bigapplesauce | wake up in the mornin feelin like p diddy [closed]

Current Location: Glaser's/Aziraphale's bookshop
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wake up in the mornin feelin like p diddy [closed]

Waking up is still a strange affair. He's only been in this new city and this new (free???? he's still not over that part) apartment for, what, three days? Four? Finding himself in this amazingly clean, comfortable bed, seeing the stark white ceiling and the pristine furnishings and the light pouring in through the glorious windows is all very bizarre. It still takes him a minute to realize.

This morning his entire body hurts like hell, which is a helpful reminder. He remembers being out last night, and getting into a fight! A real fight! He got his ass kicked and it was amazing.

He stumbles out of the bed and makes his way over to the bathroom, checking himself in the mirror. He's a mess. Black eye, split lip, a couple minor cuts along his cheekbone. Bruises on his ribs too. Everything hurts. But that's okay. It reminds him he's alive. He's really here, this is really happening. This gorgeous rich-people apartment is his. He's still not really sure how he feels about that.

Well, it doesn't matter, he doesn't have to stay here. Spike gave him the address of his workplace and Castor has every intention of visiting him. It might be a little desperate and clingy to go visit him first thing after spending the night with him, but whatever. Friends are good. He needs friends.

He gets himself as clean as he deems necessary, gets dressed and heads out, following the directions his weird fancy rich-people phone gives him. It's not too long before he gets there, standing outside the anonymous little bookstore, which really looks closed, or like it should be condemned, tucked in next to a really nice-looking bakery. The bookshop is uninviting at best, and though that tends to be more his speed than the bakery's posh atmosphere, he finds himself getting cold feet. Besides, he skipped breakfast. He's still got some money, he should get some food, right? Yeah. Then he can visit Spike.

He steps into the bakery and feels immediately out of place, but marches bravely up to the counter anyway. The woman behind it flicks a blisteringly judgmental glance up and down his person before asking if she can help him. He politely requests a cinnamon roll. He's never had one before. They're huge.

He carries the giant pastry gingerly over to the coffee counter, where a young man whose nametag says 'Joel' stares at him.

"Hi," says Castor pleasantly.

"Are you okay?" blurts Joel.

"What? Oh. Yeah." Castor smiles as if proud that Joel has noticed. "Yeah, it was just a fight, you know. No big deal. You should see the other guy."

Joel seems both alarmed and impressed by this information, which Castor finds hopelessly endearing. Aw, this guy. He belatedly seems to remember what his actual job is and says, "Oh, uh, what can I get you?"

"I have no idea," confesses Castor. "I don't know what most of these options even are."

"Uh... really?" Joel looks up at the complexly chalked menu hanging on the wall behind him. "Well... do you just want like a regular house blend?"

"Yeah, that sounds easy enough," says Castor. "Uh... dark roast, I guess?"

"Coming right up!" says Joel cheerfully. He manages only a few steps of the process before the bell on the door rings and he looks up and stops short, staring at whomever's just walked in with an expression that can only be described as deep longing.

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Spike makes it a few steps in, scanning the case to see if they've got any leftovers from the lemon bars Sunshine made the day before, then he breaks into a grin. He's surprised and pleased that Castor would show up so soon, or really at all. In a morning spent worrying about Sunshine and wondering if he should be at her side instead of at work, it was easy to convince himself that Castor might think better of befriending a monster that beat him into the pavement.

"Oi, bin man." When Castor turns around, Spike spreads his arms and envelops him in a hug, then pulls back with his hands at his shoulders so that he can examine his face. He's not sure whether to wince or smile. It doesn't look good and it'll probably look worse in a couple of days, but it is a good reminder of how much fun he'd had the night before. "Look at you. I almost feel bad. I mean. I don't. But the sentiment is there, I promise."

Edited 2016-04-29 10:13 (UTC)

Castor turns to follow Joel's stare and immediately breaks into a huge grin to match Spike's. As excited as he was to come hang out with his new friend (!!), it's double the pleasure to see Spike is happy to see him. And he called him bin man. it's a ridiculous nickname and Castor loves it. No one's ever given him one before.

