snowblindrpg | [log] Event: Metamorphosis, Part Three

Bunker, room 2

Castiel wakes up, and the only thing out of the ordinary he feels is an odd stiffness - the kind he's learned means that he's been sitting still for too long. After less than a year in Norfinbury, in this mortal-ish body, it's still a novel feeling to him, but it's certainly not anything to be too concerned about. He rises to his feet, aching and a little disoriented, and peers around the room, looking for some indication of how much time has passed. Given that they're inside a windowless bunker, he doesn't have much success until he remembers his tablet's clock.

He kneels in the corner, rummaging through his bag. If anyone approaches as he's sorting through all the layers of cloth he's stuffed into it, he'll ask;

Bunker, outside

It's quickly become clear that something is going on here. He's not sure what, exactly, but seemingly everyone who participated in the seance missing that much missing time can't bode well. After making the rounds and checking with everyone he can safely reach within the bunker, though, nothing immediately jumps out at him as being off, and no one has posted about anything strange happening to the network just yet.

He supposes he could just leave it lie, and wait to see if anything happens. It's possible that would be the smart thing to do, in these circumstances. But there's an impending sense of dread that's eating at him, the unease mounting to physical discomfort, and it's making it difficult to stay still.

After some consideration and checking with others - what supplies they need, anything he should try in the surrounding residences or at the high school - he straps on his snow shoes and steps outside. He isn't sure what he hopes for more - that he'll find something, or that he won't.

Everywhere. Anywhere.

Castiel wakes up, and he is

r a d i a n t

burning bright as day, bright as sunlight, bright as divinity. Too bright to look at, and then some. The briefest glance in his direction burns his sihouette into one's vision like staring into the sun - a writing mass of feathers and flames, punctuated with constellations of yet-brighter dots. His eyes. Dozens of them, hundreds, maybe, and the light that lances from their gaze is enough to blind in an instant. For the first time in months he can see again, no longer limited by the constraints of a human skull with its two dull, forward-facing eyes. He can stretch and unfurl and be free of the confines of that tiny, fragile form. He feels powerful.

He feels empty. Achingly so, like lungs deprived of air. He wants to breathe in, swallow up everything around him to fuel his incandescence.

His voice echoes and whispers, completely unrecognizable when compared to how he sounds when speaking through James Novak's vocal cords. He turns his too-bright gaze on the nearest person, not yet aware of how painful it may be.

Edited 2018-10-30 09:22 (UTC)

[Where is he going?

John has no idea. He can barely see. Salty sweat and blood burns his eyes. The snow is slowly melting around him as he digs further into a snowbank, trying to cool the fire arcing across his body, across his mind. He reaches and reach and digs until there's nothing but air. The doctor's body slumps. His arms are too long, stretched, the flesh blistering and melting across it, dripping down before snapping back up and reconstituting.

He hears the crunch of something nearby and turns his head to look. He sees... he doesn't know what he sees, but he uses his hands to drag himself forward. Is it a snow goose? He thinks it is. What else could walk on top of the snow like that? It doesn't matter that there's little to no sense in that connection.

As the anomaly draws closer to Castiel, the angel might start to feel some of that fever in his own mind, the edges of delirium, of a brain wracked by more heat than it can handle. Fire.]

[ Castiel has his cast iron pan unhooked from his pack the moment he notices something lurching through one of the snowbanks, steaming unnaturally. It has to be an anomaly - that's the only thing that could move like that, generate enough heat to melt the snow like that, and there are a lot of people gathered in the bunker. He glances back at the door, considering whether he should try to outrun it and make it back inside. It's moving fairly quickly, but it hasn't noticed him yet, and - oh. There's it's head, peering at him from the channel it's melted for itself.

Immediately, all thoughts of fleeing leave Castiel's mind, and he shifts his grip on the pan to brandish it as a weapon. A demon? Here? No, it's not gruesome enough to be one (and Jimmy's eyes wouldn't be able to see its true face on their own anyway, but somehow that doesn't occur to him in the moment), but the resemblance is enough to make him hesitate, torn between whether he should drive it off or retreat. ]

[John gets closer, pulling himself by hands that are too large. He doesn't have the balance right now to stand up. But he can reach. He needs to reach it. Him.]

Castiel?

[He raises and hand toward the angel.]

Is that you?

[ Well, that's unexpected. Castiel doesn't lower his makeshift weapon, but he doesn't make to get closer or try to swing, either. ]

John? [ It's a little bit difficult to tell in the state he's in, but he's reasonably sure that's John Watson's voice. ] It's me, yes. It looks like this is happening, again.

[ He steps back slightly, warily. John may still have his wits about him, but it seems like a bad idea to let him touch him right now. ]

Edited (leaving out critical words,) 2018-11-06 20:31 (UTC)

[He needs to reach the other man, hold onto him, hold onto anything. John drags himself further forward, arms stretching out further and further than they should be able to, bones seeming to separate and tendons and muscles straining to allow it.]

Got out of the room. We got out and were in the tunnels. Are we in the tunnels? White room...

