Owner	Pose
Sam Winchester	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	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	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	"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	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	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	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	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	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	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	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	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	"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	"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	"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	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	"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	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	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.
Dean Winchester	"That ain't happenin'," Dean says flatly, looking at his brother and making sure the seriousness is there in his expression. "You're going no where and I don't care if God himself tries to come down here and tell me otherwise." Really, he hopes that the Big Guy doesn't actually show up but he is stubborn-aka stupid-enough to try to stand up to any entity if it means keeping his brother safe. After all, he'd been willing to sell his soul for that very thing. Would it be any different? Looking back to Cas, he does follow up on Sam's question. "We appreciate that you chose to step in help us out and all. I'm sorry you ended up stuck down here. Although, it sounds like they are a bunch of jerks so you're better off."
Castiel	Castiel's bushy brows knit into a consternated line. "Stuck is a relative term," he mutters. "I can return. If I chose to grovel and beg forgiveness." And really, he had no clue why it was that he was finding it so hard to contemplate such an action. What, exactly, was it about these boys that had prompted such an action from the angel, and kept him from merely doing what Castiel of old (read: pre-Winchester days) have done without thought: left these mere mortals to their assigned fate and returned to the more serious business of being one of the elite Warriors of the Lord. "The Lord has better things to do than worry about your sorry asses," Castiel notes. Likely his own, even. It's another of those niggling concerns that doesn't sit quite right with the former Angel of the Lord: why, other than stepping outside proscribed bounds, did Himself care so greatly what one errant Angel had done? Lucifer aside, this was a piddling affront in the scheme of things. "Does all this complaining mean you're here to stay? And where's my beer?"
Sam Winchester	Flashing a concerned look his brother's way, Sam says, "Dean..." He was willing to stand up to God and protect his life and his brother's soul, but he didn't want Dean getting caught in that crossfire. Though when Cas brings the news, they don't even register on God's radar, he snorts derrisively, despite the reprieve. "Glad to hear it, and yeah, I wouldn't go begging either." "Here to stay?" Sam asks heading back to the kitchen to fetch Castiel a beer. "This is our house. Of course we're here to stay." Of course that hadn't stopped them from going on the road for months on end. "And no new leads either, so I guess we're sticking around." He comes back out with the beer, handing it by the neck to Cas while looking over at Dean for confirmation.
Dean Winchester	Finding a chair covered in pizza boxes, Dean carefully moves the boxes to the floor so he will be able to sit. If moving boxes carefully consists of shoving them forcefully over the lip of the chair so they tumble onto the floor in a mess. Sprawling on the recliner, he pushes back to kick out the foot. Which shoves the pizza boxes a bit further away. "Home for good or until we get another lead on Dad. Or a hunt." He knows Dad probably went to where he belonged in the first place but his disappearance wasn't the same as other souls that had taken that trip. So he believed John Winchester was out there somewhere. They just had to find him again. "We're not going to just sit around if we get a lead on a monster."
Castiel	Castiel regards Dean's actions with something of shock, or at least what looks like it passes for shock from the angel. One brow shoots, up, and his body startles forward a moment before he catches himself, a low grumble issuing from the back of his throat. It would be a decent guess he's about to protest the disassembling of his pizza box creation, but it's his utterance that belies that, the low grumble turning into a growl of, "That's what that does?" His mind casting back to a very similar chair in his own apartment. He seems disgusted in his own use of the couch in the face of that recliner. "I suppose you'll want me tagging alone watching your backs," he mutters, swiping open his beer in a practiced motion, and downing a long swallow. No, really, he's too good at that for someone who hasn't been in a 'mortal' form all that long. Body memories of the vessel? Or just a testament to how long the boys had been gone and how Castiel had bided his time.
Sam Winchester	Sam watches Cas with the beer and snorts, "Glad you're picking up the essentials," he says crossing his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall. "And yeah, that's what those do," he says about the recliner. He gives Dean a look, "I should know, I bought it." Okay the credit card company bought it, but he'd picked it out. "And yeah, what Dean said, if there's a lead we have to check it out, if it's Dad, or if it's a monster." As for Cas watching their back, he nods. "I guess," a look is given to Dean again for his take on the angelic back up. "In the meantime if you have any contacts you can work, maybe help us find a lead, that'd be a big help."
Dean Winchester	The look earns naught but a non apologetic smile from Dean. He actually smirks. Then he raises the can of beer into the air as a toast before taking a big swig. While never moving from the comfy recliner. He gives a shrug about Cas joining their hunts. "If you want, I guess. As long as you don't get in the way. Sammy and me have things down to tee and don't need that messed up. But couldn't hurt to have an angel around to smite things. You can still smite, right?"
