that these bunkers might not prove so secure in the face of these attacks. Could that prove to be an opportunity if someone went looking?

> FINAL OOC NOES

Please refer to the OOC EVENT POST for all OOC info, including suggestions for directions on how to engage with the event. Given the spread out nature of this event, as well as the amount of additional details provided here, please direct all questions to our QUESTIONS thread below. This is, naturally, a huge event in terms of scale, and so we're certain there are aspects of it we haven't covered and questions that have yet to be answered. We do encourage that all of our players use the event planning post for any additional ideas and for touching base!

Please do not begin to thread out any aftermath until AUGUST 8, 2020, which is when we will put up the aftermath log and OOC post. If this date changes, we will provide a gamewide update as needed! As a note, the August calendar will be posted alongside the aftermath!

As a reminder, there is one power level up available for this event, granted for a thread of at least 5 log/action comments containing your character utilizing their power in some way during the event itself. They will need to reach the 5 comments required by SEPTEMBER 11, 2020 to be eligible. Submission will be handled on the wrap up post.

Our Activity Check will be posted AUGUST 1 at 12 AM UTC. It will run for seven days and close on AUGUST 8 at 12 AM UTC.

Have fun and fight some monsters! Or … whatever else you might do with them. 😉😏 Your secret's safe with us. 😙

> NAVIGATION

Comments

castiel | OTA, with closed stuff in replies

[unwings]

monster fighting;

[ it would’ve been a damn shame for cas to last one half a fight as a human in this world. knocked down, thrown onto his back by a canine-like plant creature, cas’s machete is too far out of reach. the monster vaults onto his chest, ready to shred him. in the frantic grapple to throw the thing off, cas’s hand pushes back against the plant-puppy’s face for an instant, trying to hold off snapping teeth. this is about to be one of the stupidest deaths cas has had yet, when the monster goes slack, collapsing against him.

it’s— asleep.

it’s asleep and cas shoves it off, only to uncover the brilliant blue glow shining through his shirt. ]

That’s not historically reassuring.


[ later in the day, there’s a lull between the waves of creatures and cas takes refuge in red wings, near the medics while having a particularly nasty gash tended to. he’s there when a citizen patient in much worse condition comes in, in pain and thrashing around, making it difficult for the medics to tend to them. ]

I can help.

[ cas tells one of the staff quietly, before reaching past them to touch two fingers to the patient’s forehead. like the creature earlier, they’re unconscious the second after. ]

red wings; research donation

[ the battle for new amsterdam rages on outside red wings, and during a brief respite, castiel comes shuffling into the bar, dragging a lump of something unconscious and ugly behind him. It appears to be one of the weird plant monsters. grossness drags a streak on the floor behind it, a mix of dirt, moss, blood (?), and monster guts, which cas doesn’t seem to take much note of. priorities, you know?

cas speaks up to the first person to wander by, in a voice so flat it almost seems on purpose. ]

Please accept this— [ pausing to squint down at it, ] —repulsive, fungal-wolf creature as a donation to science.

[ to research, he means. he’s really tired, okay? cas and dean have been out in the streets fighting at ground level, with machetes. it’s not a clean practice. castiel’s clothes smudged with dirt, scorch marks, slashes from claws, and the ever-present cocktail of blood and monster guts. this clearly isn’t a new look for him, as he’s less concerned about that, more worried that he isn’t being given immediate direction for this donation.

a blink, cas clears his throat (ahem), and announces, with a pinch of sheepishness that he’s trying to cover with confidence: ]

I don’t know when it’ll wake up.

[ yeah, the monster isn’t exactly dead, just asleep. so, someone please tell him where to put this creature. somewhere it won’t start mauling people. ]

Wildcard;

[ toss me whatever, or shoot me a pp at wuzzafuzzle if you want to plot! ]

closed to dean;

[unwings]

[ carelessness, that's what it amounts to. he'd found his power, dean was happily hacking away at monsters practically with a spring in his step, as if picking flowers, cas wasn't completely useless, and he'd let down his guard. he missed the winged bee-vulture abomination swooping in on his left. a quick snap of teeth, and now he's here. ]

Dean.

