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goblincas · 4 years ago

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Chutes and Creatures: A Four-Story Story

Oh no, it seems that a notorious fugitive is trespassing within Bnanom Brictom Community Center! And during a family-friendly Halloween event, no less. Shameful.

It's Lovell's first day as a center volunteer, but damn it, he's more than prepared to handle this.

(Featuring... loose and very homebrew-y DnD inspiration!)

To: Staff @ Bnanom Brictom Community Center

From: Bnanom Brictom Security and Office of Inner-Community Relations ([email protected])

Good evening, everyone. I sincerely hope this message reaches you all well, conditions considered. An update: The building-wide lockdown is now in place. Right now, we can use all the help we can get. Feel free to continue mingling with party guests, both to keep up morale (your own and the guests’) and to gather potential scraps of intel or information, if you happen to stumble across it. Now, we’re not necessarily suggesting you all take on the role of amateur vigilante sleuths, but make of this message what you will. ;-)

Feel free to travel between floors as necessary— nonetheless, if you’re able, we suggest limiting or preventing floor-to-floor movement by party guests, whenever possible. In the meantime, we will continue our personal investigation and monitoring of the situation. Thank you again for your continued cooperation.

Expect a staff-exclusive raffle to be arranged, at the Center’s earliest possible convenience.

Happy Halloween,

Bnanom Brictom Security and Office of Inner-Community Relations

I. Rooftop

No doubt, this wasn’t how Lovell had expected his second day of community volunteer work to wrap up. Sure, to be fair, he’d never exactly been on the best of terms with luck— whether that luck belonged to himself, or to the victims of whatever collateral immolation he’d managed to create, that time around. In a way, Lovell supposed his mere presence was a bit of a time-release, possibly airborne poison. What right did he have to act shocked?

None. Absolutely none.

Sliding a finger across the chilled surface of his phone screen, Lovell watched the sky turn red and pulpy, before oozing down into the horizon. And since news had traveled fast among the face- and body-painted attendees, chatter had already grown frenzied, spiking in pitch and fervor. Straight-faced children clung to their parents’ arms. Several guests had since tugged off their wigs and other extraneous bits of costumery, signaling the spiritual end to their booze-free festivities. Lovell tugged at his cape on reflex, but kept it fastened around his neck. The fabric felt thinner than ever, tickling at his calves, before being swept back into the breeze.

“Alright, okay!” one of Lovell’s fellow volunteers hollered, using his cupped hands as an entirely ineffective megaphone. The guy was clearly a human, yet costumed up as an especially malnourished looking drow elf. It’s always what you can’t have, ain’t it?

“Listen. I know this whole situation isn’t what y’all were hoping for, sure, I get that. I really, really do. But y’all gotta stay put. Can’t move around the building until this is all sorted out— faster security can sort their way through the building, the sooner this will all be over. And, hey, how cool would it be if ya can go on to say that you were at the party where a world-infamous, kinda unhinged fugitive was finally taken in? Talk about a story for all your future parties, am I right?”

As the human volunteer babbled away, clearly still processing his own uneasiness, the crowd began to quiet. There was a short beat of silence after the volunteer finished, which hung in the air and soured at an astonishing pace; until, at last, an attendee spoke up.

She was standing, alone, toward the heart of the swarm. Her party store witch’s hat was tipped forward, its brim casting a shadow over her features. “There’s no way we’re safe right now, then. This super isn’t okay. So, you’re just fine with potentially endangering our lives in your whole quest for justice?” the petite half-elf said, speaking evenly, and at an unfittingly polite volume. “I mean, didn’t this guy they’re looking for, like, kill a ton of people or something? What if he’s on this stupid roof with us, right now? C’mon!”

From somewhere over Lovell’s shoulder, he heard a faint whisper of, “Well, we push ‘im right off, then,” followed by a snort and some stilted laughter. Lovell clucked his tongue, but couldn’t quite temper down his own giggle. Nothing wrong with making light of, frankly, a borderline Draconian situation. It was a philosophy he tried to live by, no matter how unsuccessful he often was at doing so.

Another stiff breeze swept through the crowd, and Lovell pulled his cape tighter around his arms.

As Lovell’s co-volunteer lost hold of his barely controlled state of panic, the half-elf began to scan the crowd, which was slinking back into conversation. After spotting Lovell’s mostly-concealed yet fluorescent yellow Bnanom Brictom polo, she huffed and charged toward him, wiry arms folded across her chest. Lovell readied himself by stiffening up and straightening his posture, defaulting to what he fondly deemed his business-friendly mech stance.

She stationed herself barely a foot ahead of Lovell, tilting her chin up to continue holding steady eye-contact. Still, when she spoke, she did a top-tier job of injecting some highly sterilized, artificial calm into her voice. “Please, please tell me you at least have more information for us. I’ll take anything,” the half-elf pleaded, furiously drumming her fingers against her own forearm.

Lovell shrugged, and the half-elf deflated. “Sorry, I only know what was in the email they sent out to us, which… wasn’t much. Look, I get the ethical questions that should definitely have been raised before this plan was made, but there’s not much that I can do for you. This is kinda completely out of my control.”

The half-elf chewed on her bottom lip, before breaking eye-contact to heave a sigh at the ground. “Whatever, fine,” she said, scuffing her boot against the concrete. She turned her gaze back up, squinting at Lovell in what seemed to be an attempted menacing glare. And, surprisingly, it was pretty damn effective. Huh, impressive. “Can I at least ask for a favor, then? At least, if it’s something that’s even in your purview.”

“Sure.” He could certainly use a distraction.

“I want you to find my girlfriend,” the half-elf said, her voice growing louder and more strained. “She’s probably still on the top floor. I was a dumbass and left my phone in the car, so I just need you to make sure she’s okay. And let her know that I’m okay, too. Can you at least do that for me, if I’m legitimately gonna be trapped in this petri dish of strangers having emotional meltdowns? Please?”

Beginning to gleam down at them was the ruddy face of the moon, as it fought its way through the clouds.

