View source for 2572/Ghostbusters Sort Of

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/24
|Location=Unknown
|Synopsis=Summary needed
|Cast of Characters=306,5,1086
|pretty=yes
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{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>The jingle of the bells above the door to Flo's Diner in Hell's Kitchen, interrupts the silence this time of day. The diner should probably be closed. It is THAT quiet. Dean Winchester sits at one of the many booths with a cup of coffee. Next to him, the large hockey shoulder bag (that definitely doesn't contain gear), is tugged a bit closer. <br><br>He glances at the door. It's just an elderly woman. His eyes roll and he casts a look behind his shoulder. He breathes out and his breath comes out in a puff. Green eyes roll with easy irritation. Silently, he slides from the booth and treads towards the kitchen of the diner. <br><br>Silent steps have him peeking around the corner. He's on a job. <br><br>He reaches into his jacket and finds the iron crowbar there. The ghost is lurking here. He knows it is. Just a matter of where...<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>After recent events, May has taken it upon herself to check up on the brother -- Dean in particular -- more regularly. Once at week at least if her other workload allows. Today she has a bit of free time, so she's tracked Dean down by his cell phone and follows the elderly woman into the diner. What is WITH these kids and their nasty greasy spoon habits, anyway?<br><br>The moment she sees Dean slip toward the kitchen she recognizes that he's in hunt-mode and moves to follow him, her own footsteps as close to silent as she usually does despite appearing to be walking nonchalantly. As she nears the kitchen doorway, one hand reaches into her jacket. <br><br>Is she aiming to help Dean, or stop him? Considering her expressionlessness and the fact that she's practically staring a hole in the Hunter's spine between his shoulderblades...<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>Scene: Elsewhere. Some dirty street. It's almost always dirty streets. It's New York, after all. Not known for courteous folks and socially aware sanitation habits...<br><br>Not that Castiel has noticed. For an angel in a man suit, he's got a lot on his mind. This humanity thing was proving more complicated and subtle than he'd expected. Of all the Choir, he alone had found them sympathetic creatures. Some made nods to that end, but ultimately, humans were playthings in the greater story. When the End Battle came, they would be tossed aside like so many sheaves of wheat in a field come harvest.<br><br>Ultimately, it didn't matter: their souls would be the Lord's. How they got to Him didn't matter.<br><br>But it had mattered to him. Enough that he'd taken on this form - not as a nod, or a minnor necessity, but with intent. Purpose. His lot had truly been thrown.<br><br>And now that he was here? They confused him. He was confusing him. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. And those boys.. the brothers. Their Fate. It weighed heavily upon the angelic. There was so much he wanted to do. So little he could.. Still, he had eyes on them. They might be of Free Will, but they had his favour. It could make all the difference.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>The lights in the kitchen flicker. The fuses hum loudly when they flicker again. Sensing something behind him, Dean spins quickly only to see May. His eyes roll over dramatically and he twists back to the kitchen. His boots slowly slide against the tiles of the floor. The kitchen itself is unoccupied. Dean unzips his bag and extracts large container of rock salt which he tosses towards May. <br><br>He means for her to salt the door. If she's willing. But he's not about to stop moving even if she doesn't. He slips towards the back of the kitchen. The large metallic walk in fridge rests at the back. His green eyes narrow and he slips towards the walk-in. <br><br>With slow movement, he tugs on the handle of the door to peek inside. <br><br>Dean's eyes widen. <br><br>Three pale-faced ghost children tilt their heads in unison. The chain wrapped across their necks and dead expression in their eyes indicate their dead state. They run forward towards Dean and he uses the crowbar like a bat to cause them to explode into a spray of light and sparks. <br><br>The question remains, "Where are their remains?" He wishes he'd brought Sam along.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>Dean's eyeroll only receives a raised eyebrow in reply, and May catches the container of rocksalt deftly and turns to salt the doorway. But not before toeing a doorstop over to keep the doors from being pushed open from the other side. That would ruin the salt line, after all. <br><br>Once that's done, she turns to see what Dean is doing just in time to see the three ghost children for the few seconds they are visible before they are temporarily dispelled. She's then moving to salt any other doors leading into or out of the kitchen while touching the comm unit in her ear and saying quietly, "HQ. May. Patch me through to WAND Central." They're not as fast or as efficient as Sam at getting the needed intel, but they can do it, and they're not in the middle of a fight while doing so.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>In a grand bit of irony he won't understand for much time to come, Castiel accidentally kicks a can - the battered thing a roll and a skitter down the street to come to a stop mere feet in front of him. By the time his shuffled, bear-walking steps have carried him that far, it's in position to be kicked again, again without awareness he's doing so. And for some moments, the angelic spends his time accidentally kicking a can down the street in what can only be a parody of every dark alley scene ever.