[ here is tugging insistently at dean's bicep to keep him from immediately pouncing off after the next mob of monsters to take down, cas already feeling the agonizing burn of the venom spreading under his skin. hand pressed to the bite wound on his shoulder, it's not enough to keep blood from seeping through his fingers. ]

Wait. [ another tug at his jacket and cas is trying to conceal a wince as the poison sets in deeper, making him ache. he starts to pat at the pockets on dean's jacket, worry setting in, ] The medical kit. Where'd you put it?

[ you know, that one he pointed to and said 'dean, don't forget to take that with, i can't heal you this time', that medical kit. it's just a wound, right? just a bite, just going to cover it up, noooo big deal.

a sharp hiss is sucked through his teeth and cas abruptly doubles over, pain wracking through his body with every pulse in his veins. castiel's vision gets fuzzy around the edges, lightheaded, and bones wrenching like they're trying to shift. oh, this might need more than a bandaid. ]

[righteously]

[ It's like being back in Purgatory again. That's what keeps echoing through him - the sheer simplicity of getting lost in something like this. There's no question over what you're supposed to do, there's no question over whether or not you're helping people. The thing within him that has been schooled for violence, schooled to crave it, is stirring with life and taking root far too easily in his ribs.

He slips into a state of catharsis, and the hand on his bicep rips him back out of it again. He grinds to a halt, aggression still in his features right up until he hears medical kit. Then he clocks the bite wound on Cas's shoulder, the blood gushing out.

There is exactly 1 force in Dean more strong than the urge to hunt, and that is the urge to protect. It floods over everything like a tsunami, and both of his hands are on Castiel's biceps before the machete even hits the ground. ]

Cas-

[ A tiny little question, uncertain, that escapes about a second before the angel doubles over and reels away from him. ]

Cas- Shit- Jesus, okay, okay, come here, sit down, I need to look at it, alright-- What got you?

[ The last question is a barked out demand; no time for softness, he's taking it as life or death. ]

[unwings]

[ he asked for the med kit, not a nurse, wow, but despite whatever disgruntled feelings cas might have about being aggressively worried over, it doesn't make it through the full body shiver that the venom drags from him. dean's gripping his arms and wearing that laser focus look to him, and cas drops what hand he has free onto his forearm, shaking his head. ]

I'm fine, Dean, it's just a—

[ another intense wave of pain, as if the poison itself is saying why you lyin'? okay, yes, fine, he might not be that fine, and castiel's feet get a little wobbly under him. thankfully, dean's there keeping him upright, his fingers tightening in the jacket material over his arm as he gains his balance.

peeling back his palm from the wound, it's still pretty gross and bloody, but cas gets as much out of dean's way as he can, trying to focus on what the monsters looked like and block out the throbbing burn under his skin. ]

Something airborne, roughly the size of... a miniature pony. [ a flat stare, in which cas is daring dean to make fun of him for thinking of 'miniature pony' first while he is spasming in pain here and bleeding out, don't you dare. ]

A large, flying insect.

[righteously]

[ Yeah, sure, you're fine exactly like how Dean is always fine, except all at once and way more obvious about it. A sharp, cold spike of worry pierces through his sternum at the second round of shivering-shaking-seizing pain running through Cas, and the cloister bells in Dean's mind ring loud and clear reminding him how very human Cas is right now.

Like.

Could totally die levels of human.

He's freaking stupid for not being more careful, not taking that into consideration. Shouldn't have brought him out here without thinking about it a little more, maybe getting him some better gear, strapping him to the nines--

Not helpful right now, he'll kick his own ass about it later.

He can't even comment on miniature pony right now, he's too wrapped up in the real of the moment.

The wound looks gnarly. Cas keeps swaying. ]

Okay, alright. Sit down, come on--

[ He steers as best he can, guiding Cas down from his swaying drunkard stance toward his ass on the concrete. ]

It-- poison, right? It's not just the—

[ Pain from getting a chunk of flesh ripped out? No, no, he knows, he's seen Cas take something like that and keep on walking.

