dear_mun | On the mun's designs for character development

[ . . .Sam? He hasn't seen you—as you—in years. ]

You're not Lucifer. Not yet anyway. [ It's weird. ] When are you from?

I'm not-- [Have a mildly offended look for that.] That's a hell of a hello. No, I'm not Lucifer and I'm not planning on being Lucifer any time soon.

[He's a little peevish on that subject after having met Lucifer wearing his body like a bad leisure suit. And great, is this that time travel thing again? He regards Cas a little warily.]

2009. World hasn't ended yet; we're trying to keep it that way.

[ Tact is for people who have patience. Or understand tact.

But 2009. Okay. He did this with Dean. ]

I met Dean. Your Dean. From your year. I'm, uh—my year is 2014. And you succumbed to Lucifer and lost us the war.

[ Just so they both know how things stand. ]

You what?

[Ok, Dean did not tell him about that. He is so grilling him later. And then what Cas says next sinks in, and Sam scowls, jaw clenching. But Cas isn't accusing him of anything, he's just saying, so Sam reigns in the impulse to snap.]

Right. And that's-- what happened to you?

((OOC: Also here is Chuck! http://dear-mun.dreamwidth.org/4753684.html))

[ Nope. There's no judgement there. He is just saying. You said yes and then everything got all fucked up. He considers the question for a moment and then sighs. ]

Life.

Mortality. Morality. Whatever. [ It doesn't matter. He waves off the question. ] The Gay Science. [ Smile. He can make references too now! ]

[Eyebrow.]

Nietzsche?

[Ok, that's new. Yes, he's read it. And his vague memories of its contents sit uneasily with his recent conversation with Lucifer and his conviction that this is what Sam would always do, for this is what he's meant to do. He bets Lucifer thinks Nietzsche's a hoot. He scowls again, but manages to infuse his tone with a certain amount of griping, bitchy humour.]

What, eternal recurrence or God is dead?

Edited 2012-10-11 18:10 (UTC)

[ Smile. Yes. Nietzche. ] I like Nietzche.

[ Pause. As an aside. ]

He was actually German, you know.

But yes, Sam. God is dead. "And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? Who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement. . ."?

[ It's really deliriously funny. ]

[More eyebrow-furrowing. Yes, he knew Nietzsche was German. And the fact that you're so amused by this, Cas, is kind of unnerving.]

Dude, are you-- high?

[Bizarre doesn't even come close, but with the philosophy-quoting and the grinning, when he's pretty sure he's never seen Cas grin in his life...]

[ Nietzsche himself decried being German. So he's being helpful with his historical accuracy. Nietzsche also did not consider himself a nihilist, which makes it funnier—nihilism in general is fucking hilarious—except oh you're saying something. ]

What? [ Is he high? ] Yeah. Pretty much.

[ Do you want some? He has a joint on him. Somewhere. ] Want a toke? It tastes better than demon blood. [ Because addiction. You get it, right, Sam? ]

[Sam's expression vacillates between offence and simple disbelief when Castiel digs out a joint and offers it.]

What-- no. No. And I don't-- I'm done with that shit. I thought you knew that. Or did you miss that memo in 2014?

[Grump.]

Seriously, Cas, what happened to you?

[ Did he miss the memo? That's a stupid question, Sam. He told you what happened to him, to the world. He narrows his eyes. ]

You. Said yes. To Lucifer.

[Sam is going to skip over the part where that was not him, that was some other Sam, because no, he refuses, he is not going to say yes and let that happen. Instead, he's skipping to the far more confusing part of this whole conversation.]

And so now you're a... junkie? The world's ending and you're smoking up because you can't deal with it?

[Confusion and alarm are coming out in the form of slightly bitchy judgement, which is possibly unfair, but this is Cas. Nothing about this is familiar ground.]

[ If you want an explanation of what happened to him, that's the explanation. You said yes. The world is dying, and they keep fighting an un-winnable war. Dean is broken. He is broken. Hope is dead. ]

I'm smoking up because—why the hell not? [ He chuckles. ]I mean, the world is ending. It's the Winchester way, right? Wine, women, and song. Take the perks while you still got them.

[It takes a moment for Sam to realise that what he's feeling is disappointment in Castiel. Which is weird. The angel's been a dick before, Sam's been confused by him, angry at him, untrusting of him, but he's pretty sure he's never been disappointed in him.]

Right. Gotcha.

[He's not sure what else to say. Because that isn't the Winchester way. The Winchesters fight far beyond the time when anybody with sense would have given up; the Winchesters are pigheaded and self-sacrificing, and if the world ended, they wouldn't just give up.]

[ You've always been disappointed in him, Sam. He was never an angel the way you wanted angels to be. It's not so different now. It doesn't matter now.

No one can be as disappointed with him as he is with himself. ]

You, uh. You haven't asked about Dean.

[ The Dean he knows. The Dean he stayed with for five years. ]

[Sam swallows and looks away for a moment, breathing through his nose, before he refocusses on Cas.]

End of the world? Lucifer walking around in my meatsuit? I... think I can imagine how Dean's doing.

[Neither of them has ever dealt well with losing the other one.]

He's fighting, right? Gonna find Lucifer and kill him?

[ Not doing well is. . .kind of an understatement at this point. He huffs a brief laugh.

But honestly this isn't funny. ]

There's no, uh, way. Sam. To kill Lucifer. Once he acquires his true vessel. [ He meets your eyes, listless. Sad. ] Dean's gone to get the Colt. Dean, uh. [ He swallows and looks away, brows creasing. ] Dean wants to go out fighting.

[ It's a suicide run. They've been planning it for a year and a half now. Cas understands. This is Dean's choice, and he'll follow Dean right to the end and into oblivion. It's the best thing for Dean at this point. ]

There has to be a way. Some way.

[He's not surprised, though. Hadn't he done the same thing, or close enough, after Dean went to Hell? And that was nothing like the whole world ending and Lucifer walking the earth.]

Even if it kills Dean doing it. [Which he feels kind of horrible, talking about like that, but he gets that too. That if it's hopeless, Dean'd rather have a proper hunter's end.] It can't just-- the Devil can't just win.

[ Yeah. The devil just can't win. But he does. But he has. ]

The world is, uh, dying. There are no more children. For the first time since creation, the birds no longer sing. Dean's soul—it looks gangrenous now. When I pulled him from Hell, I used my Grace to repair the wounds in his soul. As best that I could. Patched its tattered edges.

But there is no more Grace in the world. Except for the angel that wears your face.

[ That's the world, Sam. That's Dean. Everything sucks. He shrugs, and then lights the joint. ]

We all find comfort where we can.

That's. Really fucked.

[He can't really think of anything better to say, and he doesn't really succeed in hiding how uncomfortable it makes him, hearing about the world gone so utterly to shit, Dean's soul gone gangrenous, whatever the fuck that means. He thinks maybe it's something like what would have happened to him, if he'd kept on with the demon blood. Somehow hearing about it makes him twitchy in a way just living it wouldn't; if he was living it, at least he could do something. Probably go out and get himself killed fighting demons like Dean plans on doing, but at least it'd be something.]

I'm sorry. I know sorry doesn't mean anything, but that's. Does Dean have the Colt yet?

On the mun's designs for character development

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