deercountry | All men must die, but first he must live.

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All men must die, but first he must live.

SEPTEMBER 2021 EVENT

IMAGE DESCRIPTORS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE
Prompt One
[Image One: Woman holding skull in bag. ]
[Image Two: Plants sprouting out of earth.]

Prompt Two
[Image One: Woman rocking back and forth in dark.]
[Image Two: Woman rowing down river with corpses on stakes on horizon.]

Prompt Three
[Image One: Beef cake man breaking arrows off of shield with a sword.]
[Image Two: Beefy man slamming axe into troll-like creature, spraying blood.]

[NAVIGATION]

Prompt 1 • Prompt 2 • Prompt 3 • Plotting • Newsletter

[JUMP TO COMMENTS]

GROWING PAINS

WHEN: September
WHERE: Everywhere
CONTENT WARNINGS: Minor blood ritual.

September, for many in Trench, is considered a month of personal sacrifice. It is the month of self-actualization and promise. To grow your future, you must first be willing to sacrifice your past. You cannot walk forwards while walking backward. All throughout Trench, natives can be seen in yards and on plots of land digging small holes and planting a variety of items. Some plant seeds, some drop in a ring, others bury small parts of a body. But the ritual is simple: bury something that represents your past and seal it with a promise for your future.

You can write yourself a note or cut off a lock of your own hair. The ways in which people do this are limitless since it's a largely personal experience. Find a small patch of soil and dig yourself a shallow hole. Bury the item inside, say goodbye to who you used to be, and cover the item up with dirt. Once you are done, you must shed at least one drop of blood onto the sacrifice. It must be your own blood willingly given. Once the blood hits the soil, a small flower will miraculously grow out of the earth within seconds.

A single, powerless flower, but this flower will be completely immortal. You can either keep it on the patch of land or dig it up and bring it home. The flower will be a representation of your progress in Trench: if its petals wilt, you are lingering too much in the past. If it is in full bloom and vibrant, you're on the right path to a better future. If the flower starts to rot, you're heading down a dangerous path.

The flower may not be able to sway you one way or another, but it may serve as a valuable reminder of the kind of life you wish to lead. Some people abandon the flowers entirely and never bother with them. After all, there are no real consequences if you let the flower rot. If a character is dropped, their flower will fleck away like dust. Many believe that the flowers are made of the same stuff omens are made of.

You can dig up other people's flowers and watch their progress (make sure to get player permission) instead. After all, not everyone will care enough about their own flowers to really observe them closely. The flowers can come in any species or size, even fictional flowers, but they will only be replicas. Meaning if your character's flower is typically used for healing, there will be no healing properties in this replica. The flowers cannot be destroyed.

Many natives in Trench will repeat this ritual a few times every couple of years since the ritual is for letting go of the past. After all, the promises you make to yourself now won't be the same promises you make to yourself ten years from now. People change and so too will their flowers. What the characters bury is largely open to interpretation.

RIVER OF REGRET

WHEN: September
WHERE: Some obscure location within Gaze
CONTENT WARNINGS: Mangled corpses of loved ones, birds eating corpses, themes of regret.

You will find raven feathers all over Trench. They may drift through the air, lightly touch you, or you might decide to pick one up. The moment you come into physical contact with a feather, a conspiracy of ravens tears through the air and scoops you up into a whirlwind of feathers and caws. It only lasts a few seconds before you're deposited into a canoe drifting along a still river. Another Sleeper is in the boat with you. You pass beneath massive stone walls carved into the likeness of Never Mind and his ravens.

The world is silent around you. There is no rain here. Instead, sunlight pours through breaks in the clouds. Sunlight dapples across the water and golden-red leaves of nearby trees. It's more serene than most places in Trench.

You turn a corner and smell it before you see it. The picturesque summer day is dampened by the stench of rot. Then you come upon them: corpses. Corpses tied up to posts with barbed wire, corpses put through spikes and suspended in the air. Ravens flutter to and fro, picking at strips of meat. It isn't until you're close enough that you realize you recognize the corpses.

