sirenspull_logs

It seems you have us at a disadvantage. You know us, we barely know you.

[The Leviathan grin, just a bit more, shuffling through Castiel's memories again.]

Except, of course, we do. We know you as well as your angel does; every little fear and every little weakness.

[Castiel growls, just a little, the action not at all physical but still getting the point across to the creatures in his head easily enough. They just laugh and ignore him, continuing to taunt the demon.]

Why would we get another vessel? We like this one. All hyped up on soul-juice and nice and quiet. I think we'll keep him.

[The only emotion Crowley allows at the thought is a slight arching of his eyebrows, unimpressed with the attempt at digging.]

No one knows me except for me. It's a funny little flaw I've got called paranoia. I picked it up during the Apocalypse. Blue Light special.

[Crowley tilts his head slightly, still staring up at him, his lips twitching upward slightly.]

And you won't be keeping my angel. I'm rather fond of him.

Oh come on now. We know all sorts of things. Scandalous things, really.

[The Leviathan just cast another look at the waves, clearly amused with themselves, before looking back.]

Finders keepers, Crowley. You know that.

So he is still alive, then.

[It's soft, faintly amused, and Crowley turns away, taking a step or two backwards.]

That makes things much more simple.

There's no reason to kill him just yet. He's not making a nuisance of himself anymore, so he can stick around for awhile.

[And when Castiel becomes too annoying or they don't think his thoughts and conclusions are useful anymore, they'll just shut down his consciousness permanently. No big loss.]

We know enough for a comment like that to prompt a question of what exactly you're planning. Surely it's something grand, if ultimately futile.

[Crowley wants nothing more than to remove the teeth from that aggravating grin, but he responds with one of his own, amused.]

Something grand, I love that. Did you dig that out of Castiel's brain? If so, kisses, kitten, because I'll keep that in my 'Crowley descriptors' folder, along with magnificent, glorious, innovative, conniving, ambitious, and depending on your point of view --

[Crowley removes the Colt from his pocket, cocking it neatly as he levels it between Castiel's eyes in one fluid motion.

His tone is soft.]

Moderately suicidal.

[Bang.]

Edited 2012-12-03 06:43 (UTC)

[The Leviathans' grin doesn't fade as Crowley talks, and they had indeed pulled the descriptor from Castiel's mind; it's one the angel knows Crowley likes, and would like even more applied to him. Castiel would have argued with some of the other choices Crowley rattles off, though, if he were capable.

And then, suddenly, there's a gun pointed at his head--the Leviathans' head--and Castiel registers what it is a split second before the Leviathan can pull it from him, and far before they can react. He senses their flash of alarm, the realization and concern that maybe, just maybe, that weapon can kill them in one simple shot, but all Castiel can feel is some mixture of pride and a level of affection he isn't sure he can't name toward the demon that's somehow become his closest friend.

Then it's all dark.]

Edited 2012-12-03 06:53 (UTC)

[The moment the Leviathan hit the ground, Crowley is standing over them, removing the blood-tipped weapon from his coat with a well-practiced ease. But there is half a second of hesitance as he stares at it, his fingers curling around the bone.

The moment of reckoning. One strike and it would be over and Crowley would be cast to some unknown dimension. Or death.

Perhaps someone would grant him mercy. Hopefully he would just die.]

When am I ever that lucky.

[It's quiet, to himself -- and in that half-second, Crowley tightens his grip, and the demon slams the sharpening point into his throat, down to the sand. And once it was done, Crowley has perhaps ten seconds of allowing his hopes to get up, that perhaps he will survive this after all, and things can go back to normal, before something feels very wrong.

At first, it is a shortness of breath -- a tightening in his chest that Crowley chalks up to some weak emotional display at the dead individual on the ground, but soon it grows to such a painful crescendo that he can't ignore it anymore. He gasps involuntarily, taking a few steps backward as his free hand presses against his chest, where he feels himself -- his true self -- writhing and fighting and Crowley has the bizarre urge to smoke out and run but then he finds that he can't.

He sinks down to his knees, dropping the Colt as a hand finds his throat, trying to draw in another breath but he coughs instead -- and his mouth is suddenly full of blood and his chest rattles and as Crowley coughs again, blood dripping onto the sand, he realizes what is happening.]

Son of a bitch --

[It's a wheeze as Crowley gasps, trying to breathe as his stomach lurches.

The fucking thing was leeching his ability to maintain his host.]

[Pain is all Castiel can feel as he regains consciousness, disoriented and confused, the Leviathan screaming and writhing in agony in his head. He moves a hand, awkwardly, trying to cover his ears in jerky motions that make it look like he's completely forgotten how to use his own vessel.

The Leviathan aren't dead, aren't dying, but they're badly hurt and even more thrown off than Castiel is. He moves a little more, weakly, still unable to coordinate well enough to open his eyes are even quite realize that he's in control again. The pain is so encompassing, both from the center of his forehead and from his throat.