Okay, okay, okay, okay--

Suddenly, and a little stunned: ]

I can fix this.

[ For once, he can fucking fix it.

He hesitates just for a second, and then brings his fingertips up to Castiel's forehead. What's it like being on that side of things, Cas?

Warmth and glowing blue, something pulsing through every vein, and the poison soon escapes back through the same wound in the form of whispering smoke.

Of course, touch means the activation of the empathy bond, which means Cas gets waylaid with the full, overwhelming brunt of Dean's bone-deep worry — not to mention the dark, lingering pessimism that for some reason it won't work, just because.

The staggering relief when it does. ]

[unwings]

[ bones aching and skin feeling feverish, cas doesn't put up a fight as he's steered to the concrete, knees nearly going out so fast its like they were grateful for the excuse. with dean's hands at his shoulders, cas's guided to the ground steadily, where he nods at 'poison'. yes, probably, feels like it, but dean doesn't need the confirmation, he's already working through it.

dean says i can fix this, and cas believes him, without question.

eyes follow dean's hand as he reaches to touch his forehead lightly, and yeah, it feels pretty backwards. usually dean's the one crossing his eyes to look up and blinking strangely as a healing energy moves through him, but that isn't the part of this that holds castiel's attention so raptly.

it's the constricting grip of worry coming from dean, the tired weight of it, and the dread that lingers in him, waiting for the worst outcome, waiting for the nightmare to take a darker turn. it isn't so much surprising to cas that these shadows are there just under dean's skin, as it's a new level of knowing to experience it with him, to have it laid there bare enough that castiel can feel the deep ache and drain of it with him, like being crushed under a wave, struggling for the surface.

meanwhile, dean's feeling the echo of cas's quiet, half-delirious awe while he watches him save his life. the intensity of will in dean's eyes, the furrow of anxiety and concentration between his brows, the fear of failure in the tensed muscles of his jaw. there's very rarely times in castiel's life where dean winchester doesn't feel like something monumental, caged in this fragile body of a man, plagued by darkness and personal demons.

his hand slides along the arm cas had been gripping, as dean's power courses through him, moving through his veins and down through his limbs like a warm, cleansing light. in its wake is a heavy, enveloping peace that cas shares with dean, moving to circle his fingers over dean's bare wrist, as if it could turn the volume on the bond up, to flood dean with that tranquility. the poison lifts from him with the whispering smoke, castiel's gratitude mixing in with dean's relief.

throughout it, there isn't so much as a tremor in castiel's faith in dean's ability, or his claim that he'd take care of this.

once the last of the smoke fades into away in the air, even if dean pulls his fingers back, cas doesn't release his wrist yet. his human body is slower to come down from the adrenaline, the rapid thudding of his heart steadily slowing as his breathing evens out, but his eyes find dean's and he smiles softly, fondly. ]

I'm okay, Dean. You did it, it's gone. [ cas tells him as soon as he can get his voice to come out even, fingers on his wrist squeezing tighter for a moment. ]

It felt... very backwards, but you healed me.

[righteously]

[ That awe comes at him completely out of left field. It takes him a few confusing seconds to realize what it even is, let alone that Cas is directing it at him, presumably over what he's doing with his power. It echoes like the past in the back of his mind, roles reversed, his knees in the dirt and reincarnated Cas standing over him taking away the pain.

Well, the physical pain.

Cas, are you God?

He felt more awe then than he did when the angel burst into a barn shattering lights and flaring shadowed wings. That had been fear, and the two emotions — while similar — are not the same.

Never felt it directed at himself before. It itches a little, aggravating an old rash of self-loathing and worthlessness. Some people might feel powerful, some people might feel inflated, propped up, but it rubs Dean like sandpaper. Don't point that at me. He doesn't deserve it.