They are the corpses of people you have hurt. And that doesn't just mean people you killed or physically harmed. These are the bodies of people you have deep regrets towards: a lover you wronged, a best friend you lied to, an enemy you wish you had forgiven. Not everything is as black and white as murder, after all, and this grisly graveyard of mangled bodies says as much. Sometimes our regrets haunt us like the dead, and it seems like yours have followed you to Trench. You might even see your own body up on a post or the body of your canoe companions.

You have one of two choices: ignore your regret or face it.
Choosing to ignore your regrets doesn't seem to have any ill consequences at first. You pass by the corpses and continue on your river voyage. But the water grows thicker, and you come across the same corpses only in a worse state. The situation gets progressively worse each time you ignore it, and the river gradually becomes a river of blood and gore. The stench becomes insufferable and you will become increasingly corrupt. Some may even turn into beasts right there on the river.

Facing your regrets means talking about them, even mildly, to your canoe companions. You simply need to acknowledge the corpses, acknowledge the slightest truth to your feelings towards those regrets. When everyone in your canoe has acknowledged their regrets, the ravens will come for you once more. You will be brought back to Trench and awaken in the School of Mutter. Those who faced their regrets will discover that they have been gifted a white gold compass. The compass's needle will always point in the direction of the nearest Lamp Friend no matter the chaos going on in the world. But the compass only works once you have calmed down and focused.

QUICK FACTS

1. Each boat can hold up to 4 people. There can be multiple canoes in the same area.

2. If you try to leave the boat, you will drown in the River of Regret.

3. This does not have to encompass every regret someone's had. It can only represent one or two things. The regret should have to do with another individual or one's self. Something like "I regret not going to college" wouldn't necessarily work within the parameters of the prompt.

4. The river can only be accessed by touching a fallen raven feather. Touching a raven feather attached to the bird or a quill does not count.

5. Characters can engage with this prompt as many times as they touch a raven feather.

6. Characters with no regrets will not see corpses, but they will still be able to interact with characters who do have regrets.

BLOODSPORT

WHEN: During the Blood Moon
WHERE: Everywhere but specifically, The Gate
CONTENT WARNINGS: Violence, fighting, forced aggression/violence, forced fighting.

The Blood Moon invokes religious reverence among Trenchies. September and October are the ultimate months of sacrifice to pay tribute to the gods and the blood that rules this world. An energy begins to swell among Trenchies and you keep hearing the same word whispered excitedly around the city: "Bloodsport."

As the Blood Moon floods the streets in red, you begin to feel antsy, like you don't know what to do with yourself. You're not necessarily angry, you just have an abundance of energy. You don't need to be told what it is: your blood is reacting to the moon. The Blood Moon enhances blood powers significantly and you're simply not used to that yet. You don't feel in control of your own power or maybe even your own mind. At least until you exert some power, some force. Slam a door shut or swing a sword, shoot some electricity or spit some poison and you'll feel at peace with yourself. That nervous energy will ease out.

Only to come back twice as strong. It starts to put you in a real fighting mood and you start to realize why the locals call this Bloodsport. Hunting down beasts and monsters might seem like the fun thing to do right now, but the real attraction for Bloodsport takes place at The Gate. You can hear the roaring crowd blocks away. Hundreds of Trenchies have settled in to watch Sleepers duke it out with each other or with locked-up monsters. Maybe join in the fight. At least you know the other Sleepers there want to be there...Right?

Unfortunately not. Those who resist Bloodsport will find themselves passing out more and more frequently. Eventually, they will be taken by Mysterious Forces to The Gate to be pitted against other Sleepers and monsters. Some Sleepers will be forced into a gladiator-style fight that they either must win or die trying. Most fights at the Gate do end in death, but there are some circumstances where someone surrenders. Of course, that never stops their opponent from killing them anyway...Hopefully, you're fighting someone who is still relatively reasonable. Both parties can be resistant to fighting, but they will feel obligated to fight each other. If they don't, monsters will be unleashed into the arena and your situation will get a whole lot worse.

