One broken angel (homeless, desperately looking, voicetesting)

[betterthisway]

I, I don't really understand.

It would be of better use for me to follow the bees. Listen to the grass. Contemplate... pants, pants are good. Why...

Yes, I agree. Not you. No, of course I know he is not real. The conversation is still.... enlightening... when you say games... Sorry, maybe? Or Twister. Twister would be enjoyable. Even alone, if you insist there is only me. But then we're a few species short, mun.

Mun? Why mundane? No human is munade. You are all... all... although, sometimes boring. But pants. And Twister. So, so there's that, right?

Comments

ROFLMAO. On a side note, tell me this thread is as heartbreaking for you as it is for me ;;

[trenchcoat]

[It feels stupid to only be noticing it now, but Cas recognizes the blue plastic wristband and the matching loose-fitting white scrubs and what they symbolize from his own time spent in a hospital on Earth. How has all this happened? Bits he can piece together, but there is so much that he doesn't know.

Seeing the pain and anguish mirrored in his own eyes, Cas lays a gentle hand on his counterpart's shoulder and offers what he hopes is a tender, caring smile.]

Do you want to talk about it?

I'm just sitting here going HELP HELP HELP ALL THESE FEELS SOMEBODY HELP pretty much all the time

[betterthisway]

[Castiel freezes, quite literally. He just stops mid-fidgets and stares at the other angel - dimly, part of him now realizes why his trying to be comforting makes other people cringe. But the bigger, larger part of him... The thoughts explode on the forefront of his mind; the civil war, the pact with Crowley, the secrets, the battles, the sacrifices, the lies, the betrayals, the deaths, the pain, the souls, the wall, the Leviathans, the lake, the amnesia, the solution, the hallucinations, the ward. He makes a distressed sound, and then he is all motion again, mind locking down against the assault of mental anguish.]

Come. Bumblebees.

[He grips the other Castiel's hand like a drowning man would grip at anything, anything at all, to keep him afloat just a moment longer.]

YOU ARE DOING SUCH A GOOD JOB WITH ALL THESE FEELS LET ME TELL YOU so good;;

[trenchcoat]

[This time, sensing the need for something to help anchor him, Castiel grips back. It hadn't been a particularly probing question, if it could be called that at all, but Cas supposes it was enough to serve as an unpleasant reminder.]

I am sorry. [Cas sounds contrite, then tries to smile to show he really meant nothing by it and really is interested in what his-older-self has to show him.] Please. Take me to your bees.