There are more things to complain about, he thinks, than the way his body continues to drag him down or the fact that some days feel like they're bleeding together. It's been like that for a while now though, since London and possibly before that too. He can't sleep, and when he does, it's jagged and restless, full of dreams he doesn't keep and ones that refuse to leave him. He's alone, and he's bitter about it. But he doesn't complain because this suits him well enough in the end. He deserves everything he's gotten, even the reminder that he hadn't been on his own once, and it's why he only returns to the room they shared when it's late.
Castiel expects it to be the same routine as it is every night--go in, drop his things on the table, drop into the bed and waste several hours getting poor sleep. That, and it's getting colder. There's a hint of the days growing shorter, harder, and he's not particularly thrilled with the idea of winter considering the room needs more work. But it's a thought that slips away when he realizes something seems off when he gets there. Something's... different.
The door's not as he'd left it, and it sounds like someone's inside. Since he hadn't invited anyone over and it's warded from top to bottom, he doubts it's someone he knows. Which, as it so happens, leaves only one alternative. Castiel doesn't want to deal with this, but he doesn't want to lose any of the things that are there. Their things-- He's inside without even thinking, taking the advantage and moving in silently until he makes out the body. It's much too dark to see anything but a solid silhouette, but he's slowly lifting the gun he carries anyhow. ]
Stop. [ He speaks evenly, the faintest sound as he releases the safety. ] And turn around.
[ And get out. He's too exhausted to shoot anyone right now. ]
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There are more things to complain about, he thinks, than the way his body continues to drag him down or the fact that some days feel like they're bleeding together. It's been like that for a while now though, since London and possibly before that too. He can't sleep, and when he does, it's jagged and restless, full of dreams he doesn't keep and ones that refuse to leave him. He's alone, and he's bitter about it. But he doesn't complain because this suits him well enough in the end. He deserves everything he's gotten, even the reminder that he hadn't been on his own once, and it's why he only returns to the room they shared when it's late.
Castiel expects it to be the same routine as it is every night--go in, drop his things on the table, drop into the bed and waste several hours getting poor sleep. That, and it's getting colder. There's a hint of the days growing shorter, harder, and he's not particularly thrilled with the idea of winter considering the room needs more work. But it's a thought that slips away when he realizes something seems off when he gets there. Something's... different.
The door's not as he'd left it, and it sounds like someone's inside. Since he hadn't invited anyone over and it's warded from top to bottom, he doubts it's someone he knows. Which, as it so happens, leaves only one alternative. Castiel doesn't want to deal with this, but he doesn't want to lose any of the things that are there. Their things-- He's inside without even thinking, taking the advantage and moving in silently until he makes out the body. It's much too dark to see anything but a solid silhouette, but he's slowly lifting the gun he carries anyhow. ]
Stop. [ He speaks evenly, the faintest sound as he releases the safety. ] And turn around.
[ And get out. He's too exhausted to shoot anyone right now. ]