He can't even fathom that it might be coming from Cas experiencing the brunt of his emotions. Those aren't something to feel impressed by. They're a detriment, they're a sucking weight. They used to be too heavy to carry around, until his shoulders got strong and his posture got hard. He was always meant to be a vessel for something intangible and staggeringly large.

He's ashamed of them, or ashamed he can barely lasso them into any kind of direction. Certainly can't tame them.

Apparently Cas can. Apparently, all it takes the guy is a goddamn touch and pushing some peace through the bond, and then the sea settles and the clouds break. Relief slips into his lungs like air — not the same kind as he felt when he realized it was working. A deeper, stranger kind.

It feels painfully good, enough so that though his fingertips fall away from Castiel's forehead, he doesn't tug his hand away from the angel's grasp. He can only really stand, lips parted and brow furrowed, trying to wrap his head around all of this.

He's touched people before, here. Of course he has. He's exchanged emotions, brief things, swapping annoyance or pain or amusement or some slurry of nothing in particular. It's never really gone down like this.

Makes sense, considering it's never happened during a moment as emotionally charged as this, nor with someone who mattered even half as much. It just feels so... big. Complex, intricate. ]

Yeah.

[ He breathes, a kind of no kidding sound — about it being backwards, that is. The cherry on top of this whole weird experience. ]

[unwings]

[ as dean stands, cas stands with him, not bothering to correct the lack of personal space dean's left with in the process (he seemed to stop minding it some years ago anyway). in the shuffle of movement, the loose grip cas has on dean's wrist shifts, slacking with the height difference, and a few of cas's fingertips slip down dean's wrist and along the inside of his palm.

the longer the bond holds steady between them, the more cas settles into it, finds that he doesn't mind dean's presence alongside his emotional stream of consciousness, trusts him there, but he watches dean with calm, steady eyes, head to a slight tilt, as he goes through an array of painful, but familiar, sentiments.

bafflement, a sense of unworthiness, undeserving, how it morphs into this dark and angry thing that turns inward, into self-hatred and shame.

you don't think you deserve to be saved.

back then, cas could read off dean's soul like a book, only days after he'd pulled him from the pit. it's nuanced now, but it's the same tangled up, deep-rooted shame and self-loathing that roared agonizingly inside dean when cas dragged him up from that darkness that broke him, twisted him. a decade and change, and has he ever forgiven himself for any of it? not that castiel's one to talk, at all. fine pair they are. what was it dean said once? a couple of dumbasses?

this shame now, for something as human as feeling. dean winchester, champion of humanity, and he considers it a failure if he allows himself to be susceptible to what being human means. dean seems to convince himself that his worth to the world is equivalent to his tolerance for pain, and failing that endurance test is a crime by the law of winchester. cas can't tell him that what he does, the work and purpose he's devoted himself to, doesn't ask an incredible amount of suffering from him. but that is not the extent or definition of his worth, and that's a hill castiel will die on.

the peaces calms the storm in dean's head and cas isn't in a hurry to rush him out of it, focusing quietly on the feeling of peace that the poison left while his eyes follow the wrinkle in his brow, the part of dean's lips (linger there probably too long), giving him space (figuratively) to feel out the strangeness of the bond and its effects. cas is kind of still doing the same, pulling up at dean's wrist, fingers halfway slipped down his hand, turning it upward as he inspects the way his fingers curl over the side of dean's palm, the contact soft but warm. it's easier, this bond. there isn't two months of dean saying "i'm fine" before breaking down and talking about it. it's just there.

there's no tight grip here, and dean could pull his hand away any time he wants, but he doesn't. so cas doesn't. ]

I told you it was useful.

