|Castiel (entrenchedwings) wrote in reality_crisis,|
@ 2012-06-08 23:13:00
|Entry tags:||!status: complete, castiel, jack harkness|
Practice Makes Perfect (Jack)
Castiel hadn't participated in the cleaning of the dead reptiles, nor had he done much more than look around since the rain stopped. He was still trying to understand what had happened, but all he was picking up from his movements were all of the rumors circling around. Most of it was nonsense and useless, though a few hit on plausible explanations, but whenever Castiel listened further he realized they were just speculating like the others.
It was frustrating, and quickly grew tiresome, and before long Castiel's mood had plummeted again to where it had been before he'd spoken to Piotr and renewed his sense of purpose.
Castiel didn't feel like seeking out the large human again, though. Piotr wasn't a bad man, but there was no pull towards him either. He wasn't somebody Castiel knew or had a history with. Dean wasn't really an option for a mood boost either, since he was still aggravated over the scaley rain. The angel didn't assume Sam was any better, and Fred was probably with him.
The angel's thoughts then turned to one of the few others in this world who he knew and had something more than a chance encounter with. He hadn't seen Jack in a while, not since they'd parted ways. He couldn't remember very clearly how they'd left, he'd been too distracted by the return of his voice and the implications of his time as human to pay attention to his verbal communication with the man. Still, he thought they'd been aimiable, and with nobody else to talk to Castiel's mind was quickly made up.
He teleported to Jack's room in die Festung, keeping himself invisible at first. He found the man sleeping; looking and, after a quick lean in and sniff, smelling like he'd committed to a rather long night of drinking. Castiel made himself visible, standing patiently as he waited for Jack to wake up, though after a moment he remembered doing something similar to Dean and nearly being shot for his trouble. The bullet hadn't worried him, but Dean had given him a rather sound verbal lashing afterwards that made him think Jack wouldn't appreciate a similar sight on waking up.
The angel thought for a moment, then reasoned that their interactions warranted a more familiar presence and sat down on the bed near Jack's chest, hands folded neatly in his lap. He remembered that beds were places of less clothes, but since he wasn't and had no reason to be in the blankets he didn't bother removing any of his.
As he sat his mind wandered he stared into the wall (instead of at Jack, something else Dean had instructed him on indirectly), and he unhappily found himself stuck once more on the problem of his father being gone.