"Hi!" He accepts the hug rather gleefully, and - is it his imagination or did Joel just make a noise like a neglected puppy? - he pulls back smirks as Spike looks him over.

"That's sweet," he says. "I kinda like my battle scars."

"Wait," blurts Joel. "You fought Spike?"

Oh. Right, Castor did just imply that he actually came out on top, didn't he. Whoops. He supposes all these people would know Spike, being next door to his place of work. "Yeah," he says sheepishly. "It was fun."

"He didn't do too bad," Spike says to Joel, then nudges at Castor's shoulder. "You managed to make a mark, look at this." He pulls up his shirt and moves his jacket aside so Castor can get a good look at the bruise blooming on his ribs. It looks dark and purple, as if it'd already been there for a couple days. From behind the counter, Joel fumbles with the lid to Castor's cup of coffee and says oh my god under his breath, though Spike is assuming that the reaction has less to do with fighting or the bruise and more to do with his abs. "One good hit's better than nothing, and that's about as good as it gets when you're fighting me."

From behind them, where Arlo and Miriam are playing checkers at one of the tables, Spike hears the sound of a cleared throat that he knows is Arlo's way of telling him he should stop distracting his employees. If the look on Joel's face is any indication, Arlo is probably right. He smirks and lowers his shirt again.

He leans into the counter a little and intones is a very serious voice, "Joel, I need hot chocolate." Then, when Joel asks him if he wants marshmallows, he smiles a little and nods. "Always."

He pulls out enough cash to pay for both orders, then glances back at Castor while Joel puts his drink together. "You're sharing that cinnamon roll."

"Oh my god," blurts Castor to echo Joel's quiet outburst, staring at the intense-looking bruise. "I feel like I should say sorry, but I'm gonna resist." He's pretty proud of himself, in fact, and Spike's only encouraging that impulse. What a cool guy. He grins even as Spike lowers his shirt and makes his order.

"Oh." He blinks at the giant pastry and shrugs. "All right. That's good, it's way, way too much for one person." Honestly it feels indecent. He knows he probably could eat all of it, but that's beside the point.

Joel hands Spike his drink and Castor ambles toward the door, not sure if they're sitting here or going back to Spike's workplace. "That guy has a huge crush on you, by the way," he murmurs once he's out of Joel's earshot, smirking.

"He used to give me a handful of extra sugar packets when I asked," he chuckles and nods Castor over to the table next to Arlo and Miriam. "He stopped when he found out I was with Sunshine." He gestures vaguely to the back room before he sits down. "She bakes, but not today. It's her day off."

He realizes then that he's not entirely sure if Castor thinks that this is some sort of date and maybe he's just disappointed him by bringing up a girlfriend. "Uh." He looks down as he takes the lid off of his cup, "hope you didn't think this little meetin was gonna end up with you an me playing hide the sausage." It wouldn't be unusual for someone to only be interested in him for his body, but he hadn't even thought til now that Castor might be interested and that's why he'd been so gung-ho about coming over here today.

Beside them, Miriam snorts a laugh and Spike gives her a side-eye that she returns with a raised eyebrow before returning to her game.

Castor smirks as he draws a cautious sip from the coffee and then very narrowly avoids spewing it everywhere at that euphemism, pitching forward sharply to catch himself. He's somewhere between embarrassment and genuine amusement as he straightens back up, smiling awkwardly.

"Uhh," he says. "I did not. Think that. No." He wipes his mouth and snorts out a little sheepish chuckle. He doesn't add that under no circumstances would 'hiding the sausage' be a thing he'd expect or hope for. "I mean, you're swell and all, but I usually try an' get to know a guy first."

He takes another, fuller sip, peering at Spike over the lid. It's kind of adorable, and... maybe flattering? that he even thought that might be a possibility, and comically enough it would be enough to put Spike on his radar under different circumstances. Most of the guys he's dated have played very hard to get.

