bakerstreet | the picture prompt meme.

the picture prompt meme.

the picture prompt meme

comment with your character.

others will leave a picture (or two, or three...)

reply to them with a setting based on the picture.

link to any pictures that are NSFW, please.

be aware that this meme will likely be image-heavy. that's kind of the point.

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[ call it a knack. angel power perhaps, or castiel might simply be good at reading an atmosphere, or more specifically, at reading sam and dean. he has known them more intimately than he has ever known any human being, and truth be told, for as much as they keep from one another, they're not terribly difficult to interpret. they each of them have specific tells, their strain and anxiety writes clear lines on their faces, in the way they carry themselves, the slant of their shoulders, and their eyes are generally speaking, a dead giveaway.

thankfully it isn't in his nature to pry, so more often than not they get away with it undisturbed, but this is a little different, and more often than not, sam is more receptive to comfort than dean, so he likes to offer what he can, when he can.

but now here's sam turning it all around on him now, and aren't they just a couple of sad, pathetic fools trying to prop one another up. had castiel possessed a better sense of humor he might have laughed about how impossibly difficult they are. instead he's just reminded of how astonishingly gentle sam is, as a person. castiel cares for both of the winchester boys, but he doesn't often have time with sam alone; every time he does, he finds that sam is always surprising him. a hunter as a boy, raised on the road and never provided a proper home and yet of the two dean is the rougher one, the harder one. there is a kindness in sam that is truly bewildering, and incredibly, terribly rare among his type, and castiel can only hope that he never loses it. his voice is softer when he speaks again. ]

Understood.

[ castiel can't help but agree, when sam is being so painfully forward, and despite it all he is not wrong. from the first moment he can remember existing, castiel has been part of a unit, a single cog in the great machine; angels were not designed to think for themselves. he's grown accustomed to his solitude, but it would be a lie to say that he does not cling to sam and dean for fear of feeling useless, pointless, scrap metal to be discarded. ]

We are family, then. Dean has said that to me, more than once, but I suppose I haven't.. taken it seriously.

[ Sam felt a rush of warmth for that. Not just for Castiel for repeating the words, but because of his mention of Dean in such an affectionate way. That was the way Sam wanted to remember him, even if it made him seem weak, and even if one day the demon would take advantage of it. Remembering Dean that way would keep him sane, and that was all he could really hope for.

And family-- ]

That's right. We're family. More than that, we're a family that fights together.

[ And a family that fought together stayed together.

The misery wasn't quite so bad, now. The tension in his bearing seemed to finally be relaxing, and so Sam carefully resumed his ritual, cleaning the rest of the blood from Castiel's face with careful strokes. As he cleaned him up, his efforts became more tender, and he shifted his position slightly on the ground, putting one knee down to take his weight and awkwardly bumping his own chest against Castiel's knee.

But that was okay--he was able to be a little bolder, cleaning away the blood from one of Castiel's ears before dropping to his chest. The wounds there were all bad in their own right, but particularly the one where that knife stroke had sliced Castiel open. A huge amount of blood had spilled across his belly, soaking the waistband of his slacks, but Sam's sense of boundaries wouldn't allow him to even bring them up. For now, he kept his hands away from Castiel's belly. There was still so much to do, and he hadn't even administered the drug yet, so the cloth went to the crook of Castiel's arm, where he tried to scrub clean at least a small patch so that he could give him the shot. ]

Okay. [ Psyching himself up, he spared another concerned glance for the angel. ] Arm out in front of you, palm up, then make a fist. I'll be as gentle as I can.

[ the ache of losing dean won't ever really go away, but the sense of heaviness in the room is surely dissipating. the best way to ease a loss is to talk about it, after all, however painful it might be in the end it is worth the suffering to unburden the soul - and right now, he and sam have so much ahead of them that they can't afford to be burdened. they can't afford to trip up if they want to have any chance at bringing dean back.

so there's a noticeable change in his demeanor, a slackening of his body as sam works efficiently and steadily, peeling away dried blood and damp alike. and as he works castiel is thinking about his words, thinking about how much dean has talked about it, about family, and how important it is. castiel knows family. his fellow angels were his family. and it is for that reason that he finds it so difficult now to strike them down, why he allowed one get close enough to even deliver this wound to begin with, and in the face of it it still tore at him to kill his own. it is why the guilt still weighs at him tremendously for the slaughter he served up in heaven - for that sin his heart and hands will never be washed clean. still somehow, despite an eternity together beside them, he feels closer to sam and dean, has sacrificed for them again and again and again, and shall still sacrifice for them.

and that is what family truly is, isn't it? family is fighting for one another, against all odds. it is laying down everything you care for and believe in to protect them. it is practicing forgiveness when one of them inevitably stumbles over their mistakes. granted all of their mistakes have been on rather a large scale, but still, here they are looking out for one another despite it all. these thoughts are so warm and sam's company so pleasant that he is very nearly asleep by the time sam speaks again, his eyelids slack and heavy, and he has to blink blearily into his face once, twice, three times before he understands. ]

Of course.

