milliways_bar | (no subject)

[OOM: In the year 2013, Castiel gets by with a little help from his friends.]

A not-quite-man on crutches clumsily makes his way into the bar.

He may be familiar to you. From this side of the door, he hasn’t been away for very long.

Everything about him speaks of an existence that has grown shabby and threadbare. His jeans and button-down shirt are worn and frayed. He seems to be wearing an old ski boot in lieu of a cast. The crutches have seen better days; one of them sports a small pink Hello Kitty backpack, held on by a quantity of grey duct tape. His hair is unkempt and he is sporting about three days worth of stubble.

And yet Milliways, as far as Castiel can tell, hasn’t changed at all.

He had been thinking about it, for the first time in a long time, sitting in his cabin at Camp Chitaqua. And now, just like he has conjured it, here it is.

There’s really only one thing to do.

Castiel starts to laugh. Hard. And he shows no signs of stopping.

[OOC: You are all beyond awesome, but I must beg slowtime. As a favor, no new tag-ins? The cup runneth over. I'll catch tags tomorrow.]

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"If it will make you happy, next time I shall lie on the ground and ask Chuck to drop the tool box on my knees."

Given the right mix of drugs, he wouldn't even feel it.

"Maybe you need a -"

She doesn't know who Chuck is, and amends it to, "- someone who won't drop stuff on you."

"That would have been helpful."

He huffs a breath.

"Would that I could say I sustained injury bravely in battle. But."

Which is not to say that he hasn't sustained injury in battle. Just nothing that landed him on crutches.

Elle still wouldn't be impressed. She was always taught to hide injury.

"What're you... battling?"

"Virtually everything in the world it seems like, most days."

That's the thing about the Apocalypse. It's as if the very world has turned against its inhabitants.

Her head tilts.

"And you can't do - anything now?"

"Smite them with the power of Heaven, you mean?"

Castiel shakes his head.

"Not anymore."

"For all intents and purposes, I might as well be human."

"... and it's just a broken foot?"

That he didn't even get in battle! Still, she doesn't hide how terribly backhanded that kind of compliment is.

"Elle. Are you attempting to tell me that my broken foot is somehow lame?"

It takes him a moment to realize what he's said.

At which point he snorts and starts to laugh again.

Elle shrugs one shoulder.

"Does everything in the world not have guns?"

Castiel raises one eyebrow at her.

"They don't need them."

"They prefer to use their hands."

"Sometimes their teeth."

Beat.

"... zombie apocalypse?"

He laughs.

Those pain meds Jordan gave him are good.

"Well, it's certainly the Apocalypse. I don't know if Croats qualify as zombies, though."

"I suppose it depends on how you define 'dead.'"

Elle is not good with the undead conundrum.

She's only aware enough to shrug and say, "I didn't see the movies."

"That makes two of us."

He wonders how they would stack up to the reality.

With another look to his foot -

"Are you going to go back?"