Lovell wiped his clammy palms onto his jeans, nodding at the half-elf. “Actually, sure, I think I can do that.”

“Great!” The caricature of a witch was bouncing on her heels. “Alright, so, I need you to look for Bryn. That’s her name. She’s the super tall, unfairly glamorous half-orc chick, and she’s carrying a couple of plastic battle-axes. She hand-painted those herself, y’know. Just tell her that Merrie sent you, and that I’m safe, alright?”

To think, he’d only wanted some mindless volunteer work at the local community center, and now there he was: Lovell Polonian, freelance messenger of love. God knows if he couldn’t stabilize his own damn relationship, then he’d just have to carry the torch for someone else’s.

Lovell flashed a final thumbs up, before heading toward the streamer-draped stairwell.

Meanwhile, his co-volunteer had entered a fugue state, swallowed by the mob.

II. Second floor

Sharply-tinted, orange and yellow string lights were blinking throughout the ballroom, chattering amongst themselves. Not long after reaching the floor, Lovell scrunched his nose; the space smelled like a chemical rosebush, as if a full can of dollar store air freshener had been detonated maybe an hour prior. It kind of burned his nostrils, just a bit.

Alright, maybe more than just “a bit.”

Lovell paused at the base of the stairs. He surveyed the sparsely packed room, where party goers were in a similar state to those on the rooftop. Several scuffed, plastic jack-o’-lanterns lined the walls, perfectly situated to watch the madness unfold.

Certainly not to Lovell’s surprise, Bryn wasn’t especially hard to locate. After all, she was the tallest guest in the room. Her loosely coiled, auburn curls rolled down much of her back, adorned with clovers and softening her otherwise angular features. Bryn’s thick brow was furrowed, while she clutched the pair of battle-axes in her left hand.

Lovell approached the half-orc woman cautiously, not wanting to startle her and end up bonked over the head by some lovingly decorated plastic. Next to a half-orc, he could hardly feel any scrawnier and less capable of immediate self-defense.

“Hey, excuse me, are you Bryn?”

Still, Bryn jolted, knocked out of her thoughts. She stared vacantly at Lovell for a moment, buffering as she rejoined reality. “Um, yeah. That’s me. But who the hell are you?” she asked, narrowing her gaze.

Lovell raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Just an innocent volunteer. Merrie sent me.”

At that, Bryn’s shoulders sagged, as she no longer attempted to mask the heaviness. “Shit, really? Wait, is she alright? Because I swear, if she—”

“She’s alright,” Lovell cut in, before Bryn managed to spiral into an all-out panic. “She was worried, and I needed something to do, so here I am. Just checking in for her.”

Bryn nodded slowly. “Oh, okay. So she’s still up on the roof, then?”

“Yup.”

“Well, guess that’s all I can ask for, at this point,” Bryn said, shaking her head and sighing, her hair cushioning the movement. “That she’s safe. God, this is such an awful situation. Awful. Hey, do you at least have any idea when the hell they’re gonna let us out of the good ol’ danger cage?”

Despite his better judgment, Lovell quirked a grin. “No clue. And your girlfriend had some pretty similar thoughts, by the way. Choice words ‘n’ all. To be perfectly fair, I don’t think anyone’s really on board with all of this.”

Bryn snorted. “Yeah, well, maybe aside from the literal cult recruiter or whatever in our midst. I’m sure that bastard’s getting a real kick out of this mess. Like, do they really think locking down the building is gonna make a difference? The guy uses dark magic, for god’s sake. Warded or not, I kinda doubt he’s gonna be contained within a damn community center. Sheesh,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and frowning.

Lovell’s responding chuckle was weak, but it was certainly there. He hesitated and peered around, giving the room another once-over. Most party goers had broken off into clusters, commiserating amongst their own ecosystems. The lights continued to buzz and flicker, chipping away at the darkness that had spread throughout the room.

Turning back to the half-orc, Lovell smiled. So long as he made the effort to hide his teeth, maybe it could even be read as a semi-comforting gesture. “Think of it like this, then: if that weirdo fuckhead can bust his way out quickly, then the lockdown isn’t gonna last all that long. So, maybe it’s all for the best, y’know?” Lovell shrugged noncommittally.

Again, Bryn narrowed her eyes— but before she slipped in a response, a rough hand clapped down onto Lovell’s bicep. He jumped, before peeking over his shoulder.

“Boy, I’m gonna need your help with somethin’. You’re gonna come with me now, alright?”

Lovell was met with the grizzled scowl of Higgins, archetypical Northern Dwarf and long-time Bnanom Brictom head of security. Lovell’d only had a chance to meet the guy once, during his orientation the week prior.

By the time Lovell thought to turn back to Bryn, the half-orc had already wandered off.

Higgins tightened his grip on Lovell’s arm, bruising the flesh beneath his fingertips. “C’mon, son, you gotta come with me, now.”

III. Ground floor

Higgins’ office was bare-walled and low-lit, with a blackout curtain preemptively drawn. Lovell let the oak door ease shut behind himself, while the Dwarf moved to lean back against his own desk, facing the volunteer.

Lovell shuffled his feet, stabilizing. “So,” he said, holding out the syllable. “Wha’dya need me for?”

“Well, lucky you, I’ve got an emergency chore for ya,” Higgins grumbled. He huffed, hopping up to sit on the edge of the desk.

“And, that is…?”

“Well,” Higgins began, not even attempting to feign any amount of confidence over the situation. Oh, how reassuring. “I’m gonna need ya to get some supplies for me. Can’t waste my own time diggin’ around for it right now, but I sure as hell can waste yours.” Higgins punctuated his request with an amused snort.

Lovell nodded, steadily. “Sure, okay. What do you need me to find, then?”

Higgins sighed. “I won’t sugarcoat it, boy. Weapons. Gotta keep our defenses up, should we need ‘em. And it ain’t as if we’re pullin’ out that stuff often.”

“Oh,” Lovell muttered. He cocked a brow, hands fiddling behind his own back. “And, why are there weapons in a community center, in the first place? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking, I guess.”