<br><br>Lost in his own thoughts, he almost misses the ping. To be fair, it's a gentle one. Nothing that stabs into his awareness. Just a small nudge reminding him to take a peek.<br><br>He comes up short, body held in its awkward stiffness, hands shoved into trenchcoat pockets, held tilted at just *so* an angle that he looks perpetually quizical, and he peeks.<br><br>Dean. No Sam. Dean and.. someone he hasn't met. Armed with those.. How had he put it - "Technological annoyances". Guns they quaintly called them. Nothing useful against the bulk of supernatural beings. And certainly nothing more than a reason to get angry against demons. She didn't look to be a threat to the boy.<br><br>The apparitions were minor. He wasn't worried for Dean yet.<br><br>But it was reason to continue watching. He'd yet to see the man in action.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>Dean's eyes turn up towards the ceiling. He scans the room carefully. Green eyes that match his green combat jacket widen while he The ghosts will be back. If they can't find the remains they'll keep coming back. The doors lock. If May and Dean want out of this space, they won't be able to find an exit. <br><br>"Child ghosts are the worst," he mutters grumpily. "They're like children but dead and cold and dead and angry and dead," he lifts the crowbar again, readying it to fight the ghost children again. "May, behind you!" the trio find their way behind the agent ready to attack. Seconds later a large woman with a meat cleaver and a chain treads through the walk-in. Her hollow eyes, grey and empty, pale skin, and faded grey hair speaks to the angry nature of her spirit. <br><br>Her lips twitch into a thick grim line. She flickers out a second later, disappearing into the abyss. <br><br>When she flickers back she's an inch from Winchester with her cleaver swinging towards his chest.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>May's eyes also flit from corner to corner of the room trying to place where the ghosts will appear next, and when Dean calls out she instantly flings salt from the container around herself and with her other hand pulls a doubled blade of dimensions that would make Crocodile Dundee nod in approval from under the back of her jacket. In doing so, she sees the adult ghost with the cleaver. <br><br>"On your six," she snaps out to the Hunter while following the spray of salt with a slice of the blades through the air in a move that would have easily fit into the 29th SEA Games just last month. Her words are not much louder than her normal speaking voice but still comes across as almost a bark. And in the same breath, she's charging across the room with the doubled blade aimed to slash at the cleaver-wielding woman.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>If he were a better Guardian, he might be more concerned than he is when the wispy remnants of deposed children's souls dissipate to give way for the larger, angrier ghost with the cleavers. Like so many things arcane and supernatural, the blades the angry woman wields are real. Or at least real enough to mete out damage. On contact, they'll leave slashes and rips in flesh and fabric alike. They pose a real danger.<br><br>..just not the sort of threat Castiel feels obliged to get his feathers in a ruffle over.<br><br>The boy has weapons. Moxy. The woman. And salt. He should be okay. It's not like Cas can't be there within the space of less than a heartbeat if he needs to.<br><br>He gives an amused sort of grunt, which, on a busier street, would have others looking at him: This tall, strange figure, still as stone, ever so slightly hunched in an oversized trenchcoat. Head barely cocked to one side - just enough that the angle of his neck isn't *quite* normal. Gaze distant. And giving an amused grunt.<br><br>There are whole hospitals and lines of pharmaceuticals for people like him... It's a good thing the street he's on is empty.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>The child-trio erupt into fireworks. The children disappear into nothing. May's blade cuts into the woman, causing her to spark and disappear into an array of light and electricity. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and allows the crowbar to CLANG to the ground. The vibrations through the air oscillate loudly when it hits. He picks up the bag he'd been wearing on his shoulder, having lost it to the floor early in his interaction with these ghosts. <br><br>"It's the fridge," he states with a roll of his eyes. "Of course it's the fridge," he murmurs again. "More places to get locked in," he mutters again. He tugs on the fridge. When it opens his breath forms mist in the air. But then, it's a fridge. Green eyes scan the room and fall on the small counter in the back. It's shrine, clearly some kind of memorial is likely the source. But just as Dean is about to walk to the source, the woman with the meat cleaver shows up again. She puts Dean in a headlock as he struggles against the ghost's machinations. "Burn..." he fights against the large spirit, hoping that May burns up the remains while he attempts to get air back into his lungs.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>With a nod to Dean as he deduces where these ghosts are originating, May prepares to fend them off while Dean deals with the fridge. But then that plan is derailed by the cleaver-wielding ghost appearing and snaring the Hunter in a headlock. She slings more salt at the man and the ghost as she rushes into the fridge toward the altar set on the counter in the back. <br><br>Burn... well, while the instructions lack in specificity, she has no qualms about setting things on fire. And one thing that even Dean has to admit: SHIELD has all the wonderful toys. <br><br>Still very much alert to the rest of the kitchen, May switches her double blade to the same hand as the salt container -- inefficient, but she'll make do -- and pulls what looks like a butane cigarette lighter from an inside pocket of her jacket. Only when she clicks it on, the flame is more on par with a jeweler's torch spouting a good eight inches out from her hand. She promptly employs it to char, ash, melt, and otherwise destroy anything and everything on the counter. Maybe even blacken the contertop itself some. <br><br>Never hurts to be thorough.