"So, Sunshine?" he says with a sweet smile. He lifts his head a bit, a slow frown creeping over his features. "Why does that sound familiar? Did you mention her last night?"

Spike smiles as Castor chuckles, and he shifts back in his chair, his shoulders relaxing. Castor isn't in this for a shag and that's...comforting. As long as that doesn't change, it means that he can trust that his friendship is actually friendship. And its nice, too, to be friends with someone who is voluntarily choosing his company rather than gradually accepting it because they work in the same building.

Spike's smile softens when Castor asks about Sunshine, but he's already a little distracted by the familiar build up of energy that precedes a book arriving. He sticks his hand out as if checking for rain, his eyes squinting a little in the moment before the book pops into existence. He catches The Hardy Boys and The Missing Chum before it can land in Castor's cinnamon roll.

He sets it on the table and nudges it towards Castor, then redirects his attention to taking a piece of the cinnamon roll. "The Rift decided it'd be a chuckle if I started manifesting books. Don't ask me why. I don't know."

Castor is busy setting up the cinnamon roll and not looking at Spike when the book actually appears, so he just jolts back with an embarrassing yelp when Spike's hand snaps out to catch it. The old couple beside them each chuckle like this is no big friggin' deal, and he catches the steely-eyed woman at the cash register staring at him as if personally offended by the noise he just made.

"The hell?" he blurts, even more confused by Spike's explanation. "Manifesting... Like, they just happen? Like you create them out of nothing?" That is hugely impossible, as far as he knew. Conservation of mass and all that. He supposes he shouldn't be more surprised by this than by being actually transported to another universe, or by, say, vampires, but... well. Those things are improbable but theoretically possible, this seems not that. Unless the books are being taken from somewhere else. Like maybe the way they were all taken. That would suck for whatever bookstore somewhere.

"That's so cool," he murmurs, reaching out to take the book, staring at the cover in bewilderment. 'The Hardy Boys' sounds only vaguely familiar, like in that way things just become figures of speech over time. Like something you'd say about a pair of dudes who get into shit together. He glances up at Spike. "Is there like a hidden meaning he- oh, like, is Sunshine the missing chum??" His eyes are wide with genuine excitement at the possibility.

Spike hums affirmation around his snagged piece of cinnamon roll. It's good, but Sunshine didn't make them today, and he hadn't been too serious about splitting it. Castor looks like he probably needs all the calories he can get anyway. "They come from someplace. Different universes. I've had some from mine, I think. Don't get demon languages here."

More than the pastry, he's enjoying Castor's reaction to the book's sudden appearance. As Castor looks down at the book he leans back in his seat and takes a sip from his hot chocolate. The guess about the meaning behind the books title startles him into a soft smile. He hadn't thought of it that way, but it's a possibility. "It doesn't have to be a riddle," he shrugs, "but maybe. Sometimes they're...related."

Miriam chuckles at the understatement, but when he looks over she's pointedly considering her next move instead of looking back at Spike. "I have quite enjoyed all of the novels you leave behind," she says, all faux innocence, but Spike can tell she's winding up to something. "Especially...dear what was that one?"

"Lover Enshrined," Arlo answers, and Spike groans.

Castor blinks at the couple beside them. They've already been latently involving themselves with this conversation but now they're partaking directly. They clearly know Spike, at any rate.

"Hi," he volunteers with a smile. "I'm Castor."

"Lovely to meet you, darling," says the woman with a bright smile. "I'm sorry to interrupt your breakfast. I'm Miriam, and this is Arlo - this place is ours."

"Oh!" Castor's eyes widen briefly before he relaxes, offering a hand. "Nice to meet you."

Arlo leans over to shake his hand after Miriam. "New here, are you?" he says. He nods at Spike. "He'll take care of you."

"He beat me up last night," says Castor with a big smile.

"Hey." Arlo raises his hands, leaning back into his chair. "Whatever works."

"What's Lover Enshrined?" Castor asks Spike, tearing a piece off the cinnamon roll and eating it, a little like a squirrel. His eyes go wide again; holy shit that is good. He points at it, staring at Arlo and Miriam as if demanding an explanation.