[ cas says in a daze, as if the conversation out loud is not the actual conversation they're having. because it isn't.

but this also happens to be a really bad place to do this. a bulbasaur (not an actual pokemon bulbasaur - dean's bulbasaur) has come creeping into their immediate vicinity, cas watching the creature over dean's shoulder. its always a bad place, bad time, bad universe to do this, whatever emotionally involved thing 'this' is. that's just their lives.

without letting go of dean's hand, or shifting his expression much, cas reaches to pull dean's handgun from wherever he's stuffed it in his jeans, levels it on bulba over there, and doubletaps it. okay so maybe dean's peaceful moment is coming to an end after all.

sorry about that. city on fire, monsters everywhere. you know how it goes. ]

[righteously]

[ There have been more than a handful of times where Cas has done this thing that Dean really can't put into words. He just sometimes goes into this kind of intense place, and though he's wearing a vessel that was previously unremarkable, he does something to those features to change them. Something about his eyes, the cut of his cheekbones, the shape his lips take or don't take. He can pull all that intensity onto his expression and remind Dean -- or anyone else in the vicinity -- that he's a god damn angel. An ethereal something else.

Whenever it happens, every single time without fail, it brings Dean up short. Leaves him locked in place returning eye contact because looking away doesn't even occur to him in the moment. Cas just looks at him a certain way and Dean feels exposed to the bone -- deeper than, really, because he knows the guy is seeing straight through to his goddamn soul. Sometimes, looking back as intently, searching the guy's eyes, he felt like he could almost see something like it in turn. Not really, not the blinding light of real grace, but something right at the edge that he almost, almost manages to touch.

Never really quite reached it.

For one long, stupid, mind-blanked second he falls back into the habit of searching. This time something answers, there's a give as much as there is a take, and he can feel it. He can feel it as clearly as he can feel fingertips in his palm, as clearly as he can feel Cas pulling it up to hold before him like evidence. That something inside that's looking back, that real hiding behind eyes and lips and various degrees of trench coat and/or bullshit. Knowing it is one thing, of course he knew, everyone's cognitively aware of the fact that everyone is all brains piloting meat and the real stuff is happening deeper than skin. It's just-- it's one thing to know it in theory and another to feel it. To really, actually feel it.

Jesus, Cas. Is this like what you've been getting this whole time? No freaking wonder.

He doesn't even have a smart ass answer for I told you it was useful. Cas wins that round, gets the last word in and goes undisputed.

(There has been a hole in Dean for as long as he can remember. Ever since he was a kid there's been a howling empty place at the center of his chest or in the back of his mind. By design, maybe, by the dicks on high to make him more naturally inclined to accept a second entity into him to fill the gaps? Or just the product of loss, the retreat of his father to never fill that loss, and all of the constant chiseling away that just kept happening because things got worse instead of better.

For a second, it just feels like--)

POP POP-

He startles so hard he practically jumps out of his own fucking skin, yanking his hand away like electric shock. Ripped out of that place of intensity and back to real, actual reality where there's a real, actual not-actually-a-Bulbasaur dropping dead thanks to the still-raised gun by his shoulder. His heart hammers in his chest in a way he's only going to chalk up to the unexpected weapons discharge.

As he's wont to do, Dean retreats inward. Shuts everything down and blocks out the entire exchange for now, something to unpack later instead of sleeping. For right now, the way he deals is by pretending it didn't exist and glossing over whatever it is he's feeling with agitation. ]

Thanks for the warning, John Wick.

[ Ground out as he peels away, turning his back to Cas so he can be discreet about the hand he passes over his mouth.

Bad time, bad place, and they need to get Cas inside so they can talk about whether or not it's a good idea for him to even be out here what with all this humanity he's wearing now. ]

Come on, let's get the hell out of here.

[ A frustrated sounding order that he leads with by example, striding over blood-splattered ivy. ]

[unwings]

[ immediately after that first shot, cas is regretting not grabbing for dean's machete instead. he probably could've thrown it without moving, right? maybe. his aim might be terrible now.

they were so close to something that felt huge, dean searching in that tangled bond of theirs for him the same way they've done for years before, and cas holding still, letting him, waiting for him to find what he's looking for. he's always been a being bigger than the bones that hold him, inhuman and intangible, even reduced down to his vessel as he is now, the body holding him doesn't feel completely like him. it isn't all of him, isn't what defines his existence, and he knows dean recognizes that. it's so rare that dean turns towards an inspection rather than away, and cas didn't want to lose that so soon.