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>Craggy eyebrows knit themselves into a line of confusion. "Freezer?" The tilt of head moves another degree to the right, even as the hunch of his shoulders draws forward by about the same amount. ..it must be some quaint human colloquialism.<br><br>The boy has the right of it, though. Fire. It's always been fire. In the Beginning, the Lord set his hand upon things, and they either felt the cool of his blessing or fell to the Balefire of His Wrath. There was rarely any inbetween. And luckily, mundane fire seemed to deal just as easily with the lesser annoyances that crept and crawled in the shadows, avoiding His gaze.<br><br>But freezer? That one he still did not understand.<br><br>It kept Castiel in place, contemplating past the point he'd intended. Leaving the pair to their own devices for yet another space of time.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>The counter items go up in flames at the woman screams as she disintegrates around Dean into a burn up mist and smoke. The children are gone. The woman is gone. The problem seems resolved. Dean falls to the ground, doubling over and coughing hard as he catches his breath. Spots enter his vision and he blinks hard, effecting to draw anything into focus once again. His palms meet the floor to press himself up to his knees. <br><br>Balance and body linger together in tandem when he brings himself to his feet. A glance is given to the counter and Dean smugly nods. He sniffs once, an air of approval behind the action. "Normally go for the kerosene, salt, and fire," he observes easily like he hadn't just had a ghost try to choke him out. <br><br>He swallows hard and reaches into his jacket to extract a small silver flask. He twists the cap off and takes a swig of whatever is inside. Maybe it's holy water? Probably not. <br><br>"Thanks for the assist. Sam seemed busy," because that is reason enough not to bother his brother with this. "And I was just here to investigate," not to physically hunt the ghost today.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>Stepping almost nonchalantly out of the fridge, May cuts off the tiny butane torch and offers Dean his container of salt back (with blades right there in the same hand) while waiting for the small device to cool down before returning it to her jacket. <br><br>"Next time, wait for backup before you go in." There's only a hint of disapproval to her words, and that's mostly because yet again Dean didn't think to ask WAND for the assistance when Sam wasn't available. "I really don't want to have to have a repeat of Virginia." It was WAY too close to Bahrain for her peace of mind. <br><br>She pushes the fridge door closed with one foot.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>It might be co-incidence, or it might actually be ironic recognition of the word, but at May's mention of 'backup' the angel arrives, Castiel one moment in the unnamed dirty street, the next in the diner, standing in the doorway to the kitchen where May and Dean can be found. His arrival is silent.<br><br>"Virginia?" The angel a stillness in the doorway, but an inquistion of sound with that single word.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>The appearance of the man in the doorway without any warning causes May to charge toward him in an attack almost as he's saying the word 'Virginia'. First thing he gets is a faceful of salt. If that doesn't dispel him and Dean doesn't speak up, her blades will very quickly be following.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>Over-dramatically, Dean rolls his eyes. "Sam is the official one, Agent Mom," he replies before bringing the flask to his lips again. The repeat of Virginia merits a narrowing of his eyes and a faint lift of his eyebrows. "You don't even know about Virginia," he mutters sullenly. "I had it handled," before he got tossed in jail and then had to go with the crew to rescue Sam from Hydra. He'd been unreachable for weeks. <br><br>Fred had left a lot of messages on his phones. His mailboxes were full. <br><br>And then the word Virginia gets repeated by another familiar voice. Dean's chin drops with undeniable weight until May is attacking the angel. Oh. That's not good. <br><br>He shakes his head, "Wait!" His throat clears and he goes about introductions very quickly, "May this is Cas--he's probably(?) a friendly!" There's a beat. "He's a dick, but not a nefarious one. Probably. Maybe."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>The woman rushing him, he can deal with. She's not exactly a threat, though it's clear that /she/ thinks she is. But like the gun she caries, or Dean's blades, there's little that can hurt him in a permanent fashion, and neither wield such things.<br><br> Of course there's that little matter of the faceful of salt she gives him.. *He* might not be bothered by it, but the body reacts, giving and annoyed huff off breath to clear his nasal passages, and a furious little reflexive swipe of hand to clear the matter from his face. The eyes.. well, there's no hope for them in the intial moments of surprise. His eyes water, trailing salt trails down his cheeks as he blinks.<br><br>"I'm an angel you ass, not a ghost!" His voice an annoyed rumble that echoes on over Dean's introduction of him. Followed by, without a single beat of separation, the deadpan query, "What is a dick?"