Spike makes a noise somewhere between a grunt of surprise and a groan of protest at Arlo saying that he'll take care of Castor.

"I will not." As much as Spike does like Castor, it feels like a bad thing to get a reputation for caring about people. Being trusted seems like something that he could ruin very easily, and part of him would rather not be trusted in the first place. The alternative is being disappointed when whoever it is decides that they don't actually give a shit about him.

It takes him a moment to realize that Castor is asking him about the book, and he looks towards Miriam for a second before looking back to Castor. He never read the book, so beyond the title and it involving a vampire, he's not sure what it's about.

"You mean why did it show up or-"

It had shown up because he'd been sitting at this table waiting for Sunshine to come out on her lunch, and because he'd been worrying about how he's going to make this thing with her different from what had happened with Buffy.

Then Castor is distracted again, so the question doesn't matter anymore. "They're better when Sunshine makes them," he offers instead.

"Oh, well, thank you, Spike," says Arlo with a little chuckle.

"You made this?" says Castor with his mouth full, staring at Arlo with huge eyes. It's basically better than anything he's ever tasted. He cannot imagine having one better, though he's not about to argue with Spike over it. He'll have to come here again. All the time. Every day.

"I did," says Arlo, "but I won't argue with Spike, these are Sunshine's specialty. She's the one who brought us the idea for making them this big."

"I do hope she's feeling better," says Miriam with a note of grandmotherly concern. "I don't suppose you've heard from her today, have you Spike?"

Castor looks at Spike, curious and a little worried. "She's been sick?"

Something twists in Spike's gut at the question. He's been worrying constantly about Sunshine's dip in health and he's not sure if there's actually anything that he can do for her that will help. He can tell that she's been feeling overwhelmed by his worry and attention, but that doesn't stop him from feeling negligent when Miriam asks if he's talked with her today. He hasn't talked with her since yesterday afternoon and who knows what's happened since then.

"She's been sleeping it off." It's a half-lie. He doesn't know how she is now, but a good guess is sleeping, since she's been doing so much of that lately. If this gets much worse she might not be coming back to work anytime soon.

A book pops into existence, hits him on the top of the head and then skids off across the floor a little ways. He huffs a sigh and goes to pick it up, pushing his chair back and then going over to where it settled. He crouches down and flips it over. For a moment he just stares at the title, transfixed with a numb horror.

I Wasn't Ready to Say Goodbye: Surviving, Coping and Healing After the Sudden Death of a Loved One. He feels like he's going to be sick.

He slips the book into his jacket pocket and stands with less grace than usual. He nearly walks towards the door before remembering that he was in the middle of a conversation. "I'll go check on her now. Just for you. I'm sure she'll just love that." He pats his pockets, withdraws the keys to the book shop, and manages a smile at Miriam.

"I'm going to lock up the shop, if you wanna come you can come," he says to Castor. "Someone will wrap that up for you." He leaves his drink behind and, before he gets to the door, drops the keys and picks them up again. Then he's out. He'll lock up the shop and then he has to go see Sunshine.

Castor startles when the book appears and lands on Spike's head - he wants to laugh, but Spike looks so grim, and then when he picks up the book and sees whatever it is, his expression turns downright horrified. He shoves the book into his coat and starts babbling. Castor's up before he even suggests coming along.

"Spike..." he says, too softly to be heard over his chatter, and then he's already heading out the door. Miriam and Arlo both seem tuned in to Spike's sudden uneasiness; Miriam's already set about wrapping up Castor's cinnamon roll and Arlo's fetched a little box and paper bag.

"Is he okay?" he says a little numbly, looking at Miriam.

"That book must have been some kind of bad omen," she says, tucking the pastry neatly into the box. "He's very sensitive and he does worry, so it could just have been paranoia, but one never knows. Best go with him."

"Maybe I shouldn't intrude," he mumbles uncertainly, clinging to his bag.

"He likes you," says Arlo, patting Castor on the back. "Haven't seen him so friendly with anyone before. He'll be glad to have you along." He nods toward the door. "Better hurry."

