#is this just 1k words of cutter trying to talk his way out of shit? yes

[whump-captain]

No. 18 - ALT: Dazed and confused

1300 words | OC: Ghost Ambulance

Taglist (feel free to ask to be added/removed!): @thatsgonnaleaveamark

a new storyline? when ive already got so much stuff to write??? why not! the setup for this one is a high-society-style party held for London's ghost hunters, which goes terribly wrong when the socialite host reveals she plans to sacrifice everyone attending to a godlike entity. the ghost ambulance crew is of course invited and has to try and escape the mansion before the ritual comes to a close. there's a new character too, an american combat-oriented huntress called Pearl, who loves guns and lolita fashion. i haven't even introduced her yet lmao

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CN: manhandling, bleeding, concussion

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They've had to split up. The mansion is so sprawling that searching even one floor is taking them more time than they have, so Joy has gone with Elaine and Cutter has stayed with Pearl. But still, the warmly lit, red-carpeted corridors seem to have no end and after doubling down through turns and intersections, they have been forced to separate again.

Cutter is meant to meet Pearl back at the staircase. They're both pretty sure this floor wraps around in a loop, so they will run into each other sooner or later. In the meantime, he's looking. Scanning every wood-panelled wall, tilting every painting, opening every desk drawer. Elaine has said there must be a sigil somewhere that holds together whatever it is that keeps the doors shut - she suspects there is something sentient bound inside the walls that can be controlled like that, but Cutter doesn't understand all the details. For his part, he also keeps an eye out for smart home control panels that could have a remote override for the house's locks.

There's commotion in the distance; shouting voices of the dozens of hunters locked in the ballroom downstairs. So Cutter doesn't hear the footsteps.

He just looks up and there are two men in suits running straight at him. Security guards.

"Oi!" the shorter one shouts. "You're not supposed to be here!"

"Get back to the ballroom," barks the other one in a Welsh accent.

Cutter has a split second. He sees the tension on the Welshman's face; the slight hesitation in the shorter one's step as he comes to a halt. They're both unarmed, but the Welshman's hand hovers over his belt as if he's used to finding a weapon there - and he's even more on edge for its absence. It's clear that neither of them wants to be there.

Which is good news.

Cutter throws his hands up. "I can't go back there," he says, letting the unease he feels leak into his voice. "Everyone's freaking out and-"

"Move," the Welshman interrupts. "Now."

"They'll kill me," Cutter says quickly and the man's eyebrows shoot up. There's his opening. "One of these people wants me dead," he continues, "and she's losing her mind in there. I barely got away from her."

"I don't care, mate," the Welshman replies. "Get the hell back to-"

"It's going to be chaos." Cutter doesn't let him finish. The shorter man looks suspicious, but they're both still; both listening. "People are already at each other's throats and the second one person snaps, it's all going to go to shit. I don't want to be there for that, I don't-" he stammers, pretends to hide it. "I don't want to get trampled."

The two guards exchange glances. Each deferring to the other; nobody has clear authority. Cutter's heart is pounding double-time. He needs to lead them on further, shift their focus away from himself. If he can convince them that the crowd in the ballroom is on the verge of a riot, they'll see him as a lesser threat - but if he goes too far, they will want to avoid a confrontation that big and they'll stick with the single guy they can easily deal with.

Maybe he can use the weight of the decision against them. If one of them leaves to consult a superior, Cutter can single out the other one and try to convince him - or failing that, distract him and sneak or run away.

He has options. He can get out of this.

Eventually the shorter man says: "Maybe we can lock him somewhere."

"Yes," Cutter blurts out. He can work with that. Wherever they leave him, he can find a way to get out, he's sure. "Honestly, yes, I prefer that. As long as it's far away from-"

The man raises his hand abruptly. "Wait."

He touches his ear and frowns. Listening to an earpiece, Cutter realizes. That's one of his plans shot down. But he's still fine, he's still got them here and listening. Everything is going to be fine.

The man lowers his hand, his expression disbelieving. "She's saying we're go, right now," he says.

"What?" the Welshman snaps.

"She's ready."