<br><br>To his credit, and probably the safety of all concerned, he doesn't draw a weapon. It might not be all that flattering a thing with regards to May.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>May stops with her blades mere inches from the man's neck, the flat lack of emotion on her face something that would make most adversaries extremely unnerved. She steps back when Castiel doesn't draw a weapon in return, but she is still very clearly poised to resume her attack at a moment's notice. Dropping the tiny butane torch and the canister of salt, she separates the doubled blade into two identical slim swords and holds one in each hand with the clear intent of using them should they be needed.<br><br>"Identify yourself. Now." Yes, Dean might have just introduced the man, but she wants to hear Castiel explain for himself. She doesn't even react to his question asking what a dick is. Not yet, anyway. She's not convinced that he's not a threat.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>Dean squints at the pair. While May be unconvinced and Castiel may be insolent, Dean merely shakes his head. The flask lifts to his lips and he takes a long drink. A really long drink. So long that he finishes whatever was inside. <br><br>His lips curl upwards at the edges into a humourless smile. "Look in the mirror. Then you'll know what a dick is. Or go to the dictionary. You'll see pictures of you and Zachariah next to each other, Cas." <br><br>He shrugs at May. He's already encountered Castiel twice. And he's not a fan of angels, but simultaneously knows he has little, if anything, to fear from them. Not right now anyways. He begins to pack the blue hockey bag with all of his tools. "Speaking of," dicks, "where the hell were you? You said something about being a damned guardian. Sam said your name means shield in the Apocrypha. What the hell, man?" Pause. "Or what the heaven? I don't even know if that counts as a curse where you're from, but seriously. You're like the worst guardian angel in the history of guardian angels. I know a Crossroads demon more faithful." <br><br>He twists around to see the kitchen bar. With a faint shrug of his shoulders, he grasps a bottle of whiskey and uncorks it.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>The woman first - while she's not a threat, she's also the one on edge. Edges, he understands. He was a warrior first, and she holds herself in a manner he knows intimately. Dean? Well.. Dean was a special case, and while he was finding himself turning more than fond of the creature, the boy wasn't about to make a move. That or Castiel had lost his touch in reading opponents.<br><br>Dean might be slicing with words, but the woman had actual blades, and she was tetchy.<br><br>His blue eyes regard her calmly, even if there are still the remnants of salt-induced tears hovering in the corners of his eyes. A minor annoyance he could ignore. "Your weapons. They are well crafted. Balanced for you alone?" No, it's not what she asked, but it's what he gives.<br><br>But Dean's ascerbic commentary drags him back from that contemplation and into a scowl. One moment he's nothing but still in the doorway, only eyes and voice betraying him, the next his body is a fluid act of irritation. "I came. You are alive. What more do you want of me?" It's only at mention of the Sam's discovery that Castiel even gives a nod to relenting his irritation. "I had forgotten that one. It has been too long since I was thus named. Hrm." The matter visited and discarded in a single heartbeat.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>Dean's snark does far more to convince May that Castiel is on the up and up than anything else, and she finally relaxes from the combat-ready stance. Of course, then the trenchcoated man asks about her blades, which is weird and random and not at all what she asked him about. <br><br>And then his stepping past her to gripe at Dean... yeah, no. She's still just a tiny bit too high-strung. So she quickly puts herself between the two men, blades raised again. "Back off, Rain Man. Now."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>"I don't trust angels," Dean offers towards May as he takes another swig of the liquor. "But Cas hasn't tried to hurt us yet," a glowing endorsement. There's clear resignation in Dean's posture when he swallows more of the amber fluid. Pickling his liver feels so good. <br><br>Back towards Castiel though, he sniffs. A sharp smile complete with cutting edges across Dean's eyes, cheeks, lips, and nose. Everything about it speaks to the irony of the gesture. "No thanks to you," he replies gruffly. <br><br>He glances towards May, "Just lucky Agent Mom decided to save my ass." His eyes lift towards the ceiling again. "Why even bother coming? Everything's fine now. You probably couldn't help if you wanted to," he states with a snort.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>There's a snort of what can only be derision from the man, Castiel seeming to more easily slip into this human skin when he's about and bandying Dean. Perhaps finding his element in the annoyed and the irritated. "You were in no danger. I was observing."<br><br>Observing.. like that's going to endear him to Dean in any way shape or form. But that's lost upon Castiel, who turns the blue of his gaze upon May who is nothing but a bristle and a snap of defensive energy between him and Dean.<br><br>"Your defense of Dean is admirable. You should know that those blade will do me no lasting harm, much as they are impressive in their own right.<br><br>He pauses, as if in distant memory. Body stilled. Not even a breath of movement about him, The moment hangs, and then, an sudden flicker of awareness back to May. "Ah.. Yes. I am Castiel. Once of the Choir. And you are Agent Mom."