fucking bulbasaur.

but the contact's gone and so is the warmth of dean's hand and the heat of his body standing inches away, and castiel can't help mourning the loss, like the floor yanked out abruptly underneath him after dean snatches his hand back. for a few seconds, cas's hand hovers there in the air, as if waiting for dean to put his back, fingers slowly curling in. where there was life and thought and emotion that all breathed of dean settled snugly inside castiel's chest with him, the sudden loss leaves him feeling bereft, too empty, as if a cool breeze could make him shiver. cas wants to chalk that up to the human need for affection and physical contact, but he knows better by now. it wouldn't be the same had it been anyone else, even sam or jack.

regardless, dean's turned away from him and inward, the flood gates slamming shut and shutters pulled tight, sealing him off from the world around him again. his voice comes ground out and hard, and cas knows it isn't for anything he did. it's just dean reacting like dean, dealing with slipped vulnerability in his usual way. all things are eventually churned down into anger or frustration, if he can't find another way to purge it. ]

I didn't want to disturb you before it was necessary. [ cas answers finally, falling into step behind dean. ] Sorry.

[ as they walk, castiel's eyes follow the set of dean's shoulders, the incline of his head, watching like the tension can be seen as bright lines of light running through dean's body, tangled up in joints and strained muscle and frustration.

while the moment may have been cut shorter than cas would've liked, it was still a valuable exploration. he still felt dean's fear with him, his relief, his anxiety, and the bond allowed him to push a piece of himself through to dean, something he could never truly accomplish before, despite all of heaven's power in him. cas could knock him out, break open his mind, or throw him across the room with a thought, but never give him peace so directly, as if it were a small bundle he passed over by hand, delicate but treasured.

it's something worth thinking about. keeping in mind. the knotted mess of dean's self-hatred, shame, and trauma has been a nigh impassable wall for so long, and the empathy bond allowed cas to slip quietly and quickly underneath and past. it's like discovering a secret entryway, and there's an excitement in him for it that he's keeping tapped down right now. dean needs time to process, to mull over it a few thousand times before deciding if he wants to deal with it directly or brush it aside. cas tells himself he'll have another chance to reach past that wall and look for Dean again, and settles himself with following along obediently behind him. ]

There. [ cas raises a hand, pointing at a corner store that looks to be mostly intact, windows whole and door locked, but a locked door has never kept them out of anywhere. ] We can rest and restock inside.

[righteously]

[ Even just that answer, the implication it brings, makes something inside of him cringe a little like he's expecting backlash. Disturb him, an acknowledgement that he'd been actively burying himself in that bond. The too-real out-loud observation that would have him checking around to see who heard it if he didn't already know the city's in devastation.

He can't even snap about it, because that would be giving it even more attention than he wants — approximately none.

He lets it go without response.

Breaking into a store is a reprieve. That's something he can fixate on. A glance to the left and right to make sure no more Bulbasaur or Jenna Jamesons are creeping in to jump on their backs, and then he dips down to take a look at the locking mechanism.

They're not the same here as they were back home. No lock pick kit is gonna get through something that responds specifically to implants.

The good news is they've spent all this time and effort developing how to unlock it, they don't really think too hard about the lock itself.

It takes him all of two seconds to find a hunk of concrete he can wrap his hand around, and about four or five bashes to break the face plate off. It isn't much of a security concern to the owners normally, because an ideal state, this would alert local law enforcement and they'd descend on him in a heartbeat. That's not even remotely a possibility right now.

A little fiddling with the guts of the lock, and then he swings the door open.

Nods Cas in first.

Get your human ass off the street, would you? You're killing him. ]

[unwings]

[ cas can see dean bristling under his flannel, a stark difference from the quiet and calm of the bond before, and the vehement distancing dean's doing now is somewhat telling. this isn't something he'll bring up again while they're out here fighting, but castiel makes a mental note to explore it later, away from danger and possible witnesses.

as dean takes to getting the door open, cas watches his back, machete in hand, scanning the street for any approaching monsters while dean-

while dean plays cave man with some concrete.

the look cas shoots him says was that really necessary, but he doesn't voice it, because there's a good chance it was actually really necessary. locks in meadowlark aren't the same as those they could get by easily back home, and dean probably needed the outlet for a little violence after the bond frustration anyway. rip, corner store door. ]

Feeling better?