"Well, we fucking aren't!" he bites back. "People are about to start murdering each other, there's another runner on the third floor, and-"

"She's saying go," his companion repeats helplessly and the Welshman heaves a groan of frustration. Cutter glances quickly between them; he has to push down a surge of panic. It's fine, he thinks. It's a new unknown, but not necessarily a problem. Nothing's out of control yet. Calm down. It's fine.

"She just needs one more person," says the shorter man.

All of their gazes cross as they both turn to Cutter.

Okay, now it's a problem.

"For fuck's sake," mutters the Welshman. "Unlucky day, mate. You're coming with us."

In a blink, he grabs Cutter's shoulder and spins him around. Cutter cries out as the man wrenches his arms back. Cold snaps around his wrists with a click and then a whirr; the handcuffs bite into his skin.

"Wait!" he shouts as the man pushes him forward. "You're making a mistake! You won't have time to finish the ritual."

He's guessing. The tension in his voice is real now, his pulse races.

"What are you talking about?" the shorter man demands. Cutter presses on:

"These people down there are pissed off." Not a lie. He gains confidence as he continues, but lets his words remain shaky: "They're already starting to sneak out- I mean, I did, and I saw at least one more guy. They're searching the house, they're gonna catch up to you and-" A hard shove almost makes him lose his balance.

"Let's go," the Welshman says to the other guard. "Claudia will kill us if we fuck this up."

"She won't be happy if an angry mob breaks down her door mid-ritual either," Cutter interjects. The guards are stressed, jumpy; their own plans have just gone to hell, too. He can get to them. He just has to ignore the strain of his shoulders, the dryness in his throat. He's still fine. "She's not going to care that you couldn't have done anything to stop them. Best thing you can do is to get out of here before all hell breaks loose."

The shorter guard is considering it. Cutter sees it in his face, in the way he angles himself away and back. The grip on Cutter's arms also shifts and loses just a fraction of its force.

Then it tightens again.

"Right, that's enough." the Welshman snaps. "Knock him out."

"What?" the other guard starts. "I'm not going to do that!"

"Yeah, good call," Cutter pipes up. His throat locks tight, almost strangles his voice. "Especially if she wants me alive. Ever knocked someone out before?" He tries to sound casual. Not a threat. I'm not a threat to you. "It's not as easy as it sounds."

"I said enough!" the Welshman shouts.

He grabs Cutter's hair and slams his head into the wall. Hot white explodes in his vision, pain blinds him for a second. The world tilts and then dissolves; everything blurs into swaying colour. Sound muffles into biting static.

He gasps. He's forgotten to breathe. There's motion before him, something red reels and wobbles. His body moves too, but outside of his awareness. It's like falling, but he can't tell if he's hit the ground. Everything is distant and foreign as if enveloped in smoke.

Where is he?

He tries to call out, but only a quiet groan comes out of his mouth. Something tastes like copper.

He's vaguely aware of force against his straining shoulders. The Welshman heaves him up, ignoring the blood pouring from his nose and down onto the carpet. Cutter's eyes are glazed over, roving unseeingly as the second guard grabs him under the other arm.

He's too dazed to protest as they drag him away.

[imagining-supernatural]

Last Call

Summary: You meet up with the Winchesters to catch up on the last few months and meet their newest friend, Castiel. However, Cas isn’t feeling up to socializing. But once you meet his eyes across the bar, you can’t help but go talk to him, hoping to ease some of the pain he keeps harbored inside.

Word Count: 1808

Warnings: None

A/N: This is for @kathaswings​ 1K celebration challenge. Congrats, Lina! My dialogue prompt was “In his eyes, all the sadness in the world” from Phantom of the Opera, and I don’t know what it is about Cas, but whenever I write for him, I just wanna wrap him up in a dozen blankets, bring him some hot cocoa, and make sure he knows that he’s loved. He just always seems so dang sad and that’s not right. So as soon as I saw this prompt, I knew it was meant for Cas. I mean, have you looked at his eyes?

Version en Español: La Última Oportunidad

“Hola, bitches!” Charlie announced your arrival as she always did. Sam and Dean grinned widely as they stood to hug the both of you. It had been way too long since you’d seen the brothers. There wasn’t a single reason in the world that you should ever go more than a month between Winchester hugs. All of their other wonderful qualities paled in comparison to their hugging skills.