Castiel	A low, derisive snort is uttered by the angel. "I am - was - an Angel of the Lord. One of his foremost Warriors. I am hardly in the way." Castiel grumbles around the very thought, as though he's quite possibly considering leaving the boys to their own fates if that's how they're going to be about the matter... except wasn't that how he'd gotten himself into this mess in the first place? By *not* leaving them to their fates? "Of course I can still smite," Dean is told like he might quite possibly be an idiot child. "I fell. I wasn't banished." Sam only gets a mildly perplexed look over the 'essentials' commentary, and typically, misinterprets the man. "I did not know the chair did that. It does look better than the couch."
Sam Winchester	"Jerk," Sam says as Dean doubles down on the chair theft. There's a smile in his voice even if the expression doesn't show on his lips. As for Cas, Sam tilts his head. "Really?" he asks about being one of God's foremost warriors. He didn't know much about Cas, or really, how heaven worked, besides them apparently turning their back on him. "Wait, he can smite?" he asks Dean. He'd been dead for that bit. "Great, I am going to have to fight the both of you for the chair now aren't I?" Sam asks shaking his head.
Dean Winchester	"Bitch," is the automatic response from his brother, that same affection there. "No, there will be no fighting over the chair. You will buy a new chair." He glances over at Castiel. "Make that two. If you're going to be around here a lot, Cas." He leaves it to the angel to expand upon what he is and what he can do. Not that he was aware of that much anyway. The smiting he got to see first hand though. Sweet power, that one.
Castiel	Castiel can only add a grumbled assent. "Two," he agrees, as though it were not only a forgone conclusion that he planned on being around here quite a bit, but that the very thought of otherwise was absurd. "I am told the one in my apartment is necessary." Actually, what he'd been told (should the boys be clueing into the fact that Cas has just admitted he has both an apartment, but also a recliner) is that people lived in homes, and those homes had furnishings. Including food. The gifter of the chair would be appalled to know that Cas hadn't made any progress on 'furnishing' his apartment, though he might just appreciate the fact that Cas had moved his ass into the Winchester apartment, and figured out the nuances of ordering pizza.
Sam Winchester	With the usual reply, the smile finally appears on Sam's lips and he has a swig of beer as he shakes his head. "So if you have a place and a chair? Why do you want one here?" Sam asks. "And both of you are helping me move those things up the stairs. I'm serious." Then circling back to the other line of discussion. "Also, the smiting, you forgot about the smiting, Cas. Is that for real?"
Castiel	Sam gets a turn at being the idiot child, Castiel's impatience clear. "How is it the son of a Hunter doesn't know smiting? Of course I smite, you idiot. I focus the Grace of the Lord and.. why am I even explaining this to you?" His beer is set aside for a moment, in favour of downing the remains of his most current shot of whiskey, and pouring the last within the bottle that sits nearby the glass. "Boy grows up chasing down demons and defilements in the face of the Lord and asks me if I can smite. Should have left him to that demon.." Of course that would have left *Dean* to an otherwise unpleasant fate, which is how this whole circle of circumstance got started in the first place. "The Lord's Grace is anathema to those not in and of Its Presence. You have a soul. It's a shard or a reflection of that Grace. Smiting doesn't work so well upon you and yours. But monsters? Sure."
Sam Winchester	"Huh," Sam says the curiosity brimming in his eyes. Yeah, Sam's a big nerd when it comes to this sort of things. "I mean I read about it but I dunno. I thought it might just be a story, a lot of stuff is." He ponders, "And you can still do it even though they kicked you out?" he asks making sure it was true. The idiot child look doesn't even faze him. He glances over wonderingly to Dean. "You didn't think to mention that part?" he's not so much mad as amused. "Anyhow, if it's true, then I am yes for you coming along. Would be kind of cool to see." Yeah, total nerd. Sam changes tracks. "So, other than figuring out how many recliners we need right now, I guess we should probably see what's going on locally, see if we can help out anywhere. I made some contacts before we left and might be good to hit them up. Also, been reading about this place in Jersey, Sunnydale, if the stuff on the Hell Hound's Lair is true the place is a real hotspot."
Dean Winchester	"Oh? If it's a hotspot, might be some of the escaped demons down there. You should check it out." Because Sam is the research guru. Sure, Dean can do it but when Sam is around, he'd rather pass the buck. That was never one of the more interesting things for him when hunting. He shrugs at the question about the smiting. "Wanted it to be a surprise. Would've been great to see your face when he did it." It still should be really. But then something sinks in and he looks at Cas. "You have an apartment and a recliner? Then why are you in ours again?"
Castiel	Castiel snorts again, downing his new rasher of whiskey before returning to his beer. "I was demoted, not struck from His Grace. I retain enough to go crawling back should I care to. I am an object lesson. Hardly useful if the first demonborn scum we meet eats me for breakfast." He also notes, "Not sure about that place, but I have noticed that there are many bars a person may go to. If by hotspot or happening you mean there are many people there," and if by people you mean girls, "then you would be correct." Noooooot that Castiel would know anything about bars. *Ahem* Other than warming seats enough he'd become something of a local at a joint or two. Or, if local wasn't exactly the word, at least known on sight, possibly due to his oddities. Dean is informed, "There was no beer or pizza in my apartment. Yours had both." Castiel considers. "Well, it had pizza after I ordered it." Totally bypassing the fact that he could have done that very thing from his own apartment.