[ asked wryly (rhetorically) as cas steps over the broken pieces of the once-lock and inside the corner store, holding the door for dean to make it in behind him as his eyes skim the interior of the store. he moves to the aisles next, grabbing a bag of what looks like some kind of scifi jerky equivalent and calling for dean's attention before he tosses it to him.

a few bottles of water in hand, cas makes his way back to the store counter, putting two bottles aside for them to drink later, and uncapping a third to pour over the wound on his shoulder, washing away dirt and blood and cleaning it off. the poison's gone, but it still needs dressing and covering up. the sound of fabric ripping fills the store as he tugs the tatters of his shirt back, giving more access to the wound, but this one-handed thing isn't working great for him. ]

Dean, I need a hand with this.

[righteously]

[ Feeling better? ]

No.

[ He grouses out the retort almost instantly, legs already carrying him for a quick scope through the aisles just in case somehow something friggin' teleported in here or something.

It's clear.

The world's worst angel pulls a bait and switch luring him with the sound of jerky (not unlike a dog hearing the treat bag crinkle) and swapping it out for more touchy feely. His mouth twists up in discomfort, distaste, disgruntlement, probably like six other dis-somethings. Nobody's shocked by how much he wants to Not Do The Thing so immediately after Doing the Thing and Feeling Things.

Weigh that against his ingrained instinct to care-take, though...

Sigh.

Self-sacrifice.

He relents, stalking over like it pains him. ]

Hold your shirt back.

[ It doesn't sound particularly harsh, he doesn't have it in him to be a complete dick while also tending to someone's giant wound. He scopes it for a second, and ultimately decides it doesn't need stitches. It isn't deep, it's just large in circumference. A bandage and some tape's gonna do it, probably.

He does, in fact, have that med kit you nagged him to bring, so. He pops it onto the counter, rummages through for some antibacterial anything; peroxide, bacitracin, whatever.

It's the latter he finds, which means coating his fingers in it and carefully dabbing the wound.

This city can go straight to hell, frankly. ]

[unwings]

[ if it helps, bait and switch was not his intention, and as dean gets sulky over having to make contact again, cas resists the urge to shake his head and refrains from suggesting he use the gauze to apply the bacitracin if the bond bothers him that much. but, mentioning that something is bothering dean still points out that dean is experiencing Feelings, and that's clearly not something we're equipped to deal with right now, so cas keeps commentary on it to himself. add it to the pile of things they don't say to each other.

this time, cas isn't prying, doesn't go chasing the rabbit or sifting through the turbulent sands of dean's emotional spectrum. emotional control is not something cas has a lot of experience with, but he's doing his best to stay even and calm while dean's in contact with him. steadies his breathing, casts his eyes at some nondescript spot on the floor in front of him, holds the shirt back and lets dean work.

for the most part, what dean gets from him is a smooth, steady tone of patient calm, interrupted by spikes and flashes of other things as they come up and cas tries (operative word) to sort those feelings, accept them, and move on. yeah, human feels aren't always that clean cut, sorry angel-boi.

The bond’s activation makes cas hyper-aware of every time dean’s in contact with his skin, a wave of awareness washing in like a tide, and the (admittedly somewhat soothing, despite the turmoil) feeling of dean’s mind connected to his.

And now he’s willing his mind and shiny new people-emotions to just stay still. Don’t prod at it, don’t lean into it. As the great philosopher John Lennon once imparted to the people - let it be.

So Cas starts mentally singing Let It Be in his head, and it… actually kind of works? There’s still spikes of emotion that float to the surface unbidden, circumventing castiel’s focus and mental games and illusion that emotions are things that can be managed easily with enough concentration, willpower, and effort.