Sam hugged you last, and he tried pulling away after a minute, but you kept your arms tight around him. “Nuh-uh, dude. We’ve got three months’ worth of this to catch up on.”

His chuckle rumbled through his chest and right into your body as he squeezed you closer again. The air behind you moved slightly, then there was another pair of arms around both you and Sam, and Dean’s dry, cool scent joined Sam’s.

“This is what I’m talking about!” Your mumble was barely audible, seeing as how very you were squished between the two.

“No way am I missing out on this.” Charlie wiggled between Dean and you, and the four of you stood in a group hug in the middle of the bar.

A minute later, the hug unraveled and the four of you sat at the table. Dean asked what was new in your lives, so you caught him up on your crazy work schedule, Charlie’s never-ending dating life, and the new dog that your other roommate had adopted. Sam perked up at that last part and you promised to introduce him to the fuzzy, furry hairball of a puppy before they left town.

“So, where’s this friend you wanted to introduce us to?” You asked, sipping on the soda you’d ordered. “The newest member of your super elite Impala Squad?”

“Impala Squad?” Sam choked out, laughing. “Do you realize what you’ve just done?”

Dean nodded thoughtfully, ignoring his brother. “I like that. The Impala Squad.” He smacked Sam’s shoulder excitedly with the back of his hand. “Dude! We should start a band and name it The Impala Squad!”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Sam sneered jokingly, giving you his best bitch face. “He’s never going to let this go.”

“Really though, where is this new guy?” Charlie redirected the conversation back onto track. “I was excited to meet him. You two made it seem like we’d all be great friends.”

Dean sobered up slightly and glanced over at the bar. “He’s had a rough few days and wasn’t feeling up to socializing.”

“Cas isn’t usually up to socializing anyway,” Sam butts in. “Great guy, but he definitely needs to work on his people skills.”

You follow Dean’s eyes to where a man sits at the end of the bar. A light tan coat was thrown over the back of the barstool and his white shirt was slightly rumbled. Even from this far away, you could see that the deep blue tie he wore loosely around his neck matched his eyes. As you were taking stock of him, he glanced over and caught your gaze for a brief moment. In those few seconds, you could have sworn that you saw straight through to his soul.

“He’s usually a pretty happy dude,” Dean was saying when you came back to yourself.

“Yet in his eyes, all the sadness in the world,” you mumbled, unaware that you were even speaking.

“Huh?”

You turned your attention back to your friends, catching Charlie’s understanding look. You’d watched Phantom of the Opera so many times together, that she immediately knew exactly what you meant. Castiel might be a pretty happy dude most of the time, but there was something in his past that left him a tortured soul.

“I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Y/N,” Dean reached out for you when you stood up, grabbing your hand. “He really has had a bad few days.”

“I know. But Dean, this is what I do. You guys are recruiters who talk college graduates into working for your firm, and I’m a psychologist who talks people into talking who don’t want to talk. And you know what? They usually feel better after talking to me.” You glanced over at Cas again and felt a pull towards him. “Besides, he needs someone to talk to.”

You squeezed Dean’s fingers once and pulled away, walking over to the figure hunched over the bar, nursing his drink.

He caught sight of you coming closer and a slight scowl. “I don’t know what the Winchesters told you, but I don’t really want to meet anyone new tonight.”

So, it wasn’t just socializing tonight, then. There was a hang up on meeting other people. Bringing new people into his life.

“Oh, I know. They told me.” You slid onto the barstool next to him and signaled for the bartender. “Hi, I’d like a virgin strawberry daiquiri for myself, and whatever he wants next.”

“You don’t have to—”

“What do you want, Cas?” You weren’t about to take no for an answer.

He held your eyes for a moment longer before giving in and tapping the rim of his glass. The cute bartender nodded her understanding and set to work. In no time at all, she set your glasses down in front of you and you slid her some cash. “Thank you… sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Chantelle.”

“Thank you, Chantelle,” you said with a genuine smile.

A minute passed in silence before Cas broke it. “Do you always do that? Get people’s names?”

