Wᴇ ʜɪᴅᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs Uɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜʀғᴀᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ( closed )

[righteously]

WHO: Various!
WHERE: The Aerie
WHEN: July 2512 (November 2020)
WHAT: Consolidated Event Threads
NOTES OR WARNINGS: extreme violence, angst, adult language, potentially explicit content.

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[rehandle]

[ Dean takes the bait, hits the wall of immobility, and Stephen takes it as a prompt to take things one step further. This is no longer about him. The obedience or lack thereof of a population paid no attention by their ruling classes save for when they're tossed into death games and treated as sport is only relevant when it becomes a large-scale movement: he expects no love from a man who's just received a death sentence. A magpie who's spent ample time benefiting from the same system he disrespects, however? That man deserves to be made to feel his mistake. And Dean makes for the perfect leading man in that particular show.

So Dean's limbs move in spite of him. They carefully lower him first to one knee, then the other, until he's the perfect picture of a supplicant. A loudmouthed, foulmouthed supplicant.

And then comes the unexpected kicker in his idle hunt for proof. Taking the fall for Cas.

Dean's barely finished calling him whatever name comes out after son of a bitch when his words dry up, throat closing over, barely the smallest scraps of air permitted to slip through no matter how he might struggle to breathe. Stephen turns his attention to Castiel. His gaze, devoid of earlier play, is sharp, piercing. Cold. ]

Was there something you wanted to tell us?

[ There's disrespect - and then there's this.

Stephen waits, choking Dean with his own epiglottis, for Castiel to confess to a crime it hadn't truly occurred to him to suspect him of. ]

[unwings]

[ it's incredible how quickly the commitment to dignity caves when something you love is on the line. stephen doesn't have to ask twice - dean chokes, and castiel crumbles. his knees hit the floor seconds later, mirroring the supplication stephen's bent dean to. his eyes have to be torn from the man, and even once they find stephen, it's with the occasional flicker back to dean, suffering for cas's guilt. his heart is breaking for him and there's no one to blame but himself. swallowing thickly, he forces himself to focus on the cardinal and answer.

stephen's gaze is a cold, lifeless thing, and cas can hardly believe there's a man somewhere behind those eyes. maybe once, at some point, but he must've passed on a long time ago for this creature to stand here now. his whims dictate life and death, elation and misery, he holds the both of them by the throat, now, and cas is sure there's nothing he can do to save them, but it doesn't stop him from making the plea. ]

Please. [ cas rushes out, desperate, with glassy eyes darting between dean and the man standing above them both. ] It's me you want. I stole the arena plans, I sought the Kestrels out - he's only a bystander.

[ hands splayed on the ground, his spine curves, head ducked, and cas has never felt so small, so helpless. some part of him is furious that this is his reality, that this man is someone he has to beg for his lover's life, and the rest is simply flooded with despair. he'd do all this and more if it meant dean could go free, if he could be spared from this fate cas invited on them. ]

Please. Do whatever you like with me, but Dean doesn't deserve this.

[ is there a point in attempting to appeal to the humanity in a man that's ruthless in his reign over the populace? maybe not, but it's all cas has. he has to try. ]

[righteously]

Cas.

[ It isn't barked, but it is stern. A command without the actual command involved — stop. Just stop. Stop begging for him, stop giving him the damn satisfaction. The white-hot flair of anger that Cas immediately buckled into a confession is swiftly redirected toward Stephen, and there's no doubt about it: if he weren't locking Dean up he'd be getting knocked the hell out.

He can't do that, but he can at least keep Cas from giving away any more of himself than he has to. ]

It's done. Don't bother playing the game now. It's over. Take the out.

[rehandle]

There is no out, you ignorant child. You've already given me the truth.

[ With both of them on their knees, one unwillingly and the other all too freely, Stephen's anger runs cold. This is worse than the betrayal. This, Castiel on hands and knees pleading for the life of one man over the cause he'd deemed so important as to risk it all for, is an insult beyond the rest.

It's a sign of stupidity. Worse, of a weak will. And he'd had such hopes...

His words are directed now at the magpie before him. Eyes burn cold. ]

You spat in the hand you willingly fed from for a cause you're ready to betray the instant your actions threaten somebody you care about personally. How many Kestrels and allies of Kestrels did you meet? How many did they meet? All those connections are waiting in your head, and you didn't even have the decency to hesitate.

[ They're not questions that need answers. He could have the answers in an instant if he wanted them. No, all told it's a knife through the coffin lid as he begins the act of burying the two of them alive.

Head tilting to focus on Dean, to speak to him now: ]

You put more thought into your last ditch attempt to save this man's life than he ever did into how his actions might impact yours or anybody else's. He chose his partner well. I'm afraid you did not.

[ Which, with one quick glance, is the Shrikes' cue to step in and pull Dean back up off his knees, begin to pull him out of the room. All at once he's entirely free of Stephen's hold - the Shrikes have him now, and Stephen Strange is done with this whole wretched thing. ]

[unwings]

[ stephen's right - there is no out. the second he entered the equation, whatever lie they were going to try selling was forfeit. it's why he didn't hesitate. no point to it. castiel's attention isn't on stephen, however, as he's berated for biting the hand that feeds, and lectured on those he's put in danger with his recklessness. instead, he's watching the shrikes drag dean to his feet, shuffling him towards the front door of the apartment.

a brief thought, a flicker of an idea, there and buried the next, because who knows how closely stephen's monitoring his thoughts. eyes follow the movement of dean's entourage, but castiel's keying into stephen's contempt fueled monologue, letting the words hit him like a slap, twisting up with guilt, shame, and anger in his gut.

dean makes it to the door, only a few steps past the threshold and into the hall outside, and it's time. cas musters up the most condescending look he can manage, then tilts his head up to meet stephen's eyes directly. ]

Why bother asking, [ cas takes a breath, and enunciates the last part clearly: ] you pompous, long-winded ass.

[ oh, that felt awesome. his eyes flash blue, and castiel's body goes completely limp, falling, prone dead-weight, to the floor.

at the threshold, the shrike directly behind dean jerks, stiffens, then immediately reaches for his sidearm. one shot into the space between dean's wrists to break the chain connecting the cuffs, and a hand shoves hard at his back, pushing him towards the open hall with a harsh whisper at his ear. ] Run.

[ turning back, cas-possessing-shrike gets only as far as leveling the gun on stephen, mind full up with murderous intent. ]

[righteously]

( If it weren't for the severity of this situation, if his heart weren't being plucked at by razor blades, the words that fall out of Castiel's mouth would have Dean stone cold stunning himself balls deep into the other side of infatuated. You pompous, long-winded ass. When he thinks back on this later, he's gonna wanna kiss the guy square on the mouth.

Damn, Cas. Talk dirty to him.

Unfortunately there isn't even time to be impressed. He barely has the capacity for audio processing right now.

The thing about it is...

Dean Winchester's a moron. In any universe, in any iteration, in any version, there are a few consistent traits. Shucking off all common sense and self-preservation is written in his damn DNA the same way the code for his eyes and his lips are. There's no reality where Dean listens and actually runs.

He won't even feel guilty for that later. Realistically it'd take about one second for Stephen's mind to power Dean down like a flicked off light switch.

So.

His splintering seconds of freedom are spent trying with everything in him to punch Douche Houdini in the face.

Oh yeah, when those shrikes are up again they're definitely gonna tase his ass unconscious. Sorry, Cas. Too late to rethink your choice in men, they're officially quarry buddies. )