foolintherain | INBOX #305682

[In all fairness Bolin has never met a spirit that looked remotely human so he has very little point of reference.

Doesn't matter, that isn't what he's focused on. Castiel's words have his stopped cold and the sudden lump in his throat makes it near impossible to force out a noise.]

W-what?

[ Castiel has processed his grief. He's held Sam accountable as he'd promised; he's scattered Dean's ashes, prayed for Dean's return and asked for forgiveness. He should be filled with calmness, dignity, and faith in God. Instead, he's filled with a roiling, ocean-like emptiness. He sees its reflection in the tea cupped between his hands. It aches, in ripples. ]

He was killed... by a man named Anakin Skywalker. His body was burned on a pyre by his brother, Sam, as is their custom, in the, uh... In the world we come from.

[ Castiel's voice sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else. Belatedly, he remembers that it does. This body isn't his, this world isn't his, but Dean— Dean was. And Dean's gone. Worried he might break it apart, shaken into atoms, Castiel sets the cup of tea gently onto an empty space on the wooden plank that serves as Bolin's desk. Very, very reluctantly, he straightens as much as the room will allow and meets Bolin's eyes. ]

I'm sorry.

[Castiel commands the energy in the room so fully. Bolin can feel it now, warmblood or not. Appearances or not. There's a strength in the way the man moves, an agelessness he's seen before in the corner of Korra's eye when she thought no one was looking. Korra who's past lives all live within her. Or.. did. But that isn't the story here. It's a familiar sort of feeling, though.

Or maybe he's just feeling the weight of incredible grief. It drops through him into the ground and suddenly he feels so heavy.

Dean is dead. His body is gone. There will be no funeral. He can't even say goodbye.

The weight of it all crushes against Bolin's lungs and for a moment he isn't able to draw air. He, like his visitor, is unable to keep hold of his tea and sets it on the floor with numb fingers. Unlike Castiel, Bolin's emotions are tied to his body in an incredibly reactive way and tears are already starting to sting in his eyes. The breath he can't take buckles into a desperate gasp and he holds it with a small whine before it can develop fully.]

I'm-

[Gasp, whine. He's trying, here. Soft and emotional in the face of so many tough, closed men.]

I'm so sorry too-

[ There was never any doubt in Castiel's mind that this man was a friend of Dean's. Even if he weren't especially empathetic here in Trench, Castiel can read minds. He can hear heartbeats. Less spectacularly, he can see tears. The way Bolin collapses and whines like an injured dog is at once familiar and removed. Cas was never so restrained in his grief, before. He's too restrained now, like an insect pinned under glass. In a way, it's cathartic to see Bolin react so honestly.

A bit belatedly, Castiel steps forward, still hunched, and drops a consoling hand on Bolin's shoulder, not entirely sure whether the contact will be welcomed. ]

It's alright.

[ His voice begins quiet and a bit shaky until he thinks to strengthen it. ]

The gods of this place have a very literal take on reincarnation. Dean will be with us again before we know it.

[ It's not a complete lie. It may even be the truth, Castiel tells himself, willing every speck of matter in him to believe it. Dean will be back. It's alright. ]

[This young man of barely twenty years has enough tears for the both of them as he leans into the touch like an anchor. Like a vessel for all the grief that should, and will, be poured out for their fallen friend.

Dean's chances of coming back- and Bolin, too, has to believe that he will- is a relief and brings some solace, but barely helps to stop the pain of the here and now.

He crushes his eyes closed as hard as he can, wiping at the tears he can't contain. He isn't embarrassed as he hides his eyes with his wrist, but he is about to lose what little grasp on them he has.]

[ This isn't solace Castiel offers, because he doesn't know how. Of course he's lost people before: Ana, and Uriel, and so many other angels. No one like Dean, though. Nothing so intimate as feeling like a piece of yourself has been amputated, and burned, and given to the wind. He feels enfeebled and powerless, barely able to care for Dean's possessions, but acting with rote loyalty, for Dean's sake. That's all this hand on Bolin's shoulder is. It's ephemeral, and Castiel thinks that he should leave.

Castiel has said what he came to. Bolin will tell others, and word will spread across Dean's network of changed lives while Cas isolates himself in a glass diorama of Dean's left behind things. With a half-hearted attempt at reassurance, he squeezes Bolin's shoulder, then turns to leave.

But there's the altar in front of him: the plate of apple, and mushroom, and a very red spider lily that's been cut but hasn't begun to wilt yet. Castiel pauses, and looks around the room again, at the dirt walls, the scorch marks, the single small bed. He doesn't want to go home in isolation. He doesn't want to live in a world without Dean. The feeling is like an old scar that, after all this time, still aches when it rains. But now it's on fire.

He turns back to Bolin, without reaching out this time. Cas's eyes narrow, and his chin lifts, and his voice rises with it, fueled with a tired but warm sort of energy, the opposite of grace. ]

How would you like to get shitfaced?

Edited (i can abide typos i see after post, but not grammar errors) 2021-12-19 02:36 (UTC)

[Bolin snuffles, begging his tears to stop or calm enough for him to function. Selfishly, he doesn't want Castiel to go, though there is nothing to keep him here. The prospect of being left alone with this pain feels terrifying. He and Mako are fighting so it isn't as though he can go running to his brother, not after fighting so hard for him to go away.

Bolin is a social creature. He is warm and group oriented. Charismatic and future forward and loyal to a fault. Being alone? He doesn't do so well. Being alone in despair? A recipe for disaster.

Maybe it's pity that prompts Castiel to offer. Or maybe, Bolin thinks, Castiel feels the same way. He's Dean's partner, after all; present in everything Dean does. In the way he lights up when he talks about His Angel. The sunshine in his voice and flushed, bashful face whenever it comes up. The steadfast belief that Castiel would come to Bolin if he called, so sure that he could fix anything.