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>With a narrowing of her eyes at Castiel when he echoes the ridiculous moniker that the Winchesters have stupidly decided to saddle her with, she finally tucks her blades away under the back of her jacket. And in almost the same motion reaches over and snatches the bottle of whiskey out of Dean's hands. <br><br>"Go back to your choir, Mr. Castiel. You weren't any help here and I don't expect that you ever will be." She punctuates this bizarre conversation by taking a swig of the whiskey herself. <br><br>UGH. Rotgut. She doesn't spit it out, though.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>"Observing?!" While Dean was full of snark before, he's slipped into sometheing very different withe one word. "What gives you thee damned right to watch me and my life?! What I do withe it is my own damned business!" <br><br>May gets thee bottle from his hands and he casts a long stare towards her. But it's Castiel theat gets thee brunt of thee abuse. When he speaks again, his tone has changed. It's become quiet, low, and dangerous, "I don't care if heaven, hell, purgatory, thee Minch, and anytheing and everytheing in between wants a piece of thee Winchester pie. You will all regret crossing us--bothe of us. Because while we may be puny humans to you and yours, me and mine hold no bars about defending ourselves and thee entire human race against whatever demons, angels, monsters and anytheing else thereaten thee world withe." <br><br>His lips purse irritably. "People are afraid of the theings theat go bump in thee night? Well thee theings theat go bump in thee night are afraid of Winchesters. You'd do well to not forget it, angel boy."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>It could be fathoms and furlows, or barely a paper's width of distance that separates Dean and Cas - time and space don't matter at this point. They exist. For this single, solitary moment in time, they are /all/ that exists. Whatever it is that Dean may have been aiming for, he hit something. And the something he hit may have been closer to home than he expected.<br><br>It isn't the awkward, the 'Rain Man', the homeless derilect on the street that speaks now. Nor the angel that Sam and Dean have conversed with up to this point. He may have snarked at Dean prior, but what faces the brother now is a thing past that. A thing that draws upon the memory of power, and then some, the edges of him glowing and pulsing as the Warrior of the Lord struggles not to bear down upon Dean in full righteousness.<br><br>"You speak of things you know nothing of. Do not think me simple because I do not act. I have given up more than you will ever know for you and your brother. Do not call my loyalty into question."<br><br>May? Well. His words could suffice for her, though for the moment she is nothing more than a shadow between him and the older of the Hunter brothers.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>When Dean goes from snarky to downright angry, May sets the whiskey bottle aside. That, unfortunately, gives Castiel enough time to get all up in Dean's grill in return, so she ends up with the unenviable task of having to break up the pissing match. <br><br>Putting a hand on each man's chest and shoving them away from each other, she barks in her most commanding voice, "ENOUGH." She gives Dean a flat look that could mean she's either angry at him or just plain done with his bullshit, and then she looks at Castiel with the same flat expression. <br><br>"You," she addresses the angel first. "I get that you've appointed yourself Dean's protector. But you're doing a poor job of it right now. Take two steps back, take a deep breath, and stop to consider how you would feel if someone said they'd have your back and showed up just in time to NOT be of any help."<br><br>"And you," she turns to Dean. "I know you're used to exactly zero humans giving a shit about your welfare, but I have a newsflash for you. You might have just found the ONE other person on this planet willing to put up with your crap and terrible attitude, even if he does have a piss poor way of showing it. So get your head out of your ass and get your gear together. Central's just informed me that LEOs are about two minutes out."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>The angel not-so-angelic (or terribly angelic? Dean really doesn't know what is or isn't characteristic of angels) response doesn't even see Dean flinch. When Castiel nears Winchester, the angel gets a glance at something else--the mark of challenge in Dean's gaze. There's a dare. And it doesn't fade. Not even when May presses a hand to Dean's chest. <br><br>"I'm fine," Dean lies easily, probably because he's been doing it long enough that it plays over his conscience like a scratched record. But the newsflash sees some relent. Dean takes a step back and looks towards the freezer. His lips quirk downwards, remembering what else he used for this particular job. His nostrils flare, and once he's convinced he has collected everything already, he hoists the bag on his shoulder again. "I'm ready," he says flatly. And just like that, it's locked down again. "I'm ready to move. This was just an investigation anyways."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>Of all the things he may have expected, May's reaction wasn't one of them, Castiel a glower of angelic anger one moment, and a human body being firmly shoved in the middle of the chest the next. He's experienced attitude before, but fearlessness of that sort has been rare.<br><br>It draws him up short for long enough to actually listen to and consider what she says.<br><br>The anger..a person can see it fade away. One moment he's shimmering and on the edge of exposing his truest form.. the next, he's just a man in an oversized trench coat, looking awkward and most than slightly out of place. "He was in no danger," the man says softly. It's not an apology, merely an offering. "I did not think."