Bloodsport can greatly enhance a Sleeper's ability and many believe it is a gift from the Pthumerian gods. It is generally considered an advantage to Sleepers during the Season of Blood to prepare them and train them to hone their skills for the Season of Bone. Many believe it is wisest to submit to Bloodsport and let yourself get used to the motions of violence in order to survive the remainder of the year.

QUICK FACTS

1. Casual physical training will alleviate Bloodsport feelings. You could get through the month just by jogging around a lot.

2. Characters forced to the Gate will not remember how or when they arrived - they will just wake up and be thrown into the Gate by some shadowy force.

3. Characters who willingly participate in violence/fighting will feel temporary relief from Bloodsport only for the feeling to increase.

4. Effects of Bloodsport last as long as the Blood Moon shines through September and October.

5. You can treat symptoms of Bloodsport with calming techniques such as aromatherapy, meditation, medications, etc. Can be based on what would ICly help calm your character but it should require a lot of it.

6. You can invent the monsters/beasts that are at the Gate. They should be killable creatures and easily captured for the purpose of the Gate.

CODING

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I. Growing Pains | Around Trench

[Sammy stares at the small flowers growing up for all of the other Sleepers, but he doesn't move to create his own. He's not unused to bloodletting anymore. Not unused to watching someone have to sacrifice something to get something else. In a way, his older self did just that, didn't he? And now here they are, doing the same thing all over again.

Only Sam stands to the side, hands fidgeting with his butterfly knife in his hands, flicking it back and forth but not cutting the skin of his palm or any such thing. He doesn't... he doesn't want to get the flower. The fourteen-year-old doesn't want to see what happens to his, once it's plucked and kept around. He doesn't want to watch it wilt into nothing. Or... burst into flame? Whatever horrible thing it'll do, to prove there's only darker days ahead.

Maybe just watching everyone else partake in this will be better. Bones, his labrador retriever, sits patiently beside him; one could see by the way the creature studies him every so often, he's waiting for his owner's command to leave or stay (and is, much to Sam's relief, always unaware of the complex struggling that goes on in his mind; dogs are great for that.)]

II. River of Regret | (cw: a hell of a lot of corpses)

Nonononono-

[His voice is a hoarse whisper as his hands clamp over his ears, head ducking low until his clamped shut eyes nearly reach his knees.

The boat has stopped. It is stuck.

Stuck on a river of bodies so thick, it's hard to see where they begin and the water ends. Some of the on the tops of the piles are familiar enough to some of the Sleepers — Dean Winchester and Castiel, of course, lay on the top of the thick, wretched 'waters'. John Winchester and Bobby Singer, too. Sam recognizes plenty of the other people. His teachers, his short-lived schoolmates, his babysitters and a number of people his father has saved or has worked with.

Sam breathes fast and heavy, one part anxiety blossoming into full panic, muttering to himself:]

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that's not me, I didn't do it—

III. Bloodsport | (cw: violence / kid in danger)

[People who are driven by their bloodlust probably expect someone else equally driven by it to appear in the ring of the battlefield, right? Only that's not exactly what happens. The crowd cheers at the reveal of one Sleeper, so ready to fight — and then... then there's a second figure that emerges into the heavily light space: a kid, more or less. An undersized teenager with a jacket two sizes too big for him, gripping a spear firmly in his hands.

He looks a little concerned, but... ultimately, he walks out to meet the other person. The weapon in his hand is held defensively, his thinner frame gripping the metal pole with firm intent. His father's only taught him the best, to know a little bit about everything, and so he finds the weapon easy to wield in his palms.

But — even so... ]

I guess... we're supposed to fight. Is that how I get out of here?

[He doesn't wanna kill anyone. Maybe he can just... knock them out.]

IV. Wildcard / Starters

[Want to come find Sam at the cabin he shares with Dean and the other Supernatural gang? Or maybe you have something else in mind in general for a prompt, maybe something completely outside any of that? Got a starter you're thinking would be fun to do at some particular location? Hit me up! You can find me at

simpledog, or via PM!]

( He knows who Sam Winchester is, now.