“N’aw, it’s a fair enough question.” Higgins batted a stout hand around, dismissive. “Don’t mean I’m gonna answer it for ya, though.”

Lovell couldn’t help but chuckle. Really, he should have seen that response coming.

“Just gotta find the damn basement key for ya, then I’ll send ya on your way. I’ll give ya a map, don’t worry— should show you where everything’s lyin’ around down there. Sound good, hm?”

Flashing his brightest and most saccharine grin, Lovell nodded. “Totally. Sure thing.”

IV. Basement

“Okay, what the absolute fuck were you thinking?”

Batting an especially ambitious spiderweb out of his face, Lovell huffed.

“I know you’re down here, asshole.” He had his hands planted on his hips, glaring into the darkness. “Still don’t know what the hell you’re actually up to right now, though,” Lovell proceeded to grumble, complaining to himself in a moment of intense self-pity.

From behind Lovell, a second voice seemed to flutter around in the air, materializing before it even had a source to anchor itself to. “Really, dear, I just wanted to surprise you at your brand-new job! No need to drag me to couple’s counseling over it. Goodness,” the voice drawled, deepening and growing clearer as it solidified within the space.

Lovell turned on his heels, cape whipping around, before it slowly settled back against his body. “You’re absurd, you know that? And a jackass. Do you, like, get off on fucking with me, or something? Actually, no, please don’t answer that. Lord, please.”

From behind a staggered tower of plastic bins packed with nativity decor, a taller man emerged. He swaggered closer to Lovell, who simply glared in greeting.

“Scarus,” Lovell said, matching the ever-present warlike glint in the other man’s eyes. “You do realize that my whole point in doing this was to relax for once, right? Sure, it’s inevitable at some point that I’m just gonna get tossed through another fucking dimensional portal, but for now, I just wanted to do something… simple. Until my stupid magic short-circuits and fucks me over again, at least.”

At that, Scarus deflated ever-so-slightly, but countered the change in posture with a roll of his eyes. “Okay, but like you said yourself: We both know good and well that you won’t be here for long, and it’s not as if I meant to be noticed. Truly, I didn’t. Really, what kind of military-grade community center has such drastic warding? I promise, I meant to slip in and say hi, and that’s it.” Scarus flicked a strand of blond hair away from his face.

Lovell scrubbed his eyes, the fight already draining from his bones. “Fine, well, whether you meant to cause it or not, there’s a total lockdown of the building. And now everyone’s totally panicking. All they wanted to do was go to a stupid, family-friendly Halloween party, Scarus. A Halloween party.”

Scarus raised his pointer finger maybe just a bit too proudly, smirking. “Ah, well, in my defense: You already know I’m not the biggest fan of Halloween, as it’s commonly celebrated. Really, it’s offensive, more than anything. Maybe I did the right thing by—”

“Don’t,” Lovell supplied. “Just, don’t. Don’t even start. Listen, if you just leave right now, maybe I won’t have to carry several dozen pounds of weapons up a flight of stairs. Okay? And, for god’s sake, don’t you dare tell me that I need the exercise, or something. I will absolutely burn you in your sleep tonight, and I will feel no remorse.” Okay, maybe Lovell would feel a tiny slice of remorse, although he would certainly do the burning, nonetheless. No question. Really, there was nothing quite like some third-degree retaliation during a lovers’ spat.

“Fine. If you’re only going to chastise me, then I have no issue with heading out.” Scarus stepped forward briefly, planting a kiss on Lovell’s cheek. Lovell felt himself warm at the gesture, until, wait, no—

“Scarus… what the hell did you just do to me?”

Scarus shrugged. “Protecting myself,” he replied. “I have no intention of being set on fire tonight. Of course, feel free to use non-draconic flames instead. I’m sure I’ll be perfectly equipped to handle some bodily arson sans childish magic, no issue at all.” He snickered, pulling Lovell into a quick hug. “Alright, my fire-breathing little darling. I’ll just be leaving, then. I’ll have dinner waiting for you, alright?”

“Oh, you better, bastard.”

#my writing #my post

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goblincas · 4 years ago

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Entry Level Angel | Ch 3

On AO3

Saturday, October 10th:

Charlie tapped Cas's shoulder, urging him forward as another breeze stroked past his skin— his still very desensitized skin. He swallowed, unmoving, eyes drilling into the scene ahead. After waiting another moment, Charlie flicked Cas in the bicep. He flinched out of sheer habit.

“Y’know, this is super important,” Charlie reminded him, using her fingertips to soothe the site of assault. “Like, for your own well-being. Hell, for your life, even. Not to be melodramatic or anything, but it’s not like we have any clue of the severity we’re facing, here.”

She was right, of course— Cas needed help, and he needed it more and more desperately, each passing day. He had almost certainly been cursed. Although, that was right about where the reasonable conclusions slipped off into the abyss, never to be heard from again.

However, if Charlie’s plan was to succeed, Cas was going to have to take some initiative, first. There was nothing productive about standing in place, waiting for the asphalt to swallow both his body and his oh-so stubborn will to live.

Christ, how did Charlie convince herself that she was the “melodramatic” one?

The brick wall ahead was tinged by an earthy green plaster, offsetting the tubular neon lights spelling out “Magical Books ‘n’ Goods” across an otherwise cramped windowpane. Damp autumn leaves clung to the chipping windowsill and the base of an oval-capped doorway. Cas could hardly see inside the low-lit shop, aside from the unassuming profile of a retail bookshelf.

Sure, it wasn’t an especially threatening setup, but he wasn’t exactly coming at the situation from the calmest headspace. Thus, there was an almost menacing ambiance filtering through the shop’s walls, clamoring in Cas’s direction. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been rendered motionless by fear, much like a toddler off to their first day of preschool. Nope, no need for personal responsibility or self-initiative, here. Not today.