“Yeah.” You kept your answers light and casual, with just the right amount of teasing. “I typically always want to meet new people. But it’s not for everyone,” you shrugged. Cas just grunted and turned back to his drink.

Twisting the barstool around, you watched the few people on the dance floor for a few more minutes, sipping at your drink. Your silence would pull Cas out of his shell. You were sure of it. People who told their friends they didn’t want to talk, typically just didn’t want to talk to them. Complete strangers, however…

“Virgin daiquiri?” He finally asked.

You bit down a grin, glanced at him briefly, then turned your attention back to the dance floor. “Yeah. I’m on call this week.”

“On call? What do you do?”

“I’m a psychologist. If the hospital gets an emergency tonight that requires my special set of skills, I need to be ready to go.”

He nodded lightly. “Does that happen often here?”

“It seems to happen more and more often,” you whisper, a pang of sorrow hitting your heart.

If you one day found yourself out of a job because your services were no longer needed and everyone was mentally, psychologically, and spiritually healthy, you would be the happiest unemployed person ever. Unfortunately, it seemed like your workload just kept building as more and more people needed you.

“That can’t be easy,” he mused.

You downed the last of your drink and shook your head. “It’s not. But you see it too. I mean, you recruit college kids with Sam and Dean. You see the colossal amount of stress they’re under. The impossible standards they’re held to. Of course, you see them at their best when they’re dressed to impress, but I’m sure you can’t miss the agony and loss in their eyes.”

He shook his head in understanding and cast his eyes down to his glass. The eyes that had the same tortured look you had just been describing.

I bet you see that look every time you look in the mirror.

“But you also get to see them grow,” you continued. “You see these young adults, fresh out of college, stumbling along as they try and figure out the real world. You see their triumphs when they figure out the smallest of details. I bet that’s a pretty great job.”

The corner of his lip twitched, nearly a smile. “Yeah. It’s not too bad.”

“I just feel sorry that you have to ruin that great job by traveling around the country with those two idiots over there. I can’t imagine how many times they’ve dragged you into one of their stupid prank wars.”

At that slight ribbing, Cas actually chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “You’re telling me. I’ve learned how to sleep with one eye open. Did you know they can pick locks? Nowhere is safe.”

“Back in college, I woke up to my entire room covered in shaving cream. Yeah, I know all about their lock-picking shit.”

Cas took another sip of his drink and looked at you head on. “Does it ever get better? Do they ever let up?”

“Sorry, bud. It only gets worse the more you get to know them. Though, I guess you do get to team up with them every once in a while to prank someone else, but… other than that… I suggest you sleep with both eyes open.”

As the night wore on, Cas’s walls broke down even quicker than you had expected. You went from planning pranks for him to pull on the Winchesters, to talking about work, to talking about his dark past with his family. He loved them so much, but they had impossibly high standards that he couldn’t live up to. That he didn’t want to live up to. He didn’t want to be a cookie cutter Novak. He wanted to be his own person, as well he should be.

“Last call!” Chantelle yelled to the patrons who were still lingering. You looked up in shock, surprised that so much time had passed. Charlie and the Winchesters were gone. Normally they would have told you they were leaving, but a text on your phone alerted you that they hadn’t wanted to interrupt your conversation and risk Cas clamming up again.

“Looks like I’m your ride back to your hotel, Cas.”

He stood on unsteady feet and you helped him into his coat. After thanking Chantelle again, you headed out to your car. Dean texted you the hotel name and Cas’s room number when he left, so you knew exactly where to head. The conversation between you two headed into shallower waters on the drive and, before long, you found yourself in front of his hotel room door.

“You call me if you ever want to talk, kay? Or if you need help dealing with the Winchesters.”

He smiled at you as he pulled out his keycard. “Thank you for tonight, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Cas.” You hesitated only a moment before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Now go get some sleep so you’re ready to deal with the Winchesters tomorrow. Ten hours in a car with them… I do not envy you at all.”

“Don’t remind me,” he fake-groaned as he opened his door. Just before entering, he looked back at you. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

After the door closed between you, you whispered, “I sure hope so.”

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