He hadn't realised before, but in this place.... there's much more of who he is in his grasp, not pressed down and concealed the way it had been in Deerington. While the demon king hasn't reached his full knowledge capability, still so lost in his ways.... there are parts of it, in him. Of knowing. Those great Secret Things, Hidden Truths. He can sense things, understand things, on some level beyond.

Memory seeps in slowly, and as his vessel remembers more of the faces he'd encountered and known back in Deerington, so too does Paimon. Ache comes: a deep, cutting loss. He'd lost Lucifer almost as quickly as he'd been found by him.

Sam Winchester took him away. Did something to himself to remove the archangel: a spell. Peter spoke to Sam about it — facts the demon is capable of understanding now, having full access to his host's memory.

The boy in the hallway... the boy with the wide eyes and dangerous understanding of how to hunt. The little lamb.

He is no lamb. He killed his Witch. Mutilated her. Tore his Master from himself, denied Lucifer the body that should have been his.

He doesn't need any bloodlust to feel his own boiling; this rage is fully Paimon's, unaffected by whatever's happening to Peter's Darkblood. But he knows to be careful about it, knows his host would try to stop him from this. Paimon waits, wandering the town for those first initial weeks in Trench, making note of who came here, too. Watching out for that young boy. Finally he finds him on a dreary September afternoon, crisp and chilled down to the bone. Perhaps the boy is walking to or from his home, perhaps heading somewhere else — the demon falls into step far enough behind so that he won't be seen, stalking Sam for a time, making no sound upon cobblestone streets, still wet from the most recent rain and littered with fallen leaves. Finally, he calls to him, eyes wide and strained, throat fluttering. )

Sam Winchester.

( The name isn't screamed, but spoken in a hushed tone from behind the boy, a breath on the wind. One final test to see if his innate knowledge is truly correct, if the boy reacts to the title. )

[Sam had not ventured far from the cabin, mostly, because Dean had been worried about — well, the town acting up. Between the bloodsport situation and the river of regret (which he'd rather not think about), it's been — bad. Again. Maybe Deerington's too ingrained in the world now for it not to be bad. Sam's sort of resigned himself to that fact, and when he wanders to the shops he's got his knife constantly clenched in one hand in his pocket.

He's a bit sodden with rain water as he steps foot on the path toward Odd End. He really likes that shop, likes all of the world-weary items that appear week to week. Although he doesn't have a lot in the way of money, he always has just enough to collect one or two trinkets. Today he's saved enough for a neat pocket watch with intricate engraves, one that seemed way too cheaply priced, in one of those 'too good to be true' kind of ways.

He rubs his thumb over it in his pocket, using the hand not currently curled around his knife in the other — and then stops in his tracks at the sound of his voice on the wind. He turns slowly, brows furrowing, expression first confused, then dawning with realization — and some alarm.]

... Uh — Sorry?

[Oh... no.]

( He knows the boy will react to the name, and yet something in him is surprised all the same: stunned, an emotion that's still strange for the demon thing to experience. For a moment, he looks too human standing there. Flickers of shock and ache and fear flit through his eyes; he just stares in silence, absorbing this.

Though he isn't sure if the child has been a trickster this whole time — if he had been lying, intentionally, to him about his identity back then. Referring to "Sam Winchester" as though he were someone else. (Fortunately.... Paimon doesn't yet know another version of the man exists.)

Or perhaps he'd really.... forgotten his identity for a time? Whatever spell he'd done on himself may have scrambled pieces of his mind. Perhaps it's only recently that he's regained himself; Peter's struggled with it too, in this place. The demon hesitates — unsure.

Then he's moving closer.

It happens almost in the blink of an eye, a blip — he moves fast. A flickering shadow suddenly closer to the boy. )

Do you know of Lucifer? ( His hands twitch, lift as though they mean to reach for Sam; it takes everything in him to refrain from grabbing the child, but his energy strains, and the air tightens around them. His eyes are hard and cutting and no longer look human at all. There's an alien hatred, black and glistening wet and powerful, staring out at Sam. )

You will not lie to me.

[Sam startles backward, hand clutching his switchblade even more tightly. He doesn't make any moves, doesn't try to flee — sometimes, trying to run makes things worse. Sometimes standing unmoving gives you opportunity. Especially against the supernatural.]