Again, Charlie nudged him, although with more pressure than earlier. “Dude, I’m serious. I just know that if anyone’s gonna be able to give us a clue, here, it’s gonna be her. Listen; I get the nerves, okay? And, like, I don’t even expect them to go away when you guys meet. She’s great, but she’s still an acquired taste… if it’s not totally insensitive to say that about another person. But this is important, Cas. I care about you too much to be lax, right now. Got it?”

Cas huffed, blinking slowly. Processing. “What a beautiful speech,” he quipped, continuing to gather his thoughts. Charlie flicked him again, this time on his shoulder. “Fine, okay, I understand. I do. I’m going in.”

Eyes lighting up against the muted autumn backdrop, Charlie thrust a celebratory fist into the air. “Great! Let’s get going, then.”

⁂

The inside of the witches’ specialty shop wasn’t too much unlike a run-of-the-mill small town bookstore, down to the effortless quirks of its layout. Mismatched shelves lined much of the back wall, creating a rich smattering of varying hues and grain around the secondhand spines. The air smelt faintly of chemical cinnamon, hardly able to overcome the musk of the place. Still, the witchy touches were anything but hidden; a line of tables ran down the center of the shop, covered in plastic-wrapped bundles of herbs, jars of unidentifiable glowing substances, and trendy rose gold altars. Wait, was that… an eyeball?

For his own sanity, Cas decided not to overthink it.

Before Cas had the opportunity to turn to Charlie for guidance, a voice jetted through the air, originating from god-knows-where. “Ah, hello there, dearie! Charlie, welcome back! And who is this you’ve brought along with you?” The thick, unmistakably Scottish sing-song seemed to reverberate out of the air, itself. Although hazy at the start, the sound was quick to crispen up.

Shifty eyed, Cas began to peer around the shop, only slightly disturbed by the disembodied words. Truly, it wasn’t as if he’d been expecting a day-to-day, streamlined retail experience. This was about in line with his expectations, so, whatever.

Charlie, bless her, managed to respond with near perfect nonchalance; this calmed Cas, yet somehow, also put him just a bit more on-edge. Well, then. “Hey, Ro! Where are you at? The back? I kinda, really need your help with something. Or, at least, my friend here sure does. Oh, Cas, introduce yourself!”

Cas side-eyed his friend, chewing his lip before replying slowly, seemingly to no one in particular, “Hi, I’m Cas. Um. Nice to meet… you? Yeah, sorry, who am I speaking to?” He was a human, for heaven’s sake; he wasn’t used to this, as expected as it might have been. Witches were certainly avant-garde, Cas could give them that.

Seconds later, a door was pushed open toward the back of the shop; it was encased on both sides by thinner, darker shelves, lined with stones and miscellaneous shiny and slimy tchotchkes. Cas swallowed, taking in the emerging figure.

The woman was surprisingly petite, yet carried herself as if she could crush Cas beneath her pinkie finger, alone. Red hair styled in fat curls poured over the shoulders of her simple black gown. Her eyes seemed to be faintly glowing, and Cas wasn’t certain he was comfortable with that fact, all things considered.

Nonetheless, Charlie was beaming in an instant, giving a short yet enthused wave of her hand. “Hey again, Ro. I know you’re probably busy, and I seriously don’t wanna waste any more of your time than I have to, so I’ll get right down to it. Oh, first— Cas, this is Rowena MacLeod, the spell-casting and lore dictionary, herself.”

Rowena let out a low giggle, the gleam in her emerald eyes only intensifying. Honestly, Cas was convinced that that “gleam” was more than simply a trick of the light.

“Yes, of course! Well, it’s very good to meet you, Cas, dearie,” Rowena said, her voice flowing over Cas like compound butter.

Cas gave a curt nod, unsure if he was meant to lead the conversation from there, but praying that he wasn’t.

To his luck, Charlie continued, “Like I said, I’ll get right down to… it. ‘Cause it’s kinda a lot. Unfortunately,” she said, planting her hands on her hips and entering an inadvertent power pose. “Cas here, just like the unlucky bastard that he is, managed to go and get himself mega cursed. And we have, like, no clue what’s goin’ on. So, first off, we’re gonna need a diagnosis, if you can give us one.”

Pursing her red-painted lips, Rowena hummed, squinting in Cas's direction. Cas fidgeted as the witch glided across the room, the floor creaking and whining beneath her leather heels. Moving in Cas's direction, she continued to scope the young man out.

“Hm? Ach, so… Cas, darling. Mind to expand in place of your friend? This is your tragic curse, after all. I’m sure your first-hand assessment will be more useful to me, here.”

Strangely enough, Cas wanted to contend. While Charlie hadn’t been the one experiencing the bizarro symptoms that past week, she was the witch. This was her specialty, her very domain as their backdrop.

Still, with trepidation, he replied. “It’s not anything bad, necessarily. At least, not painful. Just… very strange.” He sighed. Rowena leaned forward, tipping the weight of her body in Cas's direction. “I spilled hot coffee on myself and wasn’t burnt. No pain, either. I can’t sleep. I haven’t tasted food in a week. Oh, I haven’t slept in a week, either, so I definitely should mention that. Also, once, not too long after this all started, my entire abdomen glowed blue, before I was knocked unconscious for… a few hours, I believe?”

Cas held his breath, anticipating the sharp-eyed witch’s professional assessment. She continued to squint upward, claw-like hands finding their way to her hips.

“Well,” she hummed, after a moment of thought. “That’s certainly… concerning, to put things all too simply. Ah, and— you’re a human, correct?”

“Yeah, I am.” Although, frankly, Cas wasn’t so sure anymore. He certainly didn’t feel like a human, at that point. Surely, a “human” would have dropped dead of exhaustion by then, right?

(Although, it was more likely that Dean was going to be the one to kill him for neglecting his health and safety, if he ever found out. Assuming the curse didn’t get creative and take care of that first, of course.)

Rowena gave a delicate nod, loose curls bobbing with the movement. She straightened herself, leaning just slightly away, and Cas felt the concrete seeping from his own limbs. Wait, when had he gotten so tense?