His hand moves again, shakily, to touch the weapon buried in his neck and some part of his mind wants to start screaming and not stop, because he can't handle this. But the rest of him, traumatized but still able to react, pulls the weapon from his throat and presses against the blood that's beginning to spill out. Red blood, not black.

His grace is weak and damaged but it begins to move to close the vessels and stop the bleeding, and Castiel manages to open his eyes and suddenly it all hits him. He's conscious. The Leviathan are down but not out--the weapon only partially worked--but he has control and he has to do something.

His gaze falls on Crowley and he realizes something is terribly wrong. Somehow he manages to lurch up onto an elbow but he can't get the rest of his vessel to function yet, still in a state of incredible shock both mentally and physically.]

[At first, Crowley doesn't notice Castiel moving, too absorbed in the pain and blood. With each breath came another stab of pain, almost as if something was ripping inside him. His vision swam in and out, black and sand and blood and suddenly Crowley's instincts kicked in.

His hand shoots out to grab the Colt, leveling the Colt at Castiel again, drawing in a breath before his finger tightens on the trigger -- but he does not pull.

There is a slight hesitation as his eyes flicker, confused, and his burst of strength is gone as he drops the Colt with a rattled breath.]

What poetic justice. True... punishment.

[It's faint as his stomach lurched, fingers gripping sand uselessly as he tries to stand, but he can't. Teleportation is useless and suddenly, he is cold.

Faintly, Crowley realizes his heart is pounding but it feels like it's doing no good at all. Blood is circulating but going nowhere and -- ]

Hubris.

[He freezes, as the gun is aimed at him, and for a moment he wants Crowley to do it. He doesn't know if it'll kill him, or rather, he doesn't know if it'll take out the Leviathan if Castiel is in control when he's shot. He doesn't think so. It'll just destroy him, and the Leviathan will have an empty vessel.

But then Crowley drops the gun and Castiel gasps a breath; he wants to say something, but he can't. He still doesn't have the coordination, but he can manage to move just a little more, and he reaches suddenly to touch the tips of his bloody fingers to Crowley's hand.

His torn, shredded grace responds and Castiel focuses everything he has on healing, though he doesn't know if it'll be enough. He doesn't know what's wrong and he can't take the time to look and truly understand it, so he works on instinct only and focuses on just the body, hoping that's where his efforts are needed. He can't heal a demon itself, after all.

But he has just enough strength to begin forcing Crowley's circulatory system back into order, to repair atrophied organs and to try to prompt his lungs to work correctly. But he doesn't have any more energy than that and he drops against the sand as his grace flickers out, fingers twitching and blood dripping from between his lips. He's going to die, he's sure of it, and the Leviathan are going to take control again, but maybe Crowley will have a chance to get back to safety now.]

[It's a bizarre feeling, being healed. And Crowley stares at Castiel's fingers touching his, stunned at the warm feeling in his chest and the sudden oxygen flooding his system. The internal wounds healing and the blood vanishing and what is he doing.

He lurches himself forward to seize Castiel by the arm, fingers curling into his shoulder as he shakes the angel weakly, commanding his attention.]

You do not get the luxury of dying.

[It's a rattled hiss.]

[Castiel's eyes fall closed and then flutter open at the shaking, and he can feel the Leviathan trying to force themselves back into control. He slams the door shut on them, eyes focusing again as he wills himself to stay conscious and in control, because he has to. Crowley's being stupid and he has to make him leave.]

Go.

[He manages the word in a whisper, curling his fingers into the expensive material of Crowley's coat sleeve. Idly, he thinks the demon will probably be angry about his coat being ruined once he notices that it has been.]

I can't... Go, now.

[He can't hold control for long, and Crowley has to be gone by the time he loses it. He can hear the Leviathans' threats and their promises and their taunting speculations about what demon will taste like.]

Edited 2012-12-03 09:31 (UTC)

[She's been trying to keep off the Radar, for the most part, unsettled and more than a little terrified by the idea of the whole Leviathan mess. The city was small. And it could be torn to pieces.

So far, Meg's attempts at normal behavior only really got several of her usual contacts scared by her paranoia and her quick temper, and so she headed back early. About a block from her apartment, Meg feels something tugging at her mind. Before she really is able to turn and face whatever it was, something slams into her back.

She shoves the giant mutt off, remembering getting a pipe through the stomach as reason enough to not stab the beast, and when she sits up, she is nearly knocked over again by the creature trying to put it's paws on her shoulders. While trying to figure out why the thing was trying to keep her attention as opposed to trying to eat her, it dawns on her that the dog was panicked, and there was only really one good reason.

Son of a fucking bitch. Romeo and Juliet after all. If Crowley wasn't already dead, she was going to fucking kill him.

So, without proper time to prepare for whatever she was going to find, or really more interaction with the dog than to call it Lassie and promise she'd go brain Timmy if he was down the well, Meg zips up her coat and disappears.

She reappears a little ways off from the two of them, who look terrible. However, the demon finds her attention instantly drawn by the fact that it appears to be the angel running the meat, and almost embarrassingly rushes forward to figure out what the hell had happened.]