Everybody knows Lucifer. That's the devil, isn't it?

The ruler of hell and enemy of God, or whatever. He's in the bible.

[Sam certainly didn't lie right now, Paimon. He knows of him. That much is clear, isn't it? Just like Sam is sure he's going to slash Paimon hand if he makes any attempt to grab him. He's not sure if iron will work, but it's worth a try if things go sideways.]

( The boy's words make him flinch almost as if he'd touched something unfavourable. "Or whatever." Offhanded, flippant, like it's nothing. It's similar to how Peter's spoken about things of this nature, about him. Peter who is so stupid at times. There's a disrespect, and the demon king won't tolerate it in regards to Lucifer. )

You dare— to speak of him with.... mocking.

( He struggles with the human words in his anger, struggling against his own host. He needs to be patient, but the upset rises suddenly in him, and a line of tall, roaring flames erupt behind Sam — curling in a half-circle around where he stands, blocking escape. Not close enough to burn him, but he'll definitely feel the heat, a small inferno flickering dangerously.

The demon steps closer still. He won't actually physically maim Lucifer's vessel, but he can try to frighten the boy with threats of it. )

I should rip out your tongue as punishment. Tell me what you have done with my Master..... and you will be spared from blood, and from pain.

I don't know what you're talking about!

[He says it with a quiver to his voice, even with the hardened stare he gives in turn. He is, after all, just a child — fourteen is hardly old enough to face down such a being. But his father trained him, and his brother too, and so he manages to stand and face the other with squared, defensive shoulders.]

I haven't done anything with anybody; I'm just here with my brother, trying to be safe and have a better life. I don't even know who the hell you are!

[But he feels the heat at his back, feels the opportunity to do something slipping slowly away. What if this guy kills him right now? Or worse, does as he says? Rips out his tongue? Makes him bleed and suffer? Something afraid but dangerous glints in his eye —

And then he lunges forward, aiming to slash the being's chest with a blade — well, a butterfly knife blessed with holy water. And if he manages to stun him enough, he'll use that moment to tuck his shorter body under the man's arm and run a mad dash for the darker, more convoluted alleyways that dot the cobblestone paths of Trench.]

Edited 2021-10-05 07:08 (UTC)

( The demon's eyes are moving around Sam's body — down to his chest, staring hard there, almost as if trying to find some trace of Lucifer. Is any of him still inside? Could he be reached? Or is he... gone, the way Paimon was once gone from Peter's body when he died? Drifting, lost.... What exactly did Sam do to him?

The boy continues to claim that he doesn't know, but Paimon's starting not to care about being careful about all of this (and perhaps it's too late for that anyway, given he threatened to rip out his tongue....) If Sam doesn't remember, it doesn't change anything. He will just have to be made to know, then. Paimon doesn't have to physically harm him; he can do other things. Emotional things, mental. Perhaps if he works his mind enough, scrapes it raw and painful, he can force Sam to remember.

His hands are reaching closer— he means to grab him and hold him still, but suddenly the boy's moving forwards, suddenly he has another weapon (not a pipe this time but something smaller and quicker, something sharp). The tip of it does rake across the demon's chest, and he cries out as he jerks backwards, startled by the pain of it. By something too painful.... the boy's weapon is imbued with something. )

Sam! ( He's screaming after the boy as his small body slips past, stumbling after him as the flames burn hotter. One hand is pressed to the wound, feeling Peter's strange new blood glittering from it against his fingertips. His heart pounds; he doesn't like it. That knife, the way it stung. )

No! No! ( This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. With another angry scream, a wail, some of the stones of the road lift and smash into the walls of the alleyway, but the boy's too fast.

...Clearly, next time, the demon will have to use pain from the beginning. Debilitate the boy before he can attack with his cruel hunter weapons, his deceptively sweet face. )

[ John knows his own ghosts and regrets following him around. They trail behind him as ghosts, keeping him company even when it seems as if he's alone. Accusing. Filled with sorrow. Questioning. It's the way of it.