Sam Winchester	Sam rolls his eyes, "You know we could get you a laptop too," he tells his brother with a smile. "Spilt the work." Sam blinks as he tries to put Cas' line of thought together. When it clicks he says: "Oh! Wrong kind of hot spot, I mean, we've run into haunted clubs before," a look to Dean. "Remember Atlantic City?" he asks before carrying on. "But I mean, there's a lot of supernatural activity, like tons, a lot of it's probably crap, but got to be something real in there somewhere." "Right. And a couch apparently," Sam adds to Castiel's list. "And a recliner if things keep going. So, what's the deal Cas? Are you trying to say you're sick of your place?"
Dean Winchester	"Oh yeah! Damn, she was hot as hell." Dean glances sharply at Cas. "No offense." Then he looks back to his brother. "What was her name again? Wait. You mean the case? Yeah, that was a bitch." Yet he is smiling so apparently the case is not what he is remembering.
Castiel	"No offense," Castiel agrees. Of all the humans that Castiel knows, the Winchesters might be amongst the very few who can use the phrase 'hot as hell' knowingly. Besides, while the boys were gone and Castiel was fending for himself, he'd begun to learn a thing or two, and while he wasn't *quite* sure he understood the connection between hell and being hot, and girls, he at least understood the two were connected in male vernacular. "I am not sick of my place," Sam is told. "It isn't here. You had things I did not. I did not see a reason to leave until you had returned. You were not using this space."
Sam Winchester	"Brenda," Sam supplies the name. Of course /he/ remembers. "And yeah," he says grabbing an empty take out box and chucking it at Dean. "I meant the case." He remembers back and nods, "And yeah, it was a total bitch." He still had the scars. "Right," Sam says of Cas' answer and he gives a shrug to Dean. "So now that we're back, going there are staying here, is I guess what I'm asking?"
Dean Winchester	Dean's smile gets bigger. "Brenda. Of the big..." He doesn't finish as Sam continues. It makes Dean frown a little to be distracted from his happy thoughts but he focuses again pretty quickly. "I ain't givin' up my room. Does that mean we have to move the armory?" Yes, they have an armory cause no good hunter wouldn't.
Castiel	Castiel's answer is a noncommittal grunt that could be assent to his 'moving in'. "Place was a mess in there," he remarks of the armory. Note: Was. Like he'd done something about that or something.
Sam Winchester	Sam's face meets his palm. "Please don't finish that..." he says to his brother about Brenda. "You mean the Dean cave?" Sam asks with a grin, hand lowering. "You and Cas can share right?" He gives a glance for the armory door. "Maybe if we spread it between our ro-" he begins before Castiel makes mention of it being a mess in the past tense. Sam crosses to the door and opens it, peering inside.
Dean Winchester	"You better not have gotten rid of any of our weapons," Dean warns as though he's going to do something if they are. Not sure what but it sounds good! Then he pauses before leaping to his feet. If the state of the apartment is any indication, how much of a mess could it have been in there for Castiel to feel a need to tidy up anyway?
Castiel	If there was one thing Castiel has learned since becoming 'one of us' so to speak, it's that grown men don't share rooms, even if they're dudebros (maybe even especially if they're dudebros). Witness the understanding of what made a place 'hot' and 'happening'. "I do not share," Castiel remarks. Grunting over their concern about the armory. "There was rust," the angel complains, making it sound like an affront. So blades, at least, had been contemplated. And when the boys look into the room, it is mostly empty. There's a floor even. The window, which they might not even have remembered the room has, has curtains and everything. A dinky little cot in the corner. A desk - where several bits and bobs of the more arcane of the boy's gear are lain out neatly (likely a shock given the angel's seeming incapability to unrumple himself). "Unwad your panties," the angel grumbles, the words fumbling out in a slur that sounds nearly drunken, suggesting he's only heard it in that particular fashion and learned it with exactly that intonation, "You boys never used your storage place, did you? Big whole romping room under the deli belongs to this apartment."
Sam Winchester	Sam's jaw drops for a moment at the neat and very empty room. It closes again and he scratches his brow. For a minute he looks like he's about to lose it, before the storage room is mentioned. He looks to Dean. "We had a storage room?" he asks before double-checking. "And we've still got the Colt locked up in Baby, right?" not that they had bullets for it but Bobby said he had ideas about that. He turns back from the door to look at Cas. "Did you just say panties?" he asks side-tracked for a second before he gets to the point. "So all of our stuff is in the storage room?"