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driftfleet2016-03-21 01:52 am
heavenonearth) wrote in driftfleet2016-03-21 01:52 am
Entry tags:
i have become comfortably numb
Who: Castiel & You Poor Unfortunate Souls
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Waystation
When: Todayish..?? From like the 19th through the 21st. Text post is on the 22nd. Also a warning that this post contains drug use/references, cursing, and potential Unhappy Talk about painful subjects/depression what have you.
action;
[ it's easy, you know, to drown all of your shit out when you've got a bright, loud, roaring space station of extravagance, entertainment and debauchery to keep you occupied every moment of the day that isn't spent sleeping. good food, good drugs, good company - after living so long in a near-literal hellhole it'd been such an easy thing to give into temptation and drown his troubles in the usual ways, to have a good time, laugh and eat and distract himself with pretty lights and pretty people.
but space is quiet, once you're out in it, and soon enough they've drawn far away from the starlight and cas finds himself cut off from his sport. sure, he can still drink and get high, but that's not really the same, and without all the noise and bustle and activity of the station to drown out all of his thoughts it becomes.. more difficult to face certain realities that he's yet to come to terms with. dean's gone, probably dead back home, and cas hasn't stopped thinking about those crotes, about the hard bite of their teeth into his throat and their foul, suffocating breath. there's no going back home. not for him. and even if he could, there's nothing to go back to. it's all dead and gone, all his fault, and facing up to the hulking mountain of mistakes that his life has been, well -
- he's not strong enough. back home the weight of it was straining him, bending him, but then at least he had purpose, at least he had that thin sliver of hope. here? well, here it's a wash. here there's no more hope, and he's not bending, he's breaking.
so when that snap comes, he's gone from the red fish, disappearing to the waystation where he can blow all his newly acquired funds on booze and whatever cheap stuff is in these vending machines that will fuck him up properly. losing track of time is easy, days pass and he doesn't return to the ship, forgets to eat half the time, sleeps under benches, wanders aimlessly, but spends most of his time passed out beside one of the more remote vending machines, the lit cigarette loose in his hands burning down to his knuckles. ]
[ ooc; he's got some fellow shipmates coming to the rescue, so feel free to come across him any time, when he's relatively sober or less so, whatever's comfortable! he'll be there a couple days just moping about, so any time in that period is fine! ]
text;
So tell me, what do you guys do for a bad hangover, eh? Gotta be some homespun remedies we've got access to, right? These protein solids really aren't doing the trick.
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Waystation
When: Todayish..?? From like the 19th through the 21st. Text post is on the 22nd. Also a warning that this post contains drug use/references, cursing, and potential Unhappy Talk about painful subjects/depression what have you.
action;
[ it's easy, you know, to drown all of your shit out when you've got a bright, loud, roaring space station of extravagance, entertainment and debauchery to keep you occupied every moment of the day that isn't spent sleeping. good food, good drugs, good company - after living so long in a near-literal hellhole it'd been such an easy thing to give into temptation and drown his troubles in the usual ways, to have a good time, laugh and eat and distract himself with pretty lights and pretty people.
but space is quiet, once you're out in it, and soon enough they've drawn far away from the starlight and cas finds himself cut off from his sport. sure, he can still drink and get high, but that's not really the same, and without all the noise and bustle and activity of the station to drown out all of his thoughts it becomes.. more difficult to face certain realities that he's yet to come to terms with. dean's gone, probably dead back home, and cas hasn't stopped thinking about those crotes, about the hard bite of their teeth into his throat and their foul, suffocating breath. there's no going back home. not for him. and even if he could, there's nothing to go back to. it's all dead and gone, all his fault, and facing up to the hulking mountain of mistakes that his life has been, well -
- he's not strong enough. back home the weight of it was straining him, bending him, but then at least he had purpose, at least he had that thin sliver of hope. here? well, here it's a wash. here there's no more hope, and he's not bending, he's breaking.
so when that snap comes, he's gone from the red fish, disappearing to the waystation where he can blow all his newly acquired funds on booze and whatever cheap stuff is in these vending machines that will fuck him up properly. losing track of time is easy, days pass and he doesn't return to the ship, forgets to eat half the time, sleeps under benches, wanders aimlessly, but spends most of his time passed out beside one of the more remote vending machines, the lit cigarette loose in his hands burning down to his knuckles. ]
[ ooc; he's got some fellow shipmates coming to the rescue, so feel free to come across him any time, when he's relatively sober or less so, whatever's comfortable! he'll be there a couple days just moping about, so any time in that period is fine! ]
text;
So tell me, what do you guys do for a bad hangover, eh? Gotta be some homespun remedies we've got access to, right? These protein solids really aren't doing the trick.
no subject
after awhile, he murmurs- ]
M'sorry.
no subject
Dude, I'm not looking for an apology. You're -- you can't go pill-happy or booze-happy or whatever like that. I get that things are rough and you're trying to deal, but... this isn't the way to do it, man.