[ right. simple instructions. castiel lifts his arm as instructed, and closes his palm into a fist unhurriedly. he's not worried about the pain. ]

[ Maybe some day it would all be okay. Maybe the pain would lessen as the years passed, but for right now the agony of losing Dean again was a dull, throbbing ache in his chest such as Sam didn't know how to describe out loud, never mind console with. Sometimes, lying in bed at night, it was all he could do to cry himself to sleep, if only to actually achieve that miracle of unconsciousness. The other option, other than researching himself to the land of Oz - not literally - was what Castiel had achieved right now. Pushed all the way to the point of exhaustion, emotionally and physically bled out, he was dozing off even now.

In some ways, that was sort of...incredibly beautiful, and in others more terrifying than facing any vampire, demon or wendigo. It just wasn't meant to be this way. With everything that was happening, what comfort it would bring him for Castiel to be renewed with his own grace. There was need in his life for the sense of safety that an invulnerable, powerful angel on his shoulder might have offered him, and Sam craved it. Like this, though? Like this it was Sam who needed to protect, Sam who had to be invulnerable, and if Castiel was going to be on his shoulder at all, then it would be because Sam was carrying him someplace, weak and defeated. Sam didn't resent that - couldn't - because like Dean said, they were family, and there had been more than enough times when it had been Castiel's strength that carried him through instead. ]

The morphine will make you feel numb, and tired. Don't worry. You'll be good as new when you wake up. [ They both knew it wasn't true, so Sam didn't bother to look up as he spoke.

Carefully, Sam pulled the paper wrap off the needle, then the plastic cap, before moving both of his - slightly pink - hands to Castiel's arm. He was better at doing this the hard way, jamming it into his forearm and bruising muscle in the process, but that was more because a little pinprick was nothing compared to the usual stabbing and slashing they usually endured. For Castiel's sake alone, he found the vein and delivered the shot with patience and respect, before tossing the thing in the trash, and then immediately he was up, cleaning his cloth and coming back to fuss over the angel's chest and arms, earnestly intent on cleaning up at least enough blood that he could dress the still oozing wound.

But that might have to wait. With the drugs in his system, it was only a matter of time until clean up duty became put the angel to bed duty. Considering how far he'd crashed already, Sam was ready at any moment to lunge forward and wrap his arms around Cas before he fell flat on his face. After all, wasn't that what they all did best, when they weren't falling themselves? ]

[ sam loads him up with enough morphine to take down an elephant, which is probably just about the correct amount for an angel, even so low on grace, surely enough to probably get him embarrassingly high. castiel watches sam's work with mild curiosity and without interruption.

the stuff hits the ground running in his veins, solid as a truck, and there's a rush of icy coldness for only moments before it's replaced with soothing warmth and weightlessness and ease. immediately his entire body begins to loosen up as he unwinds, his arm slack in sam's grasp before he's even withdrawn the needle. he's swallowed entire canisters of aspirin before, but nothing compares to this stuff - humans are certainly creative, aren't they? what pain he felt is immediately washed away, and judging by the heaviness of his eyelids it surely won't be very long indeed until a falling angel needs catching.

castiel is quiet and entirely compliant for sure now, and sam's movements seem in slow motion as he jumps back into his task, but you can be sure that castiel certainly isn't feeling any pain right now, and he does not so much as flinch even while sam tends to the rougher wounds - it's as if he may as well not be there at all. except castiel certainly hasn't forgotten him, and he's watching him closely as he works, studying sam's face when he can manage to keep his eyes open. ]

Sam.. [ his tongue is pleasantly thick, and you can be sure he's beginning to slur, every word slow as syrup, as if it's difficult to get them out, because it is. ] .. Sssssam.

