4925/Welcome Home Boys

Welcome Home Boys
Date of Scene:	15 July 2018
Location:	New York City
Synopsis:	The Winchester brothers come home only to find there is an intruder their apartment! At least he brought alcohol.
Cast of Characters:	Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel

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Sam Winchester has posed:
It had been a long road on their latest search for Dad and it was made longer when the lead didn't pan out.

They'd taken their frustrations out on that spectre who'd been haunting a diner upstate, before heading home. Home... the word felt weird to even think. They had a home. Even if it was a rented apartment above a crappy store. It was something neither of the Winchester boys had enjoyed for awhile, Dean longer than Sam.

Sam waves tiredly to the shopkeeper, even as he talks to Dean,. "I still can't believe you ditched me for that deputy." He opens the door to the stairs to their place leaning agains the door to hold it open for Dean. "Twice."

Dean Winchester has posed:
As Sam pushes open the door and leans against it, Dean manages to slip past him to enter the living room. "I did not ditch you for her," he corrects with a smile that shows he has not a single bit of regret for what he did. "The first time, I was trying to get information on the case."

Then the smile broadens as he shrugs off his jacket, prepaping to drop it onto a chair. "The second time..." He pauses then shrugs. "Alright, that time I did ditch you. But she said she made the best cherry pie in the state so I had to see if she was lying to me."

Castiel has posed:
Picture it: You've been gone for months, and fully expect to walk into your place to find it like you last left it. Comfy. Cozy. Albeit likely a tad messy (let's face it, you're two bachelors with a rather rough lifestyle; housekeeping isn't tops on your agenda).

What you come home to is this: Pizza boxes piled here and there like little fast food Inuksuks, littering the apartment tabletop spaces, and odd corners of the floor, surrounded by little tin sentinels of empty beer cans with overseeing bottles of scotch - long since drained. Less than you might think, given the pizza boxes, but truth be told, the cans have a return value; empty boxes don't - and while Castiel was becoming more than aware of the importance of money exchange, nobody had explained recycling to him yet.

Oh, there's that, too. Sitting on the couch, in a rumpled trechcoat, hunkered over a can of beer and a shotglass of scotch, scowling into thin air, is on former member of the Celestial Choir, a member the boys should remember, even if they don't recall giving him free reign of their apartment: Castiel.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Right. Cherry pie. Didn't know you wrote lyrics for Warrant," Sam snarks as he steps off the door and lets it close behind him. He picks up the changes right away, and lets out a wary, "Dean," as he reaches under his flanel shirt for the chrome plated piece at the small of his back.

Then he sees Cass. "Jesus," Sam curses lowering the gun. He looks around the place a little closer and frowns, "What are you doing here?"

Dean Winchester has posed:
As his name is said, Dean glances at the room and pulls out his own gun. He holds it two handed, looking around. "What the hell?"

He spots Castiel about the same time as Sam. The weapon is lowered then tucked back under his flannel shirt, outside the t-shirt that is beneath it. "Castiel? What are you doing here and why does it look like I've been living here this whole time?" Cause let's be honest, it would look like this if he was home alone without Sam to keep him in line. "Is that Scotch?" He is moves around to see if he can spot a bottle that isn't empty near the angel's position.

Castiel has posed:
Castiel, for his part, is nonplussed. You'd think he had armed people walk in on him every day. In the boys' apartment no less. Not that he was accosted on a regular basis, but as it happens, as a Warrior of the Lord, Castiel could take care of himself, and had it not been the boys, things would have likely gone differently.

As it was, the fallen angel scowls from his spot on the couch, shoulders hunching up underneath the fabric of his trenchcoat. "What do you mean the hell? Never seen an angel sitting enjoying the boilermaker before?" It is, indeed scotch. A near full bottle by Castiel. If he's others squirrelled away, it's hard to tell, but a couple lying about have a measure or two left in the bottle. Certainly enough to cobble together a fair sized drink should one not care to disturb the angel's personal bottle.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam sticks his gun away as well, frowning at the angel, then spotting one of the pizza box Inuksuks, he cocks his head at it and then gives it a shake.

"I think what Dean means is why are you drinking it here. I thought we set you up with a place before we left."

When Dean scrounges for booze, Sam, runs a hand through his hair, heading to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. "Any pizza left?" he asks while waiting for the answer on Cass' sudden relocation.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Considering it is their place, Dean isn't as concerned about whose scotch it is. Their place must mean their scotch. Though, he would've never left that many bottles unsupervised. The sheer amount of empty everything in the apartment is impressive.

"What Sam said. Not the pizza. Why are you in our apartment doing...whatever it is you are doing."

He makes a grab for the nearly full bottle of scotch.

Castiel has posed:
The angel makes a shrugged motion in the direction of the kitchen. "There is a box in the appliance. The oven? It has knobs. I do not think it is fuzzy yet."

Dean might think their place equals their scotch, but he's be sorely mistaken should he think he can abscond with Castiel's current bottle. To be fair, the ones lying around unsupervised have already been abandoned to first come, first served, but as Dean reaches for the full one, the angel snakes out a hand and holds it along the neck of the bottle, "I wouldn't."

The angel levels a look at Dean. "Not that you asked, but circumstances have changed since you decided to wander like Moses in the desert. Got tired of waiting." He nods with a stubbled chin at the apartment and its furnishings. "I don't have a couch." As though that explains everything.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam comes back with the water, but leaves off with the pizza at the mention of fuzz. "I'll call out for some."

"You know, they sell couches," he says, leaning against the wall glass in hand. "Also, wait, what changed?" he asks.