[Because it makes us all worried as hell.]
Not if you get this bad...
[He was super freaked out by it, okay. He can't handle that kind of thing, worrying about his friends being sick and maybe dying from something he could have maybe prevented. Stopped. He's not sure.]
no subject
I don't.. usually -
[ sighing from low in his gut, cas draws a hand over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to chase away the ache and gather his thoughts. this is bad, he knows. back home he doesn't have to worry about getting anyone's panties in a twist when he goes a little too far, fucks himself up a little too hard. it's expected. it's just a thing that happens. there was no room in anyone's lives for healthy coping mechanisms.
but here he's got people to worry about him, people he doesn't really want to let down, even if it's inconvenient, even if it makes him feel a hundred times more like a fuck-up than he already knows he is. ]
It won't happen again.
no subject
I think it probably will, Cas.
But you -- gotta try to come to us. Or stick around with us. You can't just... wander off, because... [He pauses, rubbing his neck.] You just can't do that. You've got people here who care. And besides, you could've seriously got yourself into some shit out there.
[Another moment's pause.]
... It's not like I don't get it.
no subject
but it's not fair, to sam, to say that. it's not fair to vent his aching spleen when he knows that sam's only trying to help, even if it just makes cas's heart twist painfully. everything that happened, it's his fault anyway, and he can't lay that out on sam. there's a lurch in his gut that has nothing to do with his nausea, and cas feels the warm heat rising in his blood that means he's breaking, the telltale prickle of wetness in his eyes that he can't abide. this sort of pain, he chases it away with a high, or he hides it behind a cracked smile and an offhand joke, but there's no hiding now. he's miserable, and he's angry, angry with god, with himself, with the whole damned universe.
sucking in a rattling breath, cas lifts a hand to his eyes, squeezing them shut and pinching hard between them to stem the tide he won't let loose. ]
Yeah, I get it. I let you down, but I don't get why you're bothering, Sam. It'd be a helluva lot easier if you stopped giving a shit.
no subject
It never truly goes away.
He sits patiently, quietly, letting Cas feel what he feels. It reminds him of Castiel, when they were back in Adstringendum. More and more human, more and more vulnerable. The disappointment sometimes. The apologies other times. The rare occasion when they butted heads. This isn't... completely unfamiliar. And often enough, he was on the receiving end of this silent, thoughtful observation.]
You didn't let me down, Cas. You scared the shit out of me.
[He shakes his head.]
We've both seen too many people die, man. Hell... I know that's why you drink and take the pills. It's the easiest thing in the world to get there, when you're low enough and you wanna just self-destruct for the night. Just like it's easy to take it a step to far and wake up in your own puke, ready for the next bottle like it's some cure-all.
[He smiles thinly, hand running over his mouth.]
Dude, just -- We got to figure out a better way to keep you occupied. You gotta limit yourself, because you can't... drink a whole liquor store anymore.
no subject
[ cas says, dryly, and he knows it's partly just the hangover talking, but it's also his own bitterness, his own misery and overwhelmed despair. he chokes back the tightness in his throat, because breaking down isn't gonna help anything, nothing's going to help anything and he's so completely, absolutely done with it all that he's not sure what to do if he can't self-destruct.
sitting forward, cas rubs a hand over his face and into his burning eyes, dizzy from the force of gravity alone. ]
I was ready to die, Sam. I wanted to die.
[ the words feel thick and strange on his tongue, this isn't something cas has ever told anyone, these aren't words he's ever said aloud, even if it was obvious enough in his behavior and his cracked smiles, but back home, this sort of thing was just commonplace. ]
Where I come from, there's no such thing as hope. We were fucked, pure and simple, just hanging on and waiting for the end. I stuck around for your damned brother, for his idiot crusade, but we were doomed, Sam. There's no fixing home, there's no fixing anything, no fixing me.