But this time through the river? These aren't any he knows from his own life, at least. He's met very few that could rival his own and this coming from so young a boy. Oh, bollocks. Why didn't he see it before? The bloody spell that Sam came asking for help with.

Seems like it had the effect they were looking for. At least partly. Something of that other bastard is still tied up in him or else these waters wouldn't be as rife with corpses as it is. The boat's progress grinds to a halt as John carefully slides past any others sitting with them.

He reaches out for the boy's hands to try and coax them away from his ears. ]

Hey, old son. It's me, it's Johnny, you remember me? [ He smiles, despite the misery building around them, and his expression is kind. ] Helped with those beacons and all.

Focus on me, all right?

[Sam's shaking hands move away from his ears with John's careful coaxing, but he doesn't seem to want to face what's happening right now; he shakes his head frantically, face bowed down and eyes squeezed shut. He breathes fast and afraid and stammers through his words with an urgency of someone begging for mercy.]

I don't wanna hurt anybody; I'd never hurt anybody...! I'm not — I'm not evil, I'm not evil, I don't want to be.

[I'm not the devil, I'm not the devil, I'm not — I'm not!

Then why is the boat struggling through such a river of death and decay?]

[ Who would want to? This would be too much for most adults let alone a child. The urgency in his tone and the speed of the words hits him like a kick to the face. John, get me out of here! ]

I know you don't that's plain for anyone to see. You're not evil, you hear me? It's not you it's that bastard clinging on to that older part of you somehow. And maybe---

[ The boat lurches as it struggles to move with the current though the bodies keep them from pressing forward like fallen trees in the water. ]

What he's done isn't on you, do you understand? You know what, this place wants to have a laugh at all our expenses. Make us hurt. Make us squirm. I bet if that hanger on was around to hear he'd love it but I can guess something he'd hate.

That he can't do anything to actually hurt you. He can't control you. That's gotta be a real kick to the bollocks, eh? All that trouble. All this mess and he still couldn't get one up on Sam Winchester. Not then. Not now.

[ A gentle attempt to bear his chin up to get the lad to look at him. ]

Go on, say it. He's a bully, that's all. Tell me what a tosser he is.

[Sam's not so sure. He's not sure about anything, especially that Lucifer didn't come out the victor; look at all the people who died; look at Sam's life later, destroying everything he ever loved. Even now, Lucifer keeps hurting him. Over and over, even while he's been spelled away, the devil's leaving a mess of corpses for him to wade through. Reminders of what he'd failed to do. What he was destined to do, in his universe.

But Sam's a desperate 14-year-old exhausted by such thoughts, and so he looks at John with the hope that anything will help him through this. Pale as a ghost, he stares back and struggles to not look away and toward the river of the dead.]

W—what?

[At first, startled uncertainty. His chin trembles and his eyes water, but he swallows back the feeling of wanting to give in to the sadness and fear.]

He's — a bully. He's a... a tosser. What's a tosser?

[ Unsteady as he seems at the moment, John offers a proud look when the boy does look up at him. He's been where he is, sat in that exact spot with his own ghosts and devils up there on display. It's not easy but it's survivable. That's the important part. ]

You heard me, yeah. Tell him how bloody useless he is. Shout it out. Like one of those old cartoons with the annoying little thing on the shoulder. Could very well swat him off like a bug.

[ He grins even if it falters in the face of those tears and the tremble of the lad's chin. He reaches up then to brush a hand over his head, nodding encouragement. At the question though, the laugh is a bit more genuine. ]

Oh, someone awful. Only in it for themselves. Thinks nobody can outshine them. [ Look, he's making this nice for a kid. He knows that isn't right but whatever works, eh? ] But you want to know what Old Scratch really is?

[ Voice dropped low. ] Scared. Scared cause we're the ones that have all the power.

We've got the cards in our hands, not him. You hear me?

[ It's fascinating that in a world where blood pollution has ruined the soil, that bleeding onto it causes flowers to bloom. What's equally fascinating is how open so many of the residents seem to be to growing their blooms in public and sharing the information as to what the ritual is for. It's a celebration of life, and considering the world (worlds) they've come from, it's a joy just to watch.