<br><br>That. That last, though, it rings the way apologies do, even if the words are an errant fit for such a thing.<br><br>The blue of his gaze lifts to Dean, and silence fills the air. Finally, "We should go."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>May gives Dean a long look as if trying to determine for herself if he's truly fine or just 'fine'. That so-convenient lie that everyone she knows like the Winchesters use to an aggravating degree. <br><br>Her eyes then focus on Castiel again, and she can tell he's learned from this even if he doesn't actually say sorrry. "Let's go, then." Scooping up her little butane torch off of the floor she leads the way back out of the kitchen after kicking the doorstop clear of the doors. "Castiel, you're riding with me." Her tone brooks no argument as she leads the angel to the boring black SUV parked a few spaces over from the Impala.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>While May's gaze may be piercing, it's impossible to tell the difference between real and put-on 'fines' from Dean and he even manages a practiced smug smile. <br><br>Dean's eyebrows lift. /He was in no danger/. It's a thought that just causes that horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't remark on it, but the nature of danger itself seems so variable that for a moment, his gaze carries him away to some place very different. His eyes glaze over. But the notion that they should go snaps him back to attention. <br><br>It's been a rough few couple of years. Once outside, he actually grins when he sees the Impala. There's comfort in the car. He opens the car and dumps the weapons cache into the backseat. The back bench will need a good clean in short order. <br><br>He slides into the front seat and puts the car into drive. <br><br>Even after May and Cas get into the SUV, they can hear the music blare from Baby: loud and proud while Dean sings at the top of his lungs and drums on the steering wheel. <br><br>"//Smoke on the water~ A fire in the sky~ Smoke on the water~//"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>Whatever it is that passes through his mind, Castiel isn't sharing. Nor is he arguing with May, his precise bear-walking shamble falling in behind her as she leads on to her vehicle. It isn't until they're there, and they've gotten in, that he observes, "I am not limited to your vehicle."<br><br>It isn't a snark, merely a statement.<br><br>"They are all the same."<br><br>His meaning might not be clear to her. But he stays, despite the fact that the *where* of where he is is of little consequence. This vehicle. Dean's vehicle. A back alley. A street. A bar. They have little meaning to him past the point that they are places, and this body exists in them when he is there. Not for the first time it occurs, the thought settling in the body, filling nooks and crannies with memory, that humans have homes. Places they go to and stay. Call their own. Make safe for the myriad of bits and pieces of themselves that make them human.<br><br>He also knows Dean lies.<br><br>The man might be a consummate liar, but Castiel is what he is, and the surface of Dean's thoughts are a roil of deception and held back things. He doesn't pry further, though. Only knows that the words are not truth. And that they are truth.<br><br>It is a thing he is also learning about this species he has chosen to inhabit: their lies and truths can be alike or different. Dean lies, because he is not okay. But he speaks the truth, because he has decided that the not-okay he is, is okay. It puzzles the angel, but he does not speak of it yet. Instead, he offers to May in his gravelly tones, "You care about him." It isn't a judgement. Not much about the man is, until one gets through the cracks in his armour.<br><br>He might not know it yet, but he and Dean are an awful lot alike.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>Getting into her car, May waits for Dean to get underway and then follows the Impala. She's not as skilled a driver as other senior agents she can think of, but more than likely she'll be able to keep up with Dean even if he TRIES to shake her. <br><br>"Seatbelt. The same or not, I can't talk to you if you're in the other car," May explains. "And yes, I care about him. Him and his brother both. They've not had nearly enough people care about them since they were little children, and it's about time that changed. That's why I want you to listen to me, and I want you to seriously think about what I say." She glances at the man for a second before her eyes return to the road. "Having grown up the way he did without anyone he felt he could truly rely on, Dean is not going to take kindly to people who just WATCH him before stepping in to either hinder or help. He's only just now starting to put up with me because I've taken the time to prove to him and Sam both that I'm not doing this for some ulterior motive. I want to see them safe. Nothing more." <br><br>She's quiet for a moment before adding, "You're going to have to do the same. Prove to him that you honestly want to help. And you can't do that by getting angry when he talks back to you. You have to show him, with actions, that you truly mean it when you say you are here to protect him. And arriving //after// a fight is over is the worst possible way to do that. Do you understand me now?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>The music from the Impala continues to blare loudly. The bass attracts the attention of those that the car passes. There's no question that Dean doesn't care about attracting attention, particularly while behind the wheel of the Impala. He doesn't speed through the streets to lose May, possibly because he knows his cellphones are just a tracker away. <br><br>All of them. <br><br>And so he continues to listen to tunes. From behind, the pair in the SUV get full vision of the elder Winchester jamming to his music. His head bobs, his fingers drum against the steering wheel in perfect rhythm and he sings. Loudly. In the confines of the car, all is permissible, and nothing is held back. <br><br>Unquestionably, the car is his home.