“I see, I see. Hm…” She clucked her tongue, momentarily turning her gaze toward the tiled ceiling. “You are certainly correct, Charlie, dear. This isn’t a common ailment… how fascinating. That is certainly an unusual combination of, what sounds like, quite powerful and life-altering symptoms. Ach, well…” She trailed off, before reaching out a slender hand and attaching it to Cas's forearm. He lurched, but made sure not to pull away. As much as he loathed people touching him without a lick of permission, he reasoned that it was a sacrifice he’d apparently have to make.

God, he felt like a fucking lab rat, though. A genetic freak of a rodent, caged off from the rest of its whiskered brethren.

“I… have a bit of an inkling, certainly,” Rowena said, nails digging deeper into the flesh of Cas’s arm. She gazed directly into his eyes. “Infernal magic of some sort or another seems likely. Demonic in nature, maybe? Of course, draconic spellwork is still very much a consideration.”

Charlie drew in a breath between her teeth, reaching out from beside Cas and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Woah… not good. Why do you think that?”

To Cas's hardly containable irritation, Rowena let out another giggle, sleek as ever. “Well, you see, dearie, it’s really just a simple process of elimination. The more uncommon the spell or the curse, the more likely it’s outsourced from fringe magic. It’s as simple as that, really.” She drew back her hand, joining her palms together atop her heart. “Of course, we’ll have to do some further investigation to understand what, exactly, is the matter. Now, think of it like a fun little puzzle— in that light, your predicament will feel far less harrowing. Hm?”

As Rowena spoke and Charlie shifted her hand to clutch at the meat of Cas’s bicep, the front door to the shop was nudged open. Cas peaked over his shoulder, watching a golden-haired stranger hop on in— and promptly drift toward the corner shelves. There was no hesitation to his movements, his gait full of pep and bordering on enthusiastic. Still, he didn’t reach out to fiddle with any of the items; he simply stood in place, arms crossed over his chest, facing away from Rowena and company.

“Follow me to the back, now,” Rowena sung, re-seizing Cas's attention. “I’ll dash back out if I’m needed, but for now, privacy would be best.”

Charlie nodded. “Totally, I agree. Cas, you okay with heading back? Do you want me to come with? I can, if you want. Or not. Whatever you need, man.”

Throwing a final glance toward the apparent non-customer, Cas turned to Charlie, eyes pleading. Please. Please don’t leave me alone with her.

Thankfully, his friend got the message. Blessed be

#my writing #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #A bit of a rougher chapter... but we're gonna work with it!#my post

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goblincas · 4 years ago

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Entry Level Angel | Ch 2

On AO3

No doubt, Cas had infiltrated a business casual wonderland.

The pearly, spit-shined walls were bearing down on him, their surface nearly as glossy as the lapel pin of the nearest corporate crony. Only a handful of attendees seemed to have spotted Cas; admittedly, it was hard to tell just how many that was, given the vacant overtone of their glares. They’d initially sneered down at him, but soon fell into muted giggle fits, erupting one-by-one.

Clearly, there were some conflicted-as-hell emotions at play— and Cas's arrival was the catalyst, it seemed.

One woman abruptly quieted, ran her palms down a perfectly pressed blouse, all before melding back into the swarm. Then, a separate, male flockmate tried his hand at the same move. Although, his joints were tragically under-oiled, missing the easy elegance of the gesture. In any case, they all lost interest pretty damn quickly. Then, they were off, sucked back into the many-suited mass.

Cas stayed oh-so still. Kept silent. He blinked slowly, hoping to cast the fog from his mind. He would certainly benefit from some old-fashioned deduction, right now.

So, where the hell was he?

Alright, two working theories: Either he was nabbed by a fundamentalist cult, or he’d been forcibly inducted into a secret society of smarmy, wannabee lawyers. Not that Cas would have been of much use to them, given his lone degree in middle grade education, plus his utter inability to feign indifference during an argument. Maybe there’d been a mix-up on the roster?

Anyhow, Cas could hardly feel his feet. He was actually pretty numb below the waist, altogether. Was he even wearing shoes?

Yet— as Cas tried, finally, to step forward, the scene was swallowed by a sharp blue light.

From white,

to blue,

to black. And, he was consumed.

⁂

The stream of sunlight hit Cas's closed eyelids, visible even before his other senses joined him in the waking realm. Morning rays flickered across his face— if anything, their caress felt strangely tangible. Cas could feel the heat carefully needling against his cheeks, never penetrating the skin. Instead, warmth clung to him like a strategically loose layer of Cling Wrap. Sticky, almost.

Seconds later, Cas jerked upright. He noted that he’d been lying horizontally across his mattress, blankets bunched up beneath his back, calves protruding over the side of the bed.

Huh.

Finally, with the force of a mental joyride gone wrong… it struck Cas. He was all but smacked to a screeching halt— and, somehow simultaneously, sent into overdrive. “Wait, wait, wait—”

At that, Cas practically flung himself in the direction of his mirror, wobbly legs be damned. Hardly hesitating, Cas lifted the fabric of his shirt, exposing his bare abdomen.

And it was exactly that— bare. Colorless.

Normal.

Truly, Cas couldn’t say he had ever been witness to a less interesting abdomen.

He squinted at his own reflection, as if challenging himself to unveil the truth… which, was surely being concealed in plain sight. Right? Still, there were no visible changes. There was no internal blue glow, his flesh as dim as ever.

As vivid as the previous night had been— and despite how much Cas wished it had been an exhaustion-induced haze— there were no lingering clues as to whether it had even happened. At least, nothing concrete enough to be considered a valid “clue.”

Still, just to be sure, Cas decided to go through with that Curses4U™ search; after all, he’d been rudely interrupted, the first time he’d tried. Despite the slew of relatively specific keywords (“bright blue glowing lit up abdomen torso passed out”), no results seemed to fit his case closely enough to warrant further research. Already, he’d hit a wall.

Unless, maybe this really is all because of The Moss?

Yeah, he’d have to ask Charlie about that, ASAP.