Cas hadn't specifically been looking for Sam. Though obviously he cares about Sam's wellbeing, especially this particular Sam, caring for Sam, beyond a general interest in Dean's welfare, doesn't feel like something he's earned. They aren't brothers, or even brothers in arms. He doesn't have the privilege of calling Sam his family.

But they are friends, or so Cas likes to think. And so when he sees Sam sitting with Bones, alone and pensive as he so often is, Cas doesn't hesitate to approach. He isn't quiet about it. Generally speaking, it's not safe or wise to sneak up around people like them. But he walks over to Sam from a very visible angle, meets his eyes and smiles before coming close enough to sit beside Bones and give the dog a friendly scritch in the ruff, while still looking up at Sam. ]

Magical, isn't it? Exhausted soil, sapped of nutrients, but a little blood and intention, and flowers just—

[ Cas makes a popping sound, emphasized with an explosive hand gesture before crossing his arms over his knees again. ]

[At least Bones seems merrily indifferent to just about everything around him; he pants and wags his tail and takes a pet like no problem. Sam, however, looks at Cas with a little (very Sam-like) frown and wrinkled forehead.]

It's weird.

I'm used to going to places where something supernatural's happening to fix it; I don't usually just live in the weird supernatural town... [He sighs, looking back at the soil.] Seems like something that'd get someone cursed. Bleeding on dirt for fortunes, or - or whatever this is.

[ What a good boy Bones is. It's a small blessing that he made the squid-journey with the rest of them. Because Sam needed him, Cas figures. He can't imagine any other reason why this particular dog would be here, sitting like a very warm, furry pillow between them.

Cas listens to Sam's concerns and he nods his agreement. ]

It's strange and different from the world we come from where supernatural creatures and witchcraft are secret and considered dangerous. But even in that world full of supernatural evil and bad intention, there were good creatures living peacefully separate from humans, and rituals of protection.

[ The first ritual involving blood that comes to Cas's mind is— Well, if Sam doesn't know it, Cas thinks, he should. ]

Has anyone taught you how to use an angel banishing sigil?

[It's very strange, yep. Very different. Very freaky. But he supposes he's at least relieved to hear there are good creatures; heck, there's even good witches, which is honestly one of the best things to come out of showing up in this place. Glancing over, his expression shifts to round-eyed interest as he shakes his head.]

I haven't had the chance yet, I guess. I got the anti-possession symbol, but...

It really banishes an angel? Like, where do they get banished?

[And why didn't anyone use this on Lucifer? Banishing satan would be a great idea, wouldn't it?]

[ Ah yes, the good old anti-possession symbol. It wouldn't be a bad idea for Cas to get one of those, maybe, now that Sam mentions it... Anyway, that's a worry for another time. Right now it certainly seems to Cas like protection against angels, particularly a certain one, is more pressing than a fear of demonic possession. ]

It does, yeah. Only temporarily, and only a few thousand miles, but it works in a pinch.

[ Speaking of tattoos and banishing angels, though... There's another mark that this Sam doesn't have yet. Later, maybe. One thing at a time. Cas kneels forward a bit, and in the dirt in front of then, draws a sigil with two fingers. ]

Just like the spell the people of Trench are using, this one has to be painted in your own blood to function correctly. Any surface is fine. You draw it, like setting a spring, and then— bam.

[ Cas smacks his palm over the sigil before falling back into sitting again, crossing his arms across his knees with an accomplished smile. ]

No more angels.

Maybe it would be smart to draw some in blood ahead of time. On paper.

If we have them folded in our pockets or wallets or whatever, we could defend ourselves a lot faster if angels showed up who weren't very happy with — um. Some people.

[... A few thousand miles, though. That would be a pretty good amount of space. Well, unless the angel can just 'fly' back or whatever they do. Honestly, the other Castiel used to scare the crap out of him every time he appeared. More like a ghost than an angel, or at least any angel he used to daydream about.

Biting his lip, he considers the sigil very carefully, as if he's planning to memorize it here and now. Knowing how studious and sharp Sammy is, maybe he very well might. He's not sure if he should ask, but... but it would be good to know. Just in case.]