[ Hmm. Maybe that assessment about him being less grotesque than a demon was premature. But it's the wrong kind of grotesquerie. Castiel tries to - think, something is wrong here, but there's a fogginess to everything that's making things go in stops and starts. ]

No, John. You're outside. We're near the bunker. [ He steps back again, gait awkward and shuffling with his snowshoes on. ] Who was in the this room with you? I don't remember anyone being mentioned as being missing.

Everyone's there. [Was everyone there? He can't really remember now. It's all mixed up in his head.] Had to get out. We made it through the door. [He pulls himself further forward. Castiel is damnably out of reach.]

I want to... please, just let me touch you. Nothing feels right. Our bodies were all wrong.

[ What is he supposed to do about this? Castiel glances around - first up, instinctively, on force of habit - looking for some source of guidance, and finds none. On some level he recognizes the fever-delirious mental fog settling over him, knows that it's somehow emanating from John and that letting him get closer would likely be a bad idea, but he can't bring himself to abandon him in this state. He is not an anomaly, at least not yet. There has to be something that can be done for him. ]

What do you need, John? Do you think touching me will help?

I dunno. I don't... [He's not sure what he needs anymore. Other than to reach out. To touch something, someone.] I don't want to be alone. Please. [His hand--the size of a dinner plate--twists, turning palm up, supplicating.]

I am here. You're not alone. [ He tries to be a little more subtle in how carefully he's staying out of John's reach - or at least what he assumes to be the limits of it. He knows as well as anyone what it's like to reach out to someone in a time of need and find only silence or rejection. ]

You said you got out through the tunnels. Do you think you could lead me back through them? Maybe there's something in the white room that could help you.

Is God here? [His mind is a jumble and Castiel's questions are lost in it.] Is he in the white room?

[ The correct answer - the one he would have given without hesitation some months ago - is that God is everywhere, present in all things. But that's not an answer Castiel can give right now. ]

I don't know. I don't know if He's anywhere.

But you're an angel. You know. You have to know.

[It seems very important right now that he knows. John keeps reaching.]

Mary, she's in heaven, right? She did enough to make up for it. She did enough.

I thought I knew. I'm sorry. It's as much of a mystery to me as it is to any of you, now.

[ The feverish delirium has Castiel leading John in slow, wobbling circles. He should get to shelter, return to the bunker, try to put something between himself and this not-quite anomaly, but the thought just doesn't occur to him. ]

Mary? [ Right, his wife, who died and stayed dead some time ago. ] I can't make that call, John. It's not my place.

Please... She was a good mum. She was a better mum than I was good father. She left, but it was to protect us. [And her past caught up with her, anyway.]

It should've been me, anyway. Should've been me. I should've been there first.

[ Castiel may not necessarily know what John is talking about, but this is something he's heard before so many times in so many variations in so many prayers. Before he's never been allowed to answer.

He stops his slow, shuffling keep-away dance and looks at John, the weight of two thousand years of pity settling on him. ]

There's no such thing as 'should have' in these situations. There's only what is. I'm sorry she's gone. Conviction that you are less worthy of life than her or that you are doing less than she would have won't bring her back.

[John doesn't stop. He reaches for the other man and if he's close enough, he'll try to grab him. There's no ill intent. He doesn't want to hurt Castiel. But he's so hot. He's so confused. He just needs something to hold onto. Someone to ground him. Sherlock's gone. Where did Sherlock go?]

Nothing will. Not like him. She's gone. But he's not. He's still here, right? Where is he? I need to find him.

[ The abrupt jump in subject passes Castiel before he can catch it and he cocks his head to the side, confused. Are they still talking about God? ]

I just told you, I don't know. I don't know if He's ever been here, in this place.

[ They're close now, almost within arm's reach. The heat is overwhelming, but in his confusion Castiel can't tell if it's coming from within or without. Where are they, again? ]

[What?]

He has to have been here. I saw him. I've talked to him. You talked to him, too. Didn't you?

[He's not just seeing things again... is he?]

What?

I never have, no. When was this?

What? [No. That doesn't make any sense.]

You've spoken to him. I know you have. Other people have. Haven't they?

Only five of my siblings have ever spoken to Him. I've never even seen Him. That's a significant part of the problem, John.

[ This is confusing. If he were in a better mental state he might be able to back up and ask if they're still talking about the same person, but he's bewildered and disoriented and agitated. The blistering heat radiating from John draws ever nearer and he doesn't think to move away, forgetting that he's not so invulnerable as he's accustomed to being. ]

[He's so close. Just a little farther and he can reach.]

How did your siblings meet him? They're not here.

Maybe they are. They've always been everywhere. Maybe I just can't hear them anymore.

[ His own thoughts are getting scattered and disjointed, and he remains completely still as the heat shifts from uncomfortable to painful, his skin scalding and going red. ]

Maybe I'm the one who's wrong. I've never been this alone, John.

[log] Event: Metamorphosis, Part Three

cw: body horror, horror hunger, too many eyes

Bunker, Outside (cw: burns, blistering/melted skin, delirium, too long limbs)

cw: burns, blistering/melted skin, delirium, too long limbs

above cw's will continue for the thread

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cw: burns (moreso), dissociation, character death

cw: burns (moreso), dissociation, character death