As it would turn out, a trip to the kitchen didn’t offer much insight, either. Groaning his frustration, Cas shuffled over to the sink, honing in on the windowsill-dwelling houseplants. There was a modest trio, all potted herbs.

All belonged to Dean, believe it or not.

Whenever Cas had met his now-best friend several years back, he’d never have pegged him as a plant-ternal, green thumb type; a conventionally rugged man, whose entire put-on persona practically radiated “unresolved daddy issues.” Nonetheless, Cas and Dean hadn’t lived together very long at all, before the countertops and windowsills of their apartment were just teeming with flora. As it turned out, Dean was a devoted plant dad.

Plus, Dean could always use the herbs when he cooked, which was yet another semi-surprising hobby of his. Really, bonding with Dean had given Cas a free crash-course in the dangers of preemptive stereotyping— seriously, who would have guessed that Mr. Beer-Over-Therapy was a Vonnegut fanboy? Certainly not Cas's past self.

Live and learn.

Ahead of Cas, sprouting proudly from a matte black pot, were basil leaves.

“Hello,” Cas grumbled, supposedly addressing the basil plant. “I swear to all that is holy, your father better not panic if I tell him what’s going on. He can be a very paranoid man, but I’m sure you know that already. You are under his care, after all.”

The response was silence, as expected.

Without a doubt, Cas was going to need a better, more sentient distraction.

⁂

“Hey, Charlie, can I ask you a question? It’s going to sound… borderline nonsensical, but I swear, there’s a good reason.”

Gently shutting the freezer door, Charlie swiveled around to face the breakfast bar. Cas was leaning back against the surface, a hard edge pressing into him from behind. Which, stung far less than Cas was sure it should have.

Charlie’d shot him a text thirty minutes prior, letting Cas know she’d be stopping by for a check-in, in between her array of moving-related errands. Cas would continue to babysit The Moss for another day or two; still, she’d felt that a wellness check would be smart. Cas had to agree with her, there. Because, hey, it wasn’t as if he had any experience caring for magically enhanced, possibly inadvertently cursed moss. Speaking of—

“Sure,” Charlie replied, leaning back against the fridge. She flashed a grin. “Maybe I’ll tease you about it, maybe I won’t. We’ll see.”

Cas huffed, rolling his eyes. Even then, he couldn’t help but smile, matching his friend. Her warmth was infectious; although, it was largely superficial on Cas. Really, he was too stressed to broach any comorbid emotions. Which, sadly, seemed to include the pleasant ones.

At risk of worrying Charlie and making himself appear even less capable of handling the situation, Cas made sure to keep his voice level. Steady and clearly unbothered. “Well, it’s… actually pretty complicated. But, I suppose it boils down to: Is it ever possible for enchanted plant materials, no matter how benevolent, to backfire and have negative side effects on their surroundings? Like, almost, giving someone a magical allergic reaction?”

To Cas's dismay, Charlie slid into a frown, furrowing her brow. “Yes, I guess? Maybe? Is something wrong?”

Cas deflated. “Not exactly,” he said, although he knew it sounded like a stone-cold lie the moment it slithered out of his lips. So, he amended. “At least, it isn’t anything truly debilitating. Just incredibly strange, I guess.”

Charlie nodded, sucking on her bottom lip. “Got it. So, what’s up?”

“Well…” Cas paused to cringe. Okay, so, what was the least alarming way he could go about explaining himself? He really should have prepared a script. Dammit. “Nothing too bad. Food hasn’t had much of a taste, I’ve had trouble sleeping, my skin is apparently impervious to boiling hot liquids—”

“Woah, woah, hold up. Really? Cas, seriously, what the hell happened?”

Cas sighed. “I spilled hot coffee on myself. And, essentially, it just slid off my skin, without leaving any kind of burn, or causing me any pain. Only, that happened— wait, shit. That part happened before you even dropped off the moss.”

Brows nearly embedded into her hairline, Charlie spoke slowly. Understandable, since Cas was beginning to act more like a spooked animal by the second. “Cas. You know good and well that that’s not normal, nor is it okay. At least, if you didn’t intend for it to happen,” she said. “And, yeah, I highly doubt my fucking moss would have such a dramatic effect. Christ. You do know that I use this stuff as a base for caffeine-substitute charms, right?”

“I know, I know.” Cas dug his palms deeper into the edge of the countertop.

Charlie nodded, but narrowed her gaze. “Is that everything that’s been going on? Or, is there totally more that you’re totally avoiding telling me about?”

At that point, Cas had only the flimsiest grasp on his resolve. Charlie could certainly come off as threatening, when she had a reason to. “Possibly,” he muttered.

“And?”

“And, last night, I’m pretty sure my entire abdomen was glowing blue. Like, as if there was a fluorescent light bulb shoved up into my ribs. Then, I may or may not have fallen unconscious, until this morning. Maybe,” Cas explained, seeing as there was no way he’d get out of that conversation without confessing, lest Charlie crucify him against the wall of his own kitchen.

Charlie was practically gaping, by then. She took a few overly cautious steps toward Cas, lowering her voice considerably. “Cas Novak. I’m sorry, but that is so not okay. Seriously, that sounds like some kinda curse, or something! You really should—”

“I’ve done some research already, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I couldn’t find anything. At least, nothing involving my exact combination of symptoms. Clearly, if it’s a curse, it’s not an especially common one.” Cas shrugged.

Charlie huffed in response. “Well,” she said, “Freakish stomach light aside, have any of the more minor symptoms been causing you enough of an issue? Like, didn’t you mention something about a low appetite?”

“Food not tasting of anything,” Cas corrected. “Although, I guess I don’t have much of an appetite, either. I haven’t eaten since… two days ago, maybe.”

“And you’re really not hungry? Like, at all?”

Cas shook his head. His shame was palpable. “No, I’m really not.”

“Cas, this sure as hell doesn’t sound healthy. You—”

With his most impeccable timing to date, a bathrobe-clad Dean decided then to stagger into the kitchen, clearly still sleep-dazed. He only allowed the new-found silence to hang in the air for a moment, before cutting through it, himself. “Hey,” he grumbled, then cleared his throat and headed toward the fridge. “You Cas's co-worker? The mossy one?”