Well, fair enough. Castor smiles at them both before ducking out. Spike's on the doorstep of the frankly seedy-looking establishment next door, locking it up.

"You okay?" says Castor warily.

He growls under his breath as Castor walks up. He's having trouble with the lock and he doesn't have time for this. When he's just about to give up and let Aziraphale fend off anyone who might wander into the shop, the key slots mercifully in and he turns the lock.

"I don't know yet." The question doesn't seem like something he can answer right now. That's the whole point. He doesn't know if Sunshine is alright, and so much is riding on her being okay. He doesn't matter.

He drops his keys into his coat pocket and turns to start walking. This time of day taking a cab would probably take longer than he's willing to wait. He's still thinking about the possibility of Sunshine lying on the floor in her apartment dead, but putting one foot in front of another is a simple thing to focus on.

"we're walking back."

Castor winces at the answer, following Spike closely without speaking for a few moments. Whatever that book was really hit him hard, and it makes him wonder what's going on with his girlfriend that he's so quick to frighten like this.

He doesn't want to ask about any of this, wants to give Spike his space, but he hates walking in silence, too. It's several moments before a subject occurs to him, and it occurs so abruptly that he actually trips over himself.

"Wh- hey, if you're a vampire, hhhhow..." He squints up at the sky. It's cloudy, but that can't be enough to keep Spike safe from the sunlight, can it? Unless maybe vampires are different than in all the stories? "How are you outside right now? I thought y'all burned up in sunlight or something."

Perhaps not a very soothing topic for distraction, but he's trying his best, okay?

Spike shrugs at the question as they walk. "Don't know. Different sun. Or the rift doing whatever the fuck the rift does." He walks quickly, still talking as he pushes through groups of people on the sidewalk, only barely making sure that Castor is still beside him.

"It stopped once, noon in the park and I started to sizzle." He smooths a hand down over his jacket, feeling the thin paperback beneath. "Sunshine came and rescued me, she has a...she calls it a counter affinity. She brought me back without me turning into a pile of bones and ash." There was also the part where she had to be holding his hand to accomplish that, and the part where they'd nearly kissed and she got a twig stuck in her hair. But all of that seems too dear to mention at the moment.

Castor gets lost in that anecdote for a moment, frowning hard to himself. This is stirring some memory that's just at the edge of his awareness, but he can't latch onto it. It's like... familiarity, something that was a little scary but good, too. This is like forgetting why you walked into a room, or losing the sense of a dream.

He shakes it off. Useless. "That's awesome," he says. "That she can do that." Probably makes for a good relationship foundation, too, but he doesn't mention that.

Edited 2016-06-21 04:32 (UTC)

"Yeah, real awesome," he says distractedly. "Wasn't so nice the first time around when there was zapping involved." He doesn't bother to explain what he means, just keeps walking. They're not far off now.

"Oh," says Castor politely, deciding not to ask. Spike's obviously not all here right now and Castor doesn't want to be a bother. He follows close and says nothing.

Finally Spike leads him up to his apartment building, unlocking the door with the same fumbling as with the bookshop, and letting them in. It's similar to Castor's building, if a bit shabbier, which is sort of strange to think about. Is he in rich people digs? On this ridiculously narrow scale where everyone is rich here. This is all so fucking weird.

He follows Spike into the elevator. "What floor?" he asks, for no reason other than to break the increasingly tense silence.

"Eighteen," he says, and allows Castor to push the button while he bounces on his heels. This will be quicker than the stairs, but part of him wanted to take them anyway, just to keep moving. "She has one of the corner apartments. She said she needed light and they took her pretty seriously. Same reason I've got a bedroom with no windows, even though I can handle the sun fine now."

He glances up at the numbers slowly lighting up on the elevator. He feels on edge, worried enough to feel sick, and he doesn't really know where to put his hands. He shoves them into his coat pockets and then takes them out again and holds them behind his back instead. "There use to be factions that ran everything. Now there's just us. For whatever that's w- Oh thank God." The elevator doors finally open and he immediately pushes through into the hallway and down to Sunshine's door.