[ and his words aren't plaintive, they're dull and forward and matter-of-fact; cas isn't looking for pity, he's only venting his frustration, his reality. ]
So when those crotes tore out my throat I thought, you know, finally. It's over. [ his voice cracks, tightens. ] I was so damn ready. And now I'm here, and I don't even know what the hell to do with it.
no subject
It's still a wound he'll always have. What happened then. And after.
But that isn't what's important right now; it's better Cas never knows the shit churning in his head. Hell, if he's lucky, Cas will never see what a shithole his soul is, how gnarled up it's gotten since... well. Everything. It'e best left to himself. Hearing this, knowing Cas has felt the same way he has on multiple occasions... it's hard. It's really fucking hard. But at least he knows enough to try to help.
So he sits with his arms folded, letting Cas say what he needs to. And of course it hurts to hear, because Cas is his friend -- his best friend back home, if he's honest, because he doesn't have many. Jody and Cas, they're two of the very, very limited pool of human (or not so human, in Castiel's case) interaction he has. Lately... well. Cas reminds him of Lucifer being out. Being free. But that's beside the point.]
... You were ready to die. But you're not dead. Now you're here.
[Cas doesn't get pity. Sam didn't pity Amelia, and he didn't pity himself, and he's not going to start that now. He says it as a matter of factly, the hint of warmth behind it simply an effect of Sam being Sam.]
You know, you told me -- a lot later, when I was doing something... really, really stupid that'd get me killed. You said there was... nothing worth losing me. It goes both ways. I get it. I get you were fucked. I get the end was there, and it was too much and you didn't have anything to hold onto. I do. But...
[He shrugs, biting his lip.]
M'not gonna watch my friend kill himself.
no subject
it's the entire damned reason he hung around, after all. for dean. to see that thing through to the end, to give up whatever he needed to give up in order to make up for his mistakes (a damned impossible task), to see dean accomplish his task, whatever it needed to be. in a world broken down, with busted wings and crumbling grace he held on by the tips of his fingers for his best friend.
and now, he's got to keep hanging on for these new ones. honestly, he's not sure he has the strength to do it, but apparently he's got to try, got to drag himself along until he can't any longer. ]
.. yeah.
[ because for what it's worth, they care about him, even if cas can't understand why, can't convince himself he deserves it. but hurting them? that's never in the cards, never what he wants to be responsible for. sitting forward with a low groan, cas rubs his hands down his face. ]
I know.
no subject
Means someone understands and is there when you're not there for yourself.
He smiles a bit more, tired but looking so fond and so sure of the angel-turned-man.]
... I know you know.
It'll all hurt for a long time, you know. Until one day -- one day you're gonna wake up, and feel freaked out, because it hurts a little less than you remember. We'll work on it. Hell, if you keep an eye out for me, I'll keep an eye out for you, and we'll hobble around on four legs when it's rough. Yeah?
no subject
but self-destructing here is going to leave collateral damage, too. and maybe the handful of friends he's made here are a much smaller area of affect than the billions of people on earth who suffered and died, but cas doesn't have it in him to willfully hurt them, either. he never wants to be responsible for anyone's goddamn pain ever again.
so he'll just have to keep trudging on somehow, clinging on for them, like he always has, and maybe he'll trip and fall sometimes, but he's just going to have to manage. ]
Yeah, sounds like a good deal. [ he says, inhaling deep, blowing it out in a sigh. ] I think I can uh, manage that. [ and it's a weary thing, but he cracks something like a smile anyway. ] Thanks, Sam. Sorry, uh.. about your shoes.
no subject
Kindly:]
Dude... they're just shoes.
... You want a cheesy Mother Teresa quote and an awkward hug, or would you prefer I go make you some hangover food?
[............. also I locked up your alcohol and confiscated your pills while you slept xoxo]
no subject
Hangover food, thanks. But if you're feelin' cuddly, you can lay a big wet one on me.
[ KISSY FACE complete with batted eyelashes. ]
no subject
[He looks away grinning, rising to his feet.]
Alright, well. I'll get you something. Water, food, Pepto. A hunter's breakfast, congrats.
no subject
Appreciate it. Thanks, Sam.