“Oh, uh. Sure, that’s me. I’m Charlie. I was just stopping by, to… check on the moss. Yeah, that’s all,” she said, obviously struggling to reorient her thoughts after the abrupt change in topic. The air was still so heavy, yet Dean seemed entirely unaffected by the pressure. Praise be to the sleepy, oblivious bastard.

“M’Dean. Hey, Cas, you eaten breakfast yet?”

“Oh! Um, I ate a small snack after waking up. I could go for breakfast, now, though.”

If Cas didn’t know any better, he’d say that Charlie was attempting to slice into his squishy, heat-resistant flesh with her stare, alone. Frankly, if the razor-sharp shame that Cas was struck with said anything, Charlie wasn’t too far off from her goal. A cocktail of daggers, concern, and curiosity— it was practically pouring from Charlie’s eyes, dousing Cas over the head like several consecutive jugs of ice water.

How acceptable would it have been for a grown man to call “taksies backsies” on an entire conversation?

Well, in any case, that was certainly the last time he took initiative over his own well-being. Cas would, instead, steal a page from Dean’s playbook: Never ask for help, no matter how desperately you need it.

He would thank his friend later for setting such an enlightening example… whether or not Dean might appreciate Cas's latest self-help philosophy.

#my writing #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #my post

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goblincas · 4 years ago

Text

Entry Level Angel | Ch 1

On AO3

Saturday, October 3rd:

“Ah, wait— shit!”

Splosh.

Cas's muscles stiffened on reflex, gaze sinking into his outstretched forearm. Oh…

…interesting?

Freshly towel-dried skin was now slick with the sheen of froth and espresso. Cradled loosely in his opposite hand was a half-empty mug, Han Solo decal fixing him with a lopsided smirk. Heh, fitting.

Hot coffee. He’d just doused his bare arm in hot coffee.

(Spine-chillingly pricey, imported coffee, at that— lord, what a waste.)

And, seemingly by the grace of his mid-century modern kitchen, he wasn’t burnt. The heat was certainly there, sliding and prickling against the surface of his skin, like some kind of extra-strength Pop Rocks— but there was no pain. There was no reddening of his flesh, his arm still tinged golden by the dusty mid-morning sunlight.

Well, that’s certainly… new.

By all existing reason, Cas knew that he should’ve promptly begun flipping his shit. This had to be an indicator of some kind of bio-engineered, flesh-hacking disease, right? That, or one of the few witches he knew had decided to not-so-discreetly take him on as a spell-casting dummy.

Or a curse, even? Although, it would have been hilariously counter-productive for an act of vengeance to protect him from injury. Hell, even then, Cas didn’t exactly have a reputation of pissing people off— at least, past his occasional gaudy fashion choices. Those could be distracting and potentially upsetting, depending on the refinement of one’s taste.

Now, that would just have been a petty curse, but Cas would have understood. Some people simply found deeper value in upholding their preferred aesthetics.

Plick.

Cas continued to rattle his mind, all the while watching individual drops of coffee slither and drip from his arm. They puddled onto the linoleum floor, alongside the steadily materializing globs of his thought process, as it continued to slobber out of his skull. Should he do something? Should he at least tell someone? Was it serious, or simply a one-time miracle on an otherwise forgettable morning? There was certainly a chance that he had just been saved a visit to Urgent Care.

Should he even risk alerting Dean, his famously magic-phobic best friend and roommate?

Plick.

Plick—

After some frenzied consideration, Cas jolted back to life and moved to clean up the spill.

⁂

If anything mattered to Cas during that casually nihilistic time following his quarter-life crisis, it was his Saturday afternoon ‘bonding’ sessions with Dean. Each week, they slumped on opposite ends of their thrift-tier sofa, quietly grading the assignments of their respective students. Instrumental rock pulsed through phone speakers and took over most of the surrounding air, alongside beats of note-taking, typing, and periodic tongue-clicking.

Frankly, for Cas, it was the epitome of domestic bliss.

As much as he lived for his and Dean’s more active conversations, Cas also reveled in the security of their quieter rituals. Apparently, Cas had developed a bit of a thing for unspoken intimacy, even if they weren’t—

“Hey, you hungry?”

Dean was now nudging Cas with a socked foot, gently prodding at his roommate’s calf. Cas peered up from his lap. All the while, Dean continued to stare vacantly at his laptop screen, vision almost certainly falling out of focus.

The fading traces of daylight framed Dean from behind, the tousled tips of his hair glowing like a field of candlelight. Pair that with his corpse-worthy dark circles, and there you had it: the duality of Winchester. The very essences of life and death, all bundled up into the appearance of one man. One man who sure as hell hadn’t been prioritizing sleep, lately.

“Cas? Dinner? You interested?”

Now, Dean’s gaze had turned upwards, scoping Cas out.

Cas hummed. “I guess,” he said, absentmindedly clicking the pen in his hand. “Honestly, I haven’t had much of an appetite, today. But yeah, I should probably eat something.”

“Huh. Have you at least eaten, at all? Like, anything?”

Upon reflection, the closest Cas had come to “eating” had involved him reverse-baptizing his forearm with his morning coffee. Hunger hadn’t been on his subconscious to-do list, that day.

Honestly, he wouldn’t have been shocked if his caffeine-free panic attack was what had killed his appetite, in the first place.

Cas shrugged, dismissive. “No, I haven’t. Maybe I’m getting sick, I don’t know.”

At that, Dean hauled his supplies over to the center of the couch, before swinging his legs over the side. “Dude. Guess I’m gonna have to feed the shit outta you, then,” Dean grumbled, already heading toward the kitchen, cutting the music on his way there.

Exit Dean Winchester, world-class champion of passive-aggressive mother-henning.

Clearing his own lap onto the nearby coffee table, Cas trailed just behind.