She has to be alive, she has to know that he's worried, she has to open the door. He can't stand the thought of her lying cold in her bed because he wasn't there to help her. He bangs his fist against the inlaid sigil in the door and calls out her name as Castor walks up beside him. "Sunshine! If you don't open the door I'll knock it out the bloody wall!"

The upshot of feeling Spike's approach is that she isn't entirely unprepared for his knock. She hadn't braced herself for desperate pounding with a side of threats, though, and the godsawful racket almost startles her into spilling her fresh cup of blacker-than-the-pits-of-hell tea. Said tea is only doing a so-so job of taking the edge off of her perpetual exhaustion, so maybe it wouldn't have been a huge loss if she had spilled it, but then she'd have to clean it up, and the last thing she needs is an additional chore, and gods and frigging angels what is his problem.

Caffeine and irritation get her to the door with more heavy-footed energy than she's displayed all day, and she wrenches the door open with a cranky, "What the carthaginian hell is wrong with you?!"

And then she sees that Spike's brought company for some damn reason. She's already a far cry from her best, and the idea of some random third party taking in whatever impending scene Spike has in mind does absolutely nothing good for her mood. She glowers at the interloper in mingled shock and indignation, as if he's a particularly large bug she's found belly-up and twitching in the middle of her bakery floor (a faint ping of familiarity echoes somewhere in the back of her mind when she sees his face, but the idea that she might have met this guy before doesn't seem worth pursuing when she sure as shit doesn't have the wherewithal to entertain him now), then shifts her glare to Spike in a silent demand for some kind of explanation. Her original question stands. She doesn't need to rephrase it.

Castor's moderate interest in Spike's clipped story is broken when Spike busts out of the elevator like a bat out of hell, banging on his girlfriend's door as if to bring it down. Castor winces, inching up behind him. This doesn't paint a very flattering picture of him as a boyfriend, though it's surely just that he's freaking out, right? Not that the neighbors will know that.

Fortunately for several reasons, Sunshine is indeed capable of opening the door. Castor feels drastically out of place and is almost considering leaving Spike to it when he sees her. She looks miserable and annoyed, her snappish answer is, while sort of satisfying, a clear sign that company - especially extra company - isn't welcome. But she's familiar, no longer faint, dreamlike familiarity, but the hard, clear, crisp kind, and Castor is left staring unhelpfully as memory dumps itself on him unceremoniously, leaving him without his usual social graces.

He met her. That's why her name was so familiar, and that stuff about her affinity, of course, she's named for her affinity (or vice versa? or delightful coincidence? whatever), and he met her in a dream, of all places, a dark place where his internal voice lived outside his body in the form of an incredibly sassy squirrel. How could he forget something so ridiculous? When did that even happen? She'd been explaining the Rift and dream stuff, sort of - or had she? It's muddled, but his memory of her is certain.

Which is neither here nor there, because it looks the memory isn't entirely mutual and she's still waiting for a damn explanation.

Castor has none to give. He frantically averts his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing up at Spike, hoping he has the capacity to smooth this over.

He could cry with relief when he sees her. Even if she is yelling at him, she's alive and on her feet. She still doesn't look well but she's alive. He doesn't introduce Castor, half forgets he's standing there with bruises on his face from the night before.

"I thought-" When he reaches for her, he completely forgets his own bruised ribs, or that they might matter to her at all, that she'll be able to tell that the injuries are there.

His hand doesn't stay on her arm for long. He pulls his hand back and crosses his arms over his chest, then takes a shaky breath and lets it out in a huff. He's relieved, but he realizes belatedly how strange and overwrought he seems if she's as fine as she has been for the past week. Suddenly he's in the wrong here, and he doesn't like it. "Well, excuse me for checking up on you. It's not like you've been sick or anything."

Suffice to say, at the moment, Spike does not have the capacity to smooth this over.