Clarence, how in the hell-

[She stops short, looking from Crowley to Cas, and trying to figure out what the hell she was sensing from either of them, past the giant neon sign of 'wrong'.]

Shut up.

[It's a harsh order -- but to Meg or Castiel, Crowley doesn't specify. The demon slides his fingers to Castiel's cheek, to get the angel to focus, eyes narrowed as he tries to focus his powers... but nothing happens. No spark of magic, no force of energy, nothing. The only ounce of power he has is the ability to breathe and Crowley has to force down the sudden urge to vomit at the thought, because there is something much more important at stake.

The Leviathan aren't dead. That much is obvious by how Castiel is whining at him to leave, but seeing as the angel still has his coat sleeve in his fingers and Crowley is unable to teleport, the demon dismisses the plea.]

Listen to me carefully. I need you to tell me what the weapon did.

[It's quiet, but firm, and he tilts Castiel's head so the angel can look at him, fingers pressing into his temples.]

Quickly, kitten.

[Before he dies.]

[Castiel's gaze flickers to Meg, confused at her sudden arrival, but his attention is much more directed toward Crowley. His eyes flutter closed and then back open as he struggles to stay both conscious and in control of his vessel, and answers the question softly.]

I don't know.

[And he doesn't; they're hurt, that much of obvious, but that's all he knows. Other than that it's killing him.

He shifts just slightly to look over Crowley's shoulder at Meg once again, speaking toward her this time. Crowley won't listen, but maybe she will, and right now she's more powerful than the other demon. Crowley doesn't have to agree, if Meg does.]

Take him and go.

[It's as strong as he can manage, but his voice is faint and broken and more blood comes up with every breath.]

[She glares at Crowley, but doesn't try to speak again, wanting to hear the answer herself, and only looking up to check for interruptions. Neither of them were going to. It's clear things hadn't gone as intended, considering both of them were alive, even just for the moment, but Meg was not looking forward to the future if things had gone completely off the rails. Which, it seems it has. Because if there is no clear answer from Cas, it means there are more Levis, and even injured, they are liable to wipe out the map. Fucking glorious.

When Cas catches her eye, Meg feel something in her sink, because she knows what he is going to ask, and she wants to say no. She does. She wants to leave Crowley, try to save her own hide and maybe see about cobbling together a back up plan.]

Cas...

[...Fuck. Fuck Castiel, and fuck him for making her want to help him. She is never going to forgive him for that, even if this version of Cas isn't even really the one to blame.]

You owe me.

You need to figure it out, kitten, because you are the only one who can tell me.

[It's a hiss as Crowley presses his fingers a little more into Castiel's temples, ignoring Meg and Castiel's order to her, to remove him from the scene. He has no power at the moment, his host is broken and falling apart at the seams, but he is still Crowley. He can figure this out, he can kill the Leviathan, and he will do it with or without anyone else's assistance, because that is how Crowley does things. What he wants, he gets, and there is no in between, and he wants the Leviathan dead.

But if Castiel can't tell him, if Castiel is not able to think clearly enough to analyze the situation, then Crowley must figure something else out. They are clearly injured, fighting for survival and control. Maybe just one last bullet from the Colt will be enough to at least put Castiel out of his misery, maybe it may be enough to kill the Leviathan --

His fingers slip from Castiel's face to the collar of his coat, curling his fingers into it despite the blood and the black ooze, frustrated and cornered and angry. There is nothing he can do at the moment but run and, ever the survivalist, Crowley knows he must do exactly that. But first, he continues speaking, his tone cold and low and hellish, his eyes blinking at once into that scarlet red, using the last of his powers to make a statement.]

I hope you are still watching and listening to the bottom-feeding mutation that knocked you on your ass, Leviathan, because I am going to erase you from existence, across every dimensional plane of existence. And I am never going to stop until I squash the last cell between my fingers.

[It's soft, dangerous, as Crowley's fingers press into Castiel's shoulders, reluctant to let go, and his eyes blink back to his host's green, the last of his power seeped, but no less the furious for it.]

Unfortunate that you made it personal.

Edited 2012-12-08 04:40 (UTC)

[Meg's comment is almost amusing, in some way, because of course he would owe her, but he was going to die so he doesn't quite see the point. Maybe if he comes back he can make good on the debt, but he isn't sure that'll happen. He isn't sure there'll be anything to come back to.

He shakes his head just slightly at Crowley's words, because he can't figure it out. It's too difficult, he doesn't know what happened, thinking is like wading through molasses--or maybe, more aptly, blood--and he can't do it. He just watches Crowley's eyes shift, and his statement, and hears the Leviathan laugh and accept the challenge, even though Castiel is still holding them back, just barely.

He drops his fingers from Crowley's coat sleeve to his hand, and with the last of his strength presses his healing power forward again. It will drain him, and he won't be able to stop the Leviathan from taking over again, but Meg's comment was an agreement, he's sure. She'll get them both out of there and they'll be alright, at least.]

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