[ and then that's the end of that, because after a few more moments castiel is tipping forward; here's hoping you have your angel wrangling gloves on, sam. ]

[ If Sam was any one thing, guaranteed, it was fast. The other thing? A damn good listener. He was very, very aware of being watched, which was as unusual a sensation as any, considering Castiel was looking at him like he'd never seen him before, or maybe there were green aliens climbing out of his ears--who knew, with opiates?

Either way, the moment Castiel began to slide, Sam abandoned cleaning and threw the flannel into the basin without thinking about the angle, nailing the shot, and his arm opened up, wrapping around Castiel in case he went sidewards while he attempted to catch him with the full length of his chest instead. Sure enough, Castiel fell against him, and Sam exhaled into the angel's hair in relief. It would be easier to pick him up from this position, or at least it would be easier than any position where Cas was a dead weight on the floor.

Shifting most of his weight bearing to the other shoulder, and hyper aware that throwing Cas across his shoulder would risk pulling his stitches, Sam ducked in until his hip was angled against Castiel's, before putting his other arm in under his knees. It was a simple thing, from there, to lift him bodily against his chest. Well...simple for Sam, who had the body strength to do it. No hobbling in exhaustion to the bedroom this time; instead, Sam held him tight, carrying him to the first room with a bed to the bathroom.

It was only as he lay Cas down that he realised that this was Dean's room--which made sense, really, it was next to a bathroom, the closest bedroom along to the kitchen. But now Cas was on the bed, disturbing Dean's scent in the process, Sam wasn't sure he dared to move him again, no matter how guilty it made him feel. Considering how much Cas cared for Dean... God. Idiot. What was wrong with him? ]

Hey. [ He said, carefully, brushing back Castiel's bangs. ] You going to be okay in here?

[ the funny thing about bring high, or drunk, or otherwise inebriated, is that you have no real sense of time whatsoever. one moment passes into the next and you're left behind wondering when did sam stand up and also how did i get into this bed? for sam's sake, at least, it means he doesn't put up a fuss, but truth be told castiel is generally speaking a good patient, anyway. most times. fussing might make him uncomfortable, but he's not the sort to turn away help to preserve a sense of machismo he doesn't possess. .. unless it means putting others in harm's way, but that's another story. ]

Yes.

[ it takes him a few seconds to register the question, and answer; of course he'd be okay in here, it's warm and comfortable and a bed - he's really learned to appreciate those, in recent years. clearly, he hasn't yet recognized the room as dean's, which perhaps is for the best, really, because nobody wants a doped up angel getting nostalgic and maudlin. sam has endured enough torment for one day. ]

Sam.. Sam. [ the effort it takes for him to reach and grab ahold of sam's wrist is less embarrassing than the fact that he has to try three times to do it successfully, but he's got an iron grip when he finally succeeds. words are an effort too, and he trips on them clumsily, but he somehow feels it's important to get them out even while his body is sinking heavily into the blankets that smell nice and familiar. it'll hit him in the morning when he wakes up buried in dean's scent. his voice is like gravel. ]

Lissen.. to me, Sam. This was nice of you. You're a very nice person. I haven't always been nice to.. nice to you. I'm sorry. You're a good person, Sam.

[ so much for not getting nostalgic and maudlin - but at least it isn't about dean. the words just keep tumbling, and he's definitely repeating himself. please someone stop him. ]

I think I muss've thought you were horrible on the inside because.. you were his vessel but I was wrong. You are kind. Thank you, Sam.

[ His brow furrowed at Castiel's grip. At once, he knew that he had something to tell him, and yet his concern only deepened. He should be resting, he was delirious, and probably out of his head, and it'd be questionable whether or not he actually remembered anything of this conversation at the end of the day.

But Castiel was insistent, and his grip was surprisingly firm considering how weak he otherwise was. Hard to remember he was an angel like this, and yet there it was, like a steel manacle. Sam lowered himself down to crouch beside the bed, since it was easier on his back, and easier to listen, too, to what he was being asked with so much miserable desperation to hear. An apology. A straight up, honest to God apology, for all the times that Castiel had doubted his heart, or failed to trust him, or taken Dean on a mission and not him. It had been years, and a long time coming, and there were times - other times - when Sam would have raised hell if he could hear him say half of it.