Thought what, she almost asks, but she's certain he won't have a satisfying answer for her. The building isn't on fire, she's not in need of a frigging evacuation. Even if she was, that doesn't excuse his tone. She stiffens when he touches her, less because her affinity wants to offer anything she doesn't actually have the strength to give, and more because she's just furious that he has the nerve to act all tender after the way he announced himself. Her necklace-scar hums in proprietary irritation, and it's just as well he pulls his hand back before she can make him let go of her.

"You threatened to rip my door off its goddamn hinges," she snaps. "That's a hell of a bedside manner you've cultivated. Am I supposed to feel better?" She props herself against the door frame with one hand, distantly aware that Mister Vaguely Familiar Interloper is still hovering. Whatever. This might not be her finest hour, but Spike's the one embarrassing himself. Why did he bring a witness in the first place?

And why does he look like hell? No, scratch that, she doesn't care. If he came here expecting her to patch him up while his new buddy looked on, he is going to be sorely disappointed.

"L-look, um," Castor blurts, feeling an uncomfortable tingling up the back of his neck, this is not his place and he's running a huge risk of making everything worse, but he can't just stand here idle. "I think Spike thought... He had a book... happen... just now, in the bakery, and I guess it made him think you were..." He isn't certain, he can't be, Spike didn't show him, but Spike's behavior was a pretty damn good indication. "Dying," he finishes sheepishly.

He clears his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "And I guess panicking about that makes him do stupid shit like... threaten to break your door," he says with a pointed glance at the vampire. He's not about to win any great relationship awards but at least he knows how not to make concerned threats. "I'm sorry we just, uh, busted in on you, I woulda stopped him but he's pretty fast. I, um, I'm Castor, we met in a dream? But I literally only just remembered that, so. Arlo and Miriam thought I should... come with him and... I guess make sure he didn't actually break your door down. Which. I did great at."

He's babbling, awkward, flustered, not wanting to insult Spike or overstep his bounds, very possibly doing both. "We really just wanted to make sure you were okay," he says with a weak smile. "Everyone's, uh. Really worried."

Okay. Okay okay. Stop talking now.

Spike looks down, frowning as Castor rambles on about the book and how panicked and stupid he thinks he's being. Now that Spike knows that Sunshine is alright, he does feel stupid, as well as angry at the rift for hitting him with a book that made him react like this.

When Castor is done, he takes a deep breath and lifts his gaze back to Sunshine. "I was more than worried." He uncrosses he arms and throws a hand out limply towards Castor, hoping to indicate that what Castor said is more or less the truth. His eyes slip towards Castor and then back to Sunshine again. He'd rather Castor not be hearing any of this. Being vulnerable in front of Sunshine is one thing, but he's already on his guard. Castor watching and judging him for how upset he is doesn't help. "I thought-"

It's hard to even say what he thought. The image in his mind of her lifeless body isn't one that he can describe out loud. "I thought you'd be dead. You'd be lying there...and I'd have to break down the door to get to you. So-" He furrows his brow. He feels like slumping down against the wall in relief or frustration or both, but he can't do that now. He has to make some sort of case for himself.

"When the cats brought you to me, I assume you just barged in. I wouldn't know, because I wasn't conscious at the time! What's the difference, between the cats and the books?" He voice rises for a moment, straining with the memory of waking up in her arms on his kitchen floor. That's what he'd expected this to be, if by some miracle she were alive. Not this, not standing in the hallway apologizing for fearing the worst. He takes a moment and runs a hand over his face, at a loss about where to go from here. He feels like he's digging himself a hole.

"Sunshine..." Spike has never really been sure if the books are manifested by his thoughts or the rift's quirky commentary, but when he'd seen the book it had felt more like a command than a cryptic clue or snide jab at his worrying. He digs down in his coat pocket and pulls out the copy of I Wasn't Ready to Say Goodbye: Surviving, Coping and Healing After the Sudden Death of a Loved One, then holds it out, stiff armed, for Sunshine to take. "What would you have thought?"