And Bolin believed him.

But he doesn't think Cas can fix this. He can't snap and summon Dean back before he's ready... but companionship, grieving together, maybe that's the next best thing. And maybe this great spirit, like all spirits can be, is in the agony of loss with no one else to understand.

Bo can't begin to think himself on that same level, he's a friend but it isn't quite the same and he respects that. Still, he's grateful.

He takes a shaky breath, snuffling back the sob that is just desperate to get out, and nods.]

I'd l-like that a lot.

[ It's a rude sort of offer, Castiel silently acknowledges as he makes it, more a statement of intent than proper invitation, because this is his first time meeting this friend of Dean's. He doesn't even know the boy's name, never mind his preferred method of escapism from an overly cruel world. Maybe he doesn't drink. Maybe he's an alcoholic. Maybe Dean hasn't taught him what the word "shitfaced" means yet, and he has no idea what he's agreeing to.

But if there's one thing Cas has learned from his time, however paradoxical it was, spent as a human, it's that no person really wants to be alone. (Neither do the majority of furry, burrowing animals, which Bolin is already beginning to remind him of.) And neither does Castiel. So, when Bolin accepts, Castiel gives him a watery but grateful smile and nods. ]

Thank you.

[ He reaches out towards Bolin with three fingers, as if in benediction, wings unfurling in the dimension beside them, only to pause and, belatedly, to look over at the red panda on the bed. ]

Would you like to bring your friend?

[Bolin looks from Cas to Pabu and sucks his teeth to make a small squeak. Pabu is up and over in a heartbeat, bounding up Bolin's shoulder and down into the protective warmth of his shirt. It's fine. They do this all the time. Pabu, besides being an omen and this a literal extension of Bolin, really is an extension of Bolin. He is always near by, and very often exactly where he is now, a lump of fire ferret against the man's stomach, held in by a green sash belt.]

Thanks, he's important to me.

[Goes without saying but Bolin is a very open book, and takes the offered hand. Fingers. Why three.

He isn't sure where they're going or what, exactly, they're going to do.. but anything is better than sitting here.]

Of course.

[ Watching the creature respond to Bolin so readily and make itself at home in his shirt is actually adorable, and Castiel looks a bit wistful. It must be nice to be that close to one's omen. Castiel's (if that's what the three-eyed wolf that watches him from the shadows is) is far more distant.

He's disturbed from his thoughts when Bolin grabs his hand. ]

That's not— ...Alright.

[ Awkward, definitely, but Castiel looks at their joined hands for a moment before deciding that sure, this is fine. He clasps Bolin's hand more fully, and just then, in an instant, there's a burst of wind, a sideways tug, like a fishing line attached to Bolin's stomach is being suddenly pulled taut. The room goes rainbow-black, like an oil slick film coated on the back of Bolin's eyes, and then—

In the blink of an eye, they're somewhere else entirely. They haven't left Cellar Door, but they're in a very noisy bar called Earmworm. The lights flash neon and there's familiar, energetic music playing Bolin's ear, customized to his preference. Cas hears the first jumpy chords of The Song Remains the Same, and with a reassuring hand on Bolin's back, he guides him along towards the bar. ]

[Well look if you stick your fingers out like that he's going to take them. It just is what it is.

But also Bolin is the kind of person who just takes things without realizing. While he's distracted you can hand him just about anything and he won't question it until it's way too late. There have been many pranks at his expense because of it.

What he is not expecting is the sudden, sideways gut thump of teleportation and when they land he counts his lucky stars he didn't pee himself. What the heck--

Castiel really is a great spirit, holy moly..

He looks around, wide eyed before the angel guides him and he moves without hesitation. Bolin has never been to Earworm but by everyone's clothes and the giant slug on stage he's sure they're still in trench.

It's like a two minute walk, was the blinking really necessary??]

Where are we?

[ Why walk when you can fly?? Cas has wings again; he damn well is going to use them every chance he gets. Besides, with the Lamps around, it's not like people aren't ~~apparting~~ teleporting all the time. ]

Earworm.

[ Cas answers, and though the smells and the sounds are more distinct now than they ever were before, like a fractal painting that used to be dreamily impressionistic, the familiarity of the place has him relaxing anyway. And walking very eagerly to the bar, with Bolin in tow. Bolin must find it at home too, Cas thinks. It's a glorified dirt hole in the ground, after all. ]

That's Lady Bop: the owner of this place. She's responsible for the music you're hearing.

[ He gestures with a nod towards the stage, finally releasing Bolin once they're at the bar and Castiel is able to pull himself out a seat and order himself a bottle— yes, an entire bottle, thank you— of what passes for the worm excretion equivalent of Everclear. ]

She's no Madam Generosity, but she knows how to have a good time.

[ The bottle he receives is served with a glass. Castiel pours a very small sip into it and pushes it in Bolin's direction, then upends the bottle for himself, drinking a good quarter of it one very long guzzle. ]

[Oh Damn. We're going hard, huh. Just like that?

Just like that, apparently.

But you know what? Fuck it. This moment is as good as any. Usually Bo drowns his feelings in noodles but this feels like the adult version of that and he's ready.

They don't have to speak much. What is there to say? So he nods and drinks and coughs because oh- oh spirits that is- that is like swallowing a boar-u-pine backwards.]

Hoooooooooooo--

[Cough, hack, IT BURNS! He slaps his hand on the bar a few times while his eyes well up but once he's got control of himself and he's fair sure he isn't going to throw up he grabs his glass and thrusts it forward.]

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INBOX #305682

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