[ Mornings after shouldn't happen in the dark, but well. Here they are. He's gonna assume it's morning, just because he's not having a good time right now, and, well. That seems par for the course for mornings.
Mornings after, as far as Cas has learned, really suck. For one, humans have morning breath, and it's horrible. Second, if people don't know to leave his cabin, it gets awkward. Third, he tends to feel off kilter, head hurting, body protesting, mind buckling from trying to remember dreams of flight, or forgetting dreams of falling.
Mornings suck, in short.
Mornings in which angel radio makes his teeth vibrate out of his skull, while his trueform remains a hollow cadaver and he's barely angel enough to withstand the true voice kin?
Yeah... yeah those are gonna rank high up there on mornings that suck.
Once the first spike of adrenaline and panic wears off, Cas rubs his hands down his face. It's too dark to see if Dean has any Enochian wards on the walls of this house, in the dim light of a burnt down fire and a few candles, but Cas stumbles his way through the living room anyway, shooting the liger a look as he moves past, and willing a short flash of a smile onto his face. ]
Yeah I like you too, buddy.
[ He can barely see the stairs as he climbs them - and what's with the incense?
Too many questions. That has to slot further down in his priorities. Cas stops halfway up the stairs, puts a hand on the sutures and winces, before pushing on. Priorities, priorities. And well, Dean did give him a roof and patch him up - more than he could have asked of the guy who sent him to his death, quite frankly. The least Cas can do to repay that is to warn him.
So he waltzes into the first room he sees without knocking - and ah. Bingo. One fearless leader: Check. ]
There's an angel in this world, and I may or may not have given our location away.
[action] | The morning after TDM Thread
Mornings after, as far as Cas has learned, really suck. For one, humans have morning breath, and it's horrible. Second, if people don't know to leave his cabin, it gets awkward. Third, he tends to feel off kilter, head hurting, body protesting, mind buckling from trying to remember dreams of flight, or forgetting dreams of falling.
Mornings suck, in short.
Mornings in which angel radio makes his teeth vibrate out of his skull, while his trueform remains a hollow cadaver and he's barely angel enough to withstand the true voice kin?
Yeah... yeah those are gonna rank high up there on mornings that suck.
Once the first spike of adrenaline and panic wears off, Cas rubs his hands down his face. It's too dark to see if Dean has any Enochian wards on the walls of this house, in the dim light of a burnt down fire and a few candles, but Cas stumbles his way through the living room anyway, shooting the liger a look as he moves past, and willing a short flash of a smile onto his face. ]
Yeah I like you too, buddy.
[ He can barely see the stairs as he climbs them - and what's with the incense?
Too many questions. That has to slot further down in his priorities. Cas stops halfway up the stairs, puts a hand on the sutures and winces, before pushing on. Priorities, priorities. And well, Dean did give him a roof and patch him up - more than he could have asked of the guy who sent him to his death, quite frankly. The least Cas can do to repay that is to warn him.
So he waltzes into the first room he sees without knocking - and ah. Bingo. One fearless leader: Check. ]
There's an angel in this world, and I may or may not have given our location away.