By the time Cas had reached the narrow archway dividing the kitchen from their living space, Dean was rifling enthusiastically through the refrigerator. “Okay, so I know you don’t have much of an appetite, but do you got any preference?” he asked, stealing a glance toward Cas, before returning his attention to the fridge.

Again, Cas shrugged. He took a seat at the breakfast bar, leisurely tapping his fingertips against the pale pink surface. “No preference, no,” he replied, right as Dean was shifting his focus over to the freezer.

“Okay, well, you in the mood for—” Dean began, before abruptly cutting himself off. He was left staring into the open freezer, unmoving.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Cas,” Dean grunted, side-eyeing Cas from over his shoulder. “What the hell is in the freezer?”

To his lukewarm dismay, Cas didn’t need to ask what Dean was referring to. He still wished that he’d remembered to mention it before Dean had made the discovery, however. “Oh,” he said, gnawing at his lip. “So, when you were out visiting Sam this morning, I told my co-worker she could stop by. Basically, she’s in the middle of moving apartments, and she’d only just enchanted some moss the other day, so—”

“Enchanted moss? So, our freezer is packed with, like, thirty Tupperwares full of… fuckin’ accursed tree snot?”

Half-heartedly, Cas began to tug on the peach-fuzzy leaf of the nearest houseplant. Eclectically-arranged greenery could be found across a fair portion of the kitchen. And those god-forsaken plants were now sat, silently observing Cas's situation— assholes, even if their amusement was well-concealed. “Dean, that’s rude. She’d put a lot of time and effort into enchanting it, and she didn’t want to risk it getting destroyed during her move. I’m only being polite,” he said, finishing at a mutter. Cas hesitated before rolling his eyes, belatedly punctuating his argument with a bit more fervor.

“Cas—”

“Oh, also, I’m pretty sure it’s only fourteen Tupperwares. Not thirty.” Because, clearly, thirty would just have been excessive. After all, there was such a thing as too much DIY, home-enchanted purple and red moss. Cas liked to believe that his co-worker wasn’t crossing that delicate threshold; he wasn’t a witch himself, but it was only fair to give her judgment the benefit of the doubt.

With a short huff, Dean turned back to shut the freezer door. “Whatever, guess it’s good we don’t keep much shit in there, anyway,” he said, crouching down to return to the fridge. “But I’m blaming you if I, like, sprout a third arm in my sleep, or somethin’.”

“Dean!” Cas gasped, albeit weakly. “She’s a dryadic witch. I highly doubt she spends too much time working with… freaky limb-growth magic.”

With a concluding grunt, Dean began to yank fresh beef and a head of lettuce from the fridge.

⁂

It didn’t seem to take long for Dean to notice: Cas's face had twisted in on itself, contorting mid-chew of his burger. Cas let out a weak gag in the back of his throat, but for the most part, he was still.

“Uh, hey, Cas? Somethin’ goin’ on over there?” Dean asked. He took a swig of his beer, waiting for Cas to collect himself.

Cas swallowed the food that, up until that moment, he’d considered to be Dean’s specialty. “This tastes weird,” he mumbled, squinting at his meal.

It really did, though— somehow, the flavor was morphing between acrid and utterly tasteless, as it all turned to a tacky paste on his tongue.

Dean nearly gagged on his beer, sputtering onto the countertop. “Dude, way to lay it on thick. Hell,” he grumbled. Still, the chuckle that followed was light.

“No, I mean— actually, I don’t know what I mean. Other than, I guess I am sick, then,” Cas said, dropping his hardly-touched burger as if it had personally slighted him. “I can hardly taste. God, this is awful.”

Dean smirked. “Or, just maybe, you’ve been afflicted by the presence of The Accursed Moss.” Dean was clearly attempting to appear somber in the face of his great revelation, but had hardly managed to contain his giggle.

“I swear to god, Dean Winchester, you are a menace.”

“Fuck off, man, I’m a delight.”

And Cas couldn’t possibly will himself to disagree.

Not long after his aborted attempt at force-feeding himself— formerly known as “dinner”— Cas opted to head to bed early. It hadn’t been an easy decision to make; he was consciously sacrificing time spent with Dean that didn’t involve either work or… meaty disappointments.

Sure, initially, it had seemed to be a perfectly responsible plan of action; this decision was further endorsed by Dean, whose not-so-inner caretaker was already well in action. Still, Cas was soon struck by a pretty vital realization: This would have been simpler if he were at all tired. He was initially willing to sympathize with his body— it wasn’t as if he usually crashed at seven o’clock on a Saturday night. Internal adjustments would have to be made, surely. After all, he was a man of… semi-strict routine.

Several hours of lying awake later, however, and Cas had to admit that he was a bit miffed.

The air in his room was beginning to feel especially dry, as were the inner surfaces of his mouth. He let out a tempered groan, grinding the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. If he really was coming down with a cold, and this was what it was going to be like, then the next few days were going to be miserable.

Still, admittedly, Cas couldn’t exactly say he felt all that ill, aside from his newfound distastes for eating and sleeping— which, sure, were probably two of his favorite pastimes. Until—

Cas found himself rolling out of his blanket cocoon, both to oblige his fidgety legs and to grab a glass of water. He had barely reached the foot of his bed when he began to burn.

What, a hot flash? Seriously, now?

God, a really, absurdly skin-searing hot flash.

Staggering on loose legs, Cas fell backward, perching on the edge of his mattress.

Just ahead, he was able to catch his reflection in the full-body mirror, where it leant against the otherwise bare wall. Despite the dark of the room, Cas was able to make out his paling features, cast over by moonlight.

And, as a delightful bonus, there was also the visible outline of his rib cage. Which was glowing, hot and electric blue, its light seeping through his flimsy T-shirt.

Yikes. So…

Was ‘auto X-raying bioluminescent abdomen’ a symptom of anything serious?

Before Cas had a chance to find his phone and consult the WebMD app, or even the worryingly extensive Curses4You™ database—

—the room seemed to collapse in on itself, oozing into black.

#my writing #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #Reuploading this! from last summer #I made a bunch of edits after taking a break from the fic #but I've returned to working on this!!#my post

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