But now it just seemed sad, especially when Castiel really conveyed his prejudice in straightforward words. Because he was Lucifer's vessel. His hand softened slightly, fingers resting against Castiel's temple because they were held there, and Sam's face twitched through several expressions - sadness, pity, repentance - before he finally settled on one, a grim sort of smile on one side of his face, the other still firm pressed into serious contemplation. ]

The only thing I regret is that we couldn't have been closer. But there's no question of that now. You're family, Cas. Apart from Dean, I count you as my closest friend, and I know that you do too--I know all those things without you saying them, without apologies. Winchesters learn to talk without ever saying a word to each other, and whether you like it or not, Cas, that's what you are. An honorary Winchester.

[ whether or not castiel will remember this in the morning is questionable at best, but what's important is the sincerity, and how good it feels to say it. castiel carries on his heart a great deal of guilt for more sins than he has fingers and toes on which to count, but right now, he is unloading one of them.

for so long he had doubted sam, simply for being what he is. the boy with the demon blood. the vessel for lucifer. how could someone touched by so much evil be anything but vile and malevolent? castiel had been foolish, blinded by his loyalty to heaven, by the black and white of good and evil and all of the things he had thought that he knew. and over the course of time he had changed, they had changed him, and had he known then what he knows now he would never have judged sam so harshly, or held him at arms' reach for so long, and that he did is something that he will be deeply ashamed of until the end of his days. for too long he hadn't spoken of it because of this shame, because he couldn't bring himself to face it, and he tried to make up for it in other ways - by helping sam, standing by him, attempting to treat he and dean as equals rather than favoring one over the other. he hopes he has begun to make up for it, but he still had never found the courage to apologize.

but he's found it now, in cold liquid opiates, and if that's what he needed to get it out, then so be it, but sam deserves to hear it after being so gravely, wrongly judged. and sam forgives him for it, considers him a brother despite it and that serves only to dig it in more deeply, to nail in the fact that sam, despite his mistakes, human mistakes, has a good soul beneath all of the messy parts. castiel smiles, weary and mindless, and loosens his grip at last on sam's wrist. ]

I won't doubt you again, Sam. You have.. my word.

[ which is as good as steel. for if it's one thing castiel has going for him, it's the ability to be blindly loyal, for good or ill. and now that he's come to trust and love sam as easily as he does dean, sam will find he has an ally in him for eternity, whether or not he wants it. ]

[ That was definitely a promise, although Sam...hesitated with it. Something like that put a lot of the onus on him not to let Castiel down in return, never make him question his own word. Sam liked to think he could handle that, but being brothers, being a good person, hadn't stopped him from betraying Dean either--it just didn't work like that, even if it was a nice idea in general.

But Castiel looked so earnest when he said it, that Sam took his hand in his own, and squeezed it reassuringly, eyes crinkling as he smiled sadly down at him. ]

I appreciate that. [ He said, softly, because Castiel was stoned out of his mind anyway, and there was no point with arguing with him about it now, or ever. ] Thank you, Cas.

[ He didn't quite know how to break away, but Castiel looked so pitiful, so helpless, that Sam removed himself very slowly, fetching out first one box and then another from under Dean's bed until he pulled out his brother's own first aid kit. Inside, there were stick on bandages that would do just fine so long as Castiel didn't move so much while he slept. As he raised his head with his prize a moment later, Sam looked over the beaten angel once more, grimacing. The blood from his pants was still leaving a mess on the sheets, despite all his efforts. They'd have to come off, or Cas would have a hell of a time in the morning. But that could wait until he was in a morphine coma, and Sam didn't have to actively go out of his way to either embarrass him--or, much more likely, humiliate himself. ]

Just rest [ He insisted, applying the bandage carefully. ] Anything else you want to talk about can wait till the morning.

[ that's good enough for him.

castiel hums his assent and drops his hand to the sheets again, content enough with sam's answer and subsequent request to rest. truth be told he doesn't have it in him to debate much longer anyway, and now that he's thanked sam for his help as best as he can he's willing to let the drugs and fatigue work away at him. considering it's a struggle to even keep his eyes open at this point, he's glad to let the matter drop.

so without another word castiel exhales, long and slow, and shuts his eyes. it feels like only moments before the darkness behind his eyelids is consuming him, and with his body and limbs sinking heavily into the mattress castiel falls easily into unconsciousness. he can be thankful at least, that angels do not dream, and for a blessed handful of hours he won't need to feel or worry or think about anything - not dean's loss or sam's sad smile or the blood of angels on his blade and hands, nothing at all past sweet, black oblivion. ]

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the picture prompt meme.

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