#bledgrace

she's still working out the kinks of the shapeshifting, not quite a mastered skill quite like her counterpart. she didn't get the chance to grow up with the mutant gene in her veins, learn and shape the power uniquely for herself. arthur urges that with time, the transformation will hurt less; her bone cracking and breaking apart beneath the barrier of her skin to shape into whatever it is that she decides to transform into. usually, a tiger is her favorite. quiet, can crouch low, with a wide sense of abilities that can ultimately come in her own favor. it's the aftermath she's also still struggling with; she wishes that x-men did not dissimilate before crafting her a suit that is well versed for her abilities.

❝ do not move. ❞ this is a request and a threat— dean's pinned back onto the couch and absolutely NOT moving, at least not until she's done. her lips are curved in a scowl as she cuts away the bloodied parts of his shirt, ( replaceable enough ) scouring for wounds. ❝ i've got scissors and i will use them. ❞ okay. . . maybe that's a little too harsh. ❝ and band-aids. does it hurt ? ❞

this time though is not like the times before, abraham has a plan for this character. businessman looking to bury himself in the presence of someone, trouble or no. he's donned his favorite navy suit, tied an elaborate knot for his matching tie, and mussed the curls in his hair. he knows how much dean loves them. dean left him only half an hour ago to sit at the bar, waiting for him to make his entrance.

and he does his best to not keep him waiting. sliding their room keys in his breast pocket, taking the elevator to the ground floor and finally walking across polished marble to the fine bar across the way. funny how this brings him back to the first time they met: dean contently at the bar, sipping on his drink. abraham catches himself wondering who he'll be this time, what story conjures in that beautiful mind as he approaches and takes a seat next to @bledgrace. no words yet, instead he simply looks him over. his freckles are even more beautiful in warm mood light.

NONONONO BC HE DID THAT HE LITCHERALLY DID #THATTTTTTT

hand turning, brows furrowing. castiel looks at the bright candy jewelry on his finger ─ and smells it. ' it appears to be flavored sugar. ' he lets out, almost to himself.

' why ? ' castiel looks up from the magazine resting in his lap, stilling mid-turn of the page. busty asian beauties. he'd found it crumpled in the footwell of the impala, a bit crinkled, looking like it had been there for a while. neglected and forgotten. it was a long drive ; castiel needed to occupy himself somehow, and dean had been doing a fairly admirable job pretending he didn't notice what was going on in the passenger seat. for about two long minutes, that is. because after the third soft little ' . . . oh,' he just had to announce his discomfort.

' you read these all the time. ' angel continues, ' and you purchase them. i have seen it. and sometimes, ' eyes drop back down, turning another crinkly page, ' . . . you leave them on the floor of your car. '

dean's arrogance doesn't irk him as much as it pains him. because it irritates castiel, yes ─ but more than that, it saddens him. angel glances toward the form beside him, watching the corrupted shadow of the man he once knew. with the same face, the same familiar mannerism. and yet so profoundly wrong. the bar roars behind them ; air thick with sin and cheap liquor. loud and careless. spurring a dull weight within his chest.

he can't even justify to himself why he chose to come here, perhaps it's one final attempt to talk some sense into him. perhaps he's simply desperate. hand curls slowly into a weak fist against the sticky surface of the counter, jaw tightening as he stares ahead. i didn't quite get that. oh, but he did.