Ignore the half-second moments of security, familial fondness, trust. Protectiveness, as he’s watching the corner store windows for threats passing by outside while dean’s otherwise focused. A vague anxiety, though it’s unclear if that’s to do with the city going to hell or the bond and dean’s proximity. Mild frustration at his lack of skill in containing his emotions, and a constant feeling of focus and (attempted) control, because Cas is quickly learning that he’s not super amazing at this Feelings thing either.

Dean’s tending to the wound, and cas uses his free arm to grab some things from the medical kit and prep a bandage to go on after the antibacterial stuff, holding the bandage up to offer dean once he’s ready for it. ]

Thank you.

[ said simply, quietly, after a few moments of dean working. Cas knows he doesn’t want to do this, but he appreciates him helping anyway. ]

[righteously]

[ Dean's silent through this entire affair, as though not speaking about it somehow means it isn't happening. The good news is that he has a little more experience shoving emotions down once he's past the thing that spiked them — or maybe a better way to phrase it is that he can drown everything out with an enormous, heaping mound of steely determination and sheer stubborn will.

It flickers like a candle, stable for a while with sporadic lapses that allow bits to slip through.

Curiosity.
Concern.
Frustration.
Self-consciousness.
Ache.
Anger — self directed.
Protectiveness.
Appreciation.
Fondness.

All of them routinely stomped back down again under the boot of a soldier's resolve. If an emotion could feel like a person, Dean's cold and nearly-impenetrable wall would feel like John Winchester. Like a transplant of that man into Dean's core, not organically grown but spliced in nonetheless.

He smooth the bandage on and his hands fall away finally, topped off with a muttered: ]

Don't say I never did nothin' for ya.

[unwings]

[ dean's low hum of suppressed emotion is castiel's main focus. he shouldn't be exploiting the bond to get dean to admit to things that usually take him days, weeks, years to open up about, and he's doing his best not to dig, but that doesn't mean he isn't paying attention, wondering at the transition between each, trying to catch the moment something changes in him, what might have caused it. dean's too good at concealing what's below the surface, and the empathy bond isn't quite a telepathy bond, so those questions go largely unanswered, regardless.

the self-consciousness, ache, and anger makes him want to reach out, circle fingers around dean's wrist and try to pass something soothing over the bond, reassurance, something to edge out that ache and anger, but he keeps his feelings to himself this time. dean's already uncomfortable being on display, essentially, he's not going to push it any more right now. later, maybe, but not now.

dean pulls back, finished, and cas eyes the bandage, touching gingerly around the border of it to be sure all edge of the adhesive are attached and not going to peel off while he's moving around. looks all good, and his eyes lift back to dean's, a faint, appreciative smile on his lips, with a hint of humor in it. ]

I could never claim that.

[ dean winchester has done more for him than any single living being across all dimensions, his omniscient father included. cas knows it's just a phrase, but he's answering it anyway, because it deserves to be said, now more than ever, when he's having to rely so heavily on dean's knowledge and skills. rolling his shirt sleeve back down, castiel slides off the edge of the counter, organizing the supplies he snagged from the aisles and readying to load them into their packs. ]

What about you? Are you hurt?

[ he has to ask point blank, or dean will never let anyone know. ]

[righteously]

[ That tight-lipped expression lingers on his face, tucked into one cheek, neither a smile nor a frown. Just it is what it is, he's getting over it, here they are, time to move on. They live moment to moment, lingering in one for too long never serves him.

(It's easier to pretend nothing happened if you're already living the next round of bullshit.)

He shakes his head. ]

I'm fine.

[ And emotions aside, he is. Maybe a little strained physically, but it's no different than a particularly involved hunt. ]

But I think we're stranded for a little bit. It's gonna get dark. We should hunker down, see if we can get an all-clear.

[ So Cas doesn't take another bitch-mosquito bite, or get nabbed by a Jenna Jameson, or get clawed at any of the other dozen ways he could right now. Dean's not equipped to deal with it. ]