Images of whatever would get Cass to come here for safety dance in his head, completely blocking out any other kind of motivation. Let alone furnishings.

Dean Winchester has posed:
That earns a frown from Dean but he doesn't try to get the bottle now that there is a hand protecting it. Instead he moves to a nearby bottle that is on the floor and has about a finger left in it. Uncaring that it's been there a while and is room temp, he takes the top off and just swigs right off the bottle.

The inquiry is left to his brother. Not that Dean doesn't care. He just figures Sam has it well in hand. Besides, he's looking for another bottle that might have some vestiges left.

Castiel has posed:
Sam gets a scowl, and an irritated grumble. "Why would I buy a couch when there was a couch here. Unused." Which doesn't answer the rest of Sam's inquiry.

Dean can easily find enough bottles with a half or quarter inch left in the bottom of them. Fuzzy pizza aside, the fridge also is fully stocked with beer, which suggests there should be further full bottles of scotch somewhere as well.

"I Fell," Castiel says abruptly, and downs his scotch, pouring another shotful.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Because that's what people..." he looks to Dean with an expression that says. 'You want to explain this one?'

The fell part, that get's his notice. "Wait, like in the shower," is the first thing out of his mouth before he suddenly realizes, wait, no, he meant Fell. Sam blinks and then looks up at the devil's trap in the ceiling as he sets down his water.

"Just how fallen are we talking here?"

Dean Winchester has posed:
"Because if you bought your own couch, you could be living large in your own place instead of giving the recyclers an entire truck worth of pizza boxes," Dean returns as he finds another bottle. He finishes it off then takes those two empties to the kitchen. Which is about useless considering the boxes, cans and bottles already on the counter. "Sam, I think we are just going to move to his apartment and he can have this one."

At the Fallen bit, he comes back into the living room and looks warily at Castiel. "How did that happen? You were fine last time we saw you."

Castiel has posed:
"What are these recyclers?" Castiel's gaze darts about the pizza boxes as if seeing them truly for the first time. Not that their presence seems to bother him. "I put them in neat piles. They were not in my way." Perhaps not *his* way, but by the looks of it, Cas has been ordering non-stop pizza since the boys hightailed it out of town, marking their absence with pizza boxes the way criminals scratched time marks out on the wall in lockup.

The angel makes a gesture that would be a dismissive shrug in another. In him, it's a bare gesture of fabric stretching over his shoulders, smoothing out the crumple of his trenchcoat momentarily, and then relaxing again. "I did not wish to purchase a couch when there was one here. There was also beer in the cold box."

Speaking of, his beer is swallowed in several long gulps. He drinks like a man with his own seat at the end of the bar, and a tab that gets settled monthly.

"There's been some discussion about what I did. We did not agree. I have chosen to throw my lot in with you."

His scotch is tossed back and another poured. The angel's motions as sparse and sparing as the information he's giving.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam's shoulders relax as it doesn't sound like Castiel had been exactly damned. The pizza boxes are a subject for later. And seriously, a bit of the nerd in him is curious about just what happened.

He sets down his bag, steps over some pizza boxes and sits down, pulling the pistol from his pants and putting it down carefully beside him. Not because he thought it might do something Castiel, but because it had been riding back there for most of the day and was starting to leave a mark.

"So, when you say what you did..." he prompts.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"About what you did with us? Or something else what you did?" comes Dean's voice. At the mention of beer in he cold box--er, fridge, he opted to see what there was. Upon opening the door, he sees it is filled almost to bursting with lovely cans all lined up one after the other.

"I love that angel," he mutters under his breath as he takes one out, pops the top and takes a long draw. Sam already opted for water but, just in case, he pulls out a second can and heads back to the living room to offer it to his brother.

Castiel has posed:
It's even decent beer! As it happens, it was the first that Castiel grabbed, and by default, it became the beer you buy just because. So, yes, Dean does love that angel.

"What do you think, you ass?" Cas scowls at Sam's question. "Of course because of what I did. There were words. I was to let it go. Leave you to your fates. I chose not to."

He utters a gravelly sigh. "All choices come with a price. It wasn't the Dawn Star's Fall, but it was enough. I am left with only a portion of my Grace. Enough that should I care to come crawling back and admit my errors I might beg the remainer back." Truly enough for most things. Smiting, certainly. Exorcising, of course. Healing? Yes. But not his full angelic strength. No resurrection. No bringing back to life. No calling upon the Choir to hold his back. Enough for the boys, and their futures; certainly enough to pointedly express displeasure in Castiel's choice - ever so close to the Divine, and able to hear the Choir and lament its loss, but not the full Fall from Grace that might leave his soul untormented by such things.

Over the course of the boys' absense, Castiel had come to a greater understanding of what Lucifer's Fall had meant, and the freedom it had given the former favourite of the Lord.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam takes the beer only to have to try to catch it a moment later as he fumbles it when Castiel gives the answer he feared he would. "Wait. I am the ass? Not the guys who fired you for stopping Dean from losing his soul?"

Sam finds himself on his feet, beer in hand, water spilled over sopping into the upholstry of the chair. Sam didn't care. Coming back, it had been a hopeful moment for him. That growing light in the darkness drawing him in and returning him to his body. It gave him hope, that even with everything bad in the world the folks upstairs had their back.

Now all of that had turned to ashes.

Lacking anything else, Sam cracks the beer and takes a long swallow.

"Well that's just great," he says as the can is lowered half-empty. "They coming for us? Your friends? Are they going to try and set things back the way they were going?"

If they were, Sam had no intention of going easily.