[ when dean is at chapel rock, #4, going about his daily routine, he may notice whenever he looks out a window a very strange thing:
one of the bushes is scuttling back and forth from the windows. it won't take him too long to realise that it's a spirit, who's glued random bits of shrubbery and foliage on their cloak in an attempt to disguise themselves.
if dean attempts to approach the spirit or make it known he sees them, they'll hiss at him in fear and scamper off, leaving paper balls and candy wrappers in their wake. ]
[ It's the smell of brewing coffee that wakes up Ellever, mostly.
Before a month ago, it would have been her doing the brewing. She hadn't brewed it well, just well enough for her, but it had become a morning ritual. Just as it had been in the warehouse, setting the coffee machine to run while standing in the kitchenette in her bathrobe. She misses that fancy machine, honestly. But now, with her new roommates, it's often up in the air who will be the first to brew coffee in the morning. Her surprise roommates who she still has yet to get a handle on. It doesn't help that she's been spending a large amount of time at the community center, on the piano, or at the library.
Dragging herself out of bed with a yawn, she pulls on her thick coat. It's not as nice as her old microfiber bathrobe, but it does the trick. Ellever's tablet is ever-present in her hand and this morning is no exception as she makes her way out of her room and into the cabin's shared space. ]
Morning.
[ Ellever tames her wild-looking blonde hair with her free hand. ]
[ He feels light headed, near delirious. Castiel stands over Sam's bed, eyes on the sleeping, slowly healing form.
Castiel's lantern is dim these days. Near everything he has to spare in terms of grace goes into trying to fix the mangled horror he carries on his back. The spirits had delighted in cutting into something that was more than flesh and bone, alternating hallucinations that made him feel back in Naomi's chair with sessions under their blades.
Things went... very bad very fast when they'd managed to pull his wings into corporeal form.
He barely remembers Dean and Jo finding him, wings pinned and hooked, broken and cut, displayed like a horrific mocker of a butterfly.
They're taking a long time to heal. He can't reach properly to fix the torn, singed and ripped parts. Some of the bones aren't set properly. The black feathers should be silken and lustruous, yet now are dull, wings a mere ruin of what they should be. He holds them close to his body at all times, trying to hide them from view and from potential contact with anything and anyone. He's still knocked a few things over. His wings usually move nearly on their own without conscious thought from him needed, but that's when not every single twitch of them hurts on a non-physical level.
It doesn't matter, though. He can't help himself a lot. But... he can do other things.
So he stands there, in the quiet dark of the cabin and the barely there light of his lantern, and puts a hand on Sam's forehead, letting some of his grace seep through to help heal the younger Winchester faster. ]
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REACTION. / A SNEAKY.
one of the bushes is scuttling back and forth from the windows. it won't take him too long to realise that it's a spirit, who's glued random bits of shrubbery and foliage on their cloak in an attempt to disguise themselves.
if dean attempts to approach the spirit or make it known he sees them, they'll hiss at him in fear and scamper off, leaving paper balls and candy wrappers in their wake. ]
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lights. no cameras. action.
Before a month ago, it would have been her doing the brewing. She hadn't brewed it well, just well enough for her, but it had become a morning ritual. Just as it had been in the warehouse, setting the coffee machine to run while standing in the kitchenette in her bathrobe. She misses that fancy machine, honestly. But now, with her new roommates, it's often up in the air who will be the first to brew coffee in the morning. Her surprise roommates who she still has yet to get a handle on. It doesn't help that she's been spending a large amount of time at the community center, on the piano, or at the library.
Dragging herself out of bed with a yawn, she pulls on her thick coat. It's not as nice as her old microfiber bathrobe, but it does the trick. Ellever's tablet is ever-present in her hand and this morning is no exception as she makes her way out of her room and into the cabin's shared space. ]
Morning.
[ Ellever tames her wild-looking blonde hair with her free hand. ]
You're up early.
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Action | Post Kidnapping, Pre-Night Market
Castiel's lantern is dim these days. Near everything he has to spare in terms of grace goes into trying to fix the mangled horror he carries on his back. The spirits had delighted in cutting into something that was more than flesh and bone, alternating hallucinations that made him feel back in Naomi's chair with sessions under their blades.
Things went... very bad very fast when they'd managed to pull his wings into corporeal form.
He barely remembers Dean and Jo finding him, wings pinned and hooked, broken and cut, displayed like a horrific mocker of a butterfly.
They're taking a long time to heal. He can't reach properly to fix the torn, singed and ripped parts. Some of the bones aren't set properly. The black feathers should be silken and lustruous, yet now are dull, wings a mere ruin of what they should be. He holds them close to his body at all times, trying to hide them from view and from potential contact with anything and anyone. He's still knocked a few things over. His wings usually move nearly on their own without conscious thought from him needed, but that's when not every single twitch of them hurts on a non-physical level.
It doesn't matter, though. He can't help himself a lot. But... he can do other things.
So he stands there, in the quiet dark of the cabin and the barely there light of his lantern, and puts a hand on Sam's forehead, letting some of his grace seep through to help heal the younger Winchester faster. ]
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