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>"Seatbelt?" The notes of puzzlement slip into Castiel's voice. He watches, though, and looks where she points. It takes some fiddling, but eventually he buckles up and in. "You are aware I do not need this?"<br><br>He listens, though, the angel solemn and sombre, his attention on the woman beside him as she drives the vehicle. Silent the entire time she speaks. Silent for long moments after, long enough that the space becomes, or would become, uncomfortable for most humans. And while he does not betray it in so many ways, it's clear the man is struggling to form words around thoughts.<br><br>"He is.."<br><br>"They are.."<br><br>"You are.."<br><br>Each aborted attempt punctuated with one of those silences. Long heartbeats of pause where nothing fills the space. A space he decides not to finish or fill. Until, "You are saying I should not wait for him to call.."<br><br>You can almost *see* the moment the light hits, where understanding fills him. It isn't just his words - but they demonstrate it too - it's in the utter relaxing of the body he wears. He isn't just a stiffness beside her anymore, instead, a contemplative passenger. Much like they were sharing a Sunday drive. "You are saying he will not call."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>"Then wear it so you don't wind up hurting someone ELSE if something happens," May quips at the angel. She doesn't even bother trying to explain the concept of 'traffic violation'. She's pretty sure it would go clear over his head. She remembers dealing with an organic chemistry savant about a decade back who was quite far into the Autism spectrum. His lack of comprehension in the social norms was very similar to Castiel. And probably why she's explaining things to him so plainly. <br><br>"Correct. He won't call for your help. Even now when he knows I'm wanting to help, he still won't call me, because he was raised to believe that he could rely on one but his brother and himself." May watches Dean headbanging his way ahead of them, the SUV completely lacking in music of any kind. "So in my mind, it's better that you be there when you're not needed than the other way around."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>The music changes. Dean's head snaps back towards the radio like he's offended. His expression sours and madly he begins to push on buttons. It doesn't change the fact that after a few bars, the Impala's betrayal becomes clear: "//I can't fight this feeling any longer~ And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow~ What started out as friendship has -- " the music dies. He managed to stop the song. <br><br>A pat to the dash punctuates the point. Dean and his car seem to make amends for the time being. And now silence has overtaken the black Impala. He finally pulls into Hell's Kitchen--just a few blocks from home.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>"Hurt someone else?" Castiel's glance flicks about the vehicle, and back to May. "There is nobody else here." Her point is utterly lost upon him. In many ways, she has the right of it. Though there seem to be ebbs and flows to his understanding. Usually connected with emotions. What the body felt, it remembers.<br><br>When she goes on to speak about the brothers, and their past, how they could only rely upon one another - he watches the car ahead. The head bopping driver of the Impala holding all his attention. "He is a fool. A stubborn fool."<br><br>There's a surprising amount of sympathy and compassion in his tones. And were she to see them, in the clear blue of his eyes. Their softness betraying the gruff crag of his features.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>"I don't disagree," May concedes, letting the seatbelt conversation go. For now. "But that means in order to protect him we have to use methods and tactics that don't give him a chance to be stubborn. Or a fool. Because the next time he's a fool could be the last." Or he'll keep on keeping on, until that deal with Crowley comes up due. But May is still doing everything she can to get that figured out before it happens. Though maybe ... <br><br>She glances at Castiel again. "So are you going to stand by and watch again if he's in a situation that may or may not be dangerous?"<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>Baby slows to a stop a block from the Winchester's apartment in a quiet alley just off the beaten path. The door opens and Dean slides out. He opens the door to the back seat and draws out the bag. Purposed paces take him to the trunk which opens with another creak and he carefully begins unloading the bag's contents into the trunk. <br><br>It's painfully organized. Everything has its spot in this trunk. It's taken years of work to get it to look like the weapons rack it is, and when the bag is unloaded, it's with the care and detail of someone needing to ensure everything is where it belongs. <br><br>The rock salt, however, does not get put in the trunk, instead, he closes the trunk, locks it, and stuffs the rock salt in his jacket for safe-keeping. It creates a strange bulge underneath the coat, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He twists around to look at the SUV and issues them a shrug. <br><br>"So... I don't know if you're intending to debrief me or something, Agent May, but I'm almost home." Which he knows she knows, yet he needs to point it out anyways. His thumb points back towards the apartment for good measure. "Unless I need to fill out some paperwork..."