... Does it work against Lucifer, too?

[ Drawing the sigils and carrying them around isn't something Cas had ever considered. Angels aren't exactly a problem where he comes from, and before that... Well, everything was different then. It's a stroke of genius, he thinks, and tells Sam as much. ]

That's a very clever idea, actually.

[ The question about Lucifer isn't wholly unexpected, considering Sam's relationship with that particular angel. Cas still feels guilty about letting that cat out of the bag, so if he can help Sam feel protected at all from that grim future, it's the least Cas can do for him. ]

That little bit of magic works against angels of all rankings, including archangels. So... fingers crossed, it should work on the Big Guy.

[ Just like the Colt should have been able to kill him. But that was a human-made weapon, not angelic. Maybe the sigil stands a better chance. ]

[It's hard not to look a little pleased by the compliment, and he smiles to himself as he rubs behind Bones' ears. He didn't really get a lot of that kind of talk from his dad (or brother, really, though Dean was always better at it than his dad ever was); compliments that make him feel like he's on the right track in something, anyway. It always feels like he's got one foot in hunting and one foot in school, and it makes both a source of criticism.]

Thanks.

I just... don't want anything to happen because I'm not prepared. If I had any choice in hunting before, I definitely don't here. So I figure the more I know, the better I'll be when things get crazy.

So if I can defend us against whatever supernatural beings there might be, it'll be worth the time and effort.

[ That smile of Sam's is so genuine, and so rare, that Cas can't help feeling a bit lighter for being the cause of it, and smiling softly back as he nods away the thanks. The smile fades, though, at the reminder of their purpose and Sam's words, as always, too brave and full of responsibility for a boy his age. It stirs bad memories, and Cas feels compelled to remind him. ]

As long as you don't get caught up in doing it all alone.

[He glances up, gives a firm nod of his head.]

I know. I've got you and Dean, and — me.

[His expression goes deadpan, the exasperation at the situation reflected in the quirk of his eyebrow.]

... It's really weird to have another me, but it's nice anyway. Even if I feel like I can't really measure up to the other Sam. He's the good one who gets more done.

[ He has them, yes. Especially Dean. That's the important part, and Cas nods to hear it. The rest of it, though... Cas listens, curious at first, because he understands the feeling and is happy enough not to have met his angelic counterpart. "Can't measure up" wouldn't begin to cover it. But "the good one" ? Cas frowns. He could share a few stories about how "good" that version of Sam is, but that would be making the same mistake twice, and that's what he's trying to avoid here, for both of them. So instead, Cas' voice lilts as he goes a little abstract. ]

That reminds me of a story I heard once a long, long time ago. There was a young dog that left home, crossed a river, and went deep into the woods to find a prize to bring home to its human family. The dog managed to catch a wild duck, and delighted by its accomplishment and eager to please its family, the dog began to run home. But, when it came to the river it had easily crossed before, it saw another dog reflected back at it, holding its prize in its mouth. The dog growled, and barked, and snapped at the dog in the river it saw as its competition, and as it barked and barked... a nearby fox overheard the commotion, snuck up, and stole the duck out from under the dog's nose. When the dog realized what had happened, it was forced to return home empty-handed.

[Sam squints oh-so-skeptically at him.]

... Usually, the adults in my life say things pretty bluntly.

You're saying if I focus too much on what someone else is capable of, I'll miss out on the things I'm capable of as me. But did the guy who made that story consider the same people from crazy-different universes?

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foolintherain - 2021-11-09 19:57 (UTC) - Expand

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beforetheverse - 2021-11-10 05:02 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

All men must die, but first he must live.

Sam Winchester (Endverse AU) | Supernatural

wildcard (lmk if you'd prefer anything changed!)

im sorry this took a century to reply to, im back i swear!!! :')

No worries at all!! Paimon is here 4 u any time, any place ♡

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gomen peter, gomen

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river of regret.

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growing pains

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sorry for the delay! busy month ;;

it's all good!!! im a slowpoke too rn!

perfect. high five, slowbro

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