<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>It's one of those moments - one where the body remembers, and the soul of the angel agrees. Well, Grace. Angels don't have souls - but they agree. A slow, sly smile flits over Castiel's lips. It's a simple thing, and it's so much at ease and a part of him that it's debatable he's even aware he's doing it. "I will be the pain in his ass," the angel says with smugness. Then allows himself to sit with that thought while the agent beside him drives them.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>"Now you have a plan that just might work with Dean." And really, in May's mind, the more allies the Winchesters have, the better. Her gut is telling her that things are going to get far, far worse before they get better. And she'll take allies where she can get them. <br><br>The SUV pulls to a stop by the Impala and May gets out -- after freeing Castiel of his seatbelt -- while Dean is emptying the duffell into the trunk. "No paperwork this time. I was off duty." That's probably a lie that Castiel can easily pick up on, but it's most certainly not one told out of malice. It sounds more like a protective lie. <br><br>"If you're both good I should probably get back." She does want to ask Sma about Dean's drinking habits of late. Because she's starting to notice a bit of a worrying trend.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>If ever news brought a smirk to Dean's lips, the phrase /No paperwork/ might be it. His lips hook up on one side into a crooked grin, "That's the best news I've heard all week." His eyes spark with easiness that doesn't often rear its head these days. "Thanks for the assist," he states again. His hands tuck deeply into his pockets. <br><br>"I'm good, May," he says with another duck of his chin. "Home," effectively. For the time being, anyways. There is a pause as he thinks of something, and it flickers briefly across his face. His lips part only to seal again--a trade for a grifter's smile. Whatever he was going to say is lost for the time being. <br><br>"I really didn't know I was going to run into the ghosts. It just /happened/." And then, an even rarer thing happens: "Sorry." One word. No explanation and no expansion on what he'd do next time, just a word.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>As quickly as it came, the moment passes, and the smugness is gone, leaving nothing behind but the solemn stillness of the man. He knows things about the boys that she doesn't. Like Michael's plans. And worse: Sam's role in all this. He hasn't even stopped to think about Crowley. In the grander scheme, that's a pittance. No matter how it's looked at, Dean is the pawn that will be torn apart in the argument.<br><br>"I am - I was - an angel" Castiel tells her with the barest note of confusion in his voice to May's question of being good. "I am incapable of being anything but good lest I lose the Lord's Grace." It's complicated. He is an angel. He was an angel. They're both true. Heavenly semantics were difficult.<br><br>Dean regarded as Castiel's attention drifts back to his charge. Like the statement of being fine, the smile was something of a lie. It was a better one than before, but still a lie.<br><br>The apology? Ah.. he'd have to be less than he is to understand the rarity of that as it's given to May.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>May looks at Dean for a few seconds longer. She is only too aware of the rarity of the one offered word, and thus doesn't bring undue attention to it. Instead, she turns to look at Castiel with a single eyebrow raised. "By good I meant unharmed. Physically and mentally at ease. No longer in need of help." Yeah. Castiel is SO much like that chemist it's almost uncanny. <br><br>May turns back to her SUV but stops with her hand on the door. "Winchester. Eucalyptus oil." She gestures to her neck, then starts to get into the car.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:'''<br>Resignation continues to pull at Dean's features. There's something there unspoken, and not quite hidden, but still present. <br><br>Oddly, he actually nods at the instruction. Is it likely he'll follow? He's almost home. He'll probably drink and then pass out in the centre of the demon trap again, a truth he knows almost universally. Liquor makes it easier not to think about the things that haunt him like watching Alistair... no. He cuts off that thought at the knees, choosing to pinch the bridge of his nose instead. <br><br>Green eyes linger on Cas and then back to May and somehow he intuitively knows that he's less alone. Although he's not remotely sure how to process it. <br><br>"Take it easy, May." His back turns and over his shoulder he calls, "I'll have a drink to celebrate for both of us." He remains ever reassuring.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:'''<br>Castiel bears the weight of Dean's gaze without flinching. It's not just because he's an angel. Or that he still sits oddly and awkwardly within this vessel. It's more. Much more. The gaze is a pact. A promise. An acceptance. Where Dean's green meets his blue, that is what greets the Hunter.<br><br>A promise. A pact. Acceptance.<br><br>For in the grander scheme of things, Dean isn't the only one accepting. The Fall wasn't minor. It wasn't a sever. Or a break. But it was a Fall. And such things are not lightly forgiven. It will be remembered. His choice will /always/ be remembered.<br><br>But in that moment, that singular moment, where the blue of his eyes meet the green of Dean's, there is clarity. It was worth it. It was always worth it.<br> <br>

:'''{{#var:5|Melinda May (5)}} has posed:'''<br>As May climbs into the vehicle, she calls back to Dean, "But only the one, Winchester. I'll likely be back in the morning with a task from WAND for you. And if you're hung over, I //won't// go easy on you." And with that, the SUV backs out of the alleyway and is gone. <br><br>She's a horrible drinking buddy.<br> <br>
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