Sunshine stares at Castor, still looking faintly incredulous, though the jury's out on whether it's because of his questionable decision to run interference in the first place, or because his fumbling explanation leaves a lot to be desired. What does one of Spike's books have to do with anything? Sure, they're usually pointed, given the various circumstances, but last she checked, they're not prescient. Spike's response to them might land anywhere between resigned and exasperated, but he doesn't pore over them like they're his personal daily horoscope.

So it only serves to dial her bewilderment up several notches when Spike takes Castor's metaphorical baton and sprints off the metaphorical track, past the metaphorical bleachers, and right over the goddamn metaphorical horizon with it. The difference between his book manifestations and the cats is that the cats are omniscient little mystery beasts with, in at least one notable case, some level of inexplicable investment in their relationship (or maybe just their survival, whatever), and the books are just books, no matter how apropos their titles might be. Since when has Spike been in the habit of conflating the two? Gods and frigging angels.

Her expression is decidedly unimpressed as she reaches out to take the offending paperback. As she reads the title, her brow furrows, and then she sighs, deflating a little. She still doesn't think there's anything portentous about his books, and she's still surprised that he took this one as an accurate reflection of her current state as opposed to an accurate reflection of his own anxieties. Which are, apparently, a hell of a lot worse than she'd realized. Gods, she might not be doing well, but she's not at 'buy three dozen roses and clean out the fridge' levels of dire, either.

"I think if fretting were an Olympic sport, you'd be going for the gold," she says, letting her hand fall to her side. There's no real heat behind the words. Considering the whole Rift Situation (not to mention their inherently disparate lifespans) it doesn't seem fair to hold his worries about losing her against him. He's still being ridiculous, and she's still not happy he intended to kick her door in - what if she'd just been napping? - but she's also holding tangible evidence of how thoroughly flipped out he is about all this.

Him and everyone else, apparently. Ugh.

She sighs again, louder this time, then shuffles forward with a grumbled, "C'mere, asshole," wrapping her arms around him. "And this is not an 'it's okay you threatened to kick my door down' hug. I like my door."

Without letting go, she turns her head to give Castor a proper examination. Now that he's mentioned the dream, some memories are sluggishly resurfacing. "You had a smart-ass squirrel," she half-guesses. There was something else too, something vaguely hilarious, but she can't quite grasp it.

Spike showing her the book, and settling down, is probably doing better than anything he could say, and Castor's happy to step back a bit and let them hug it out. He's immensely relieved that they're both coming down, if still feeling a little residual discomfort over the whole thing.

Sunshine's squirrel remark is a distraction he's happy to seize on. "Sure did," he says, and adds "Persis!" with a snap of his fingers when the name comes back to him. "And you had a giant bee. That was great."

This is still so, so awkward, and they're still standing in the damn hallway. He just stuck his nose into their business and he's sure as hell not about to invite himself into a sick woman's apartment. It's more likely they'll end up in Spike's.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well," he says, feeling it a necessary comment before anyone goes anywhere. "Is it like a cold, or..." Like he's a fucking doctor.

Spike wraps his arms around Sunshine and relaxes into her with a sigh, glad that she's here and alive and not mad at him. He'd been so prepared to find her hurt or dying that now he feels both glad and exhausted. The last thing he wants to do right now is let go of her.

The mention of Sunshine's bee makes him smile, and he mumbles out, "Modomnoc."

"You should see his," Sunshine says, rolling her eyes towards her boyfriend. "Fausta. Cutest spaniel in the world." Under normal circumstances, that would feel like a hell of a reveal - it's not like Spike gives off friendly puppy vibes as the default - but considering the sharp turn his disposition has taken over the last ten seconds, his spirit animal being something soft and cuddly doesn't seem like such a stretch.

Gods, poor Castor. He's been on a ride. First he gets dragged along on Spike's ill-conceived and unnecessary rescue mission, and then he's stuck in a front-row seat for their awkward resolution. Fumbling around in the dark was infinitely less embarrassing, and that was with the obnoxious commentary of their respective talking animals.

Spike doesn't seem inclined to try and salvage the situation - or to do anything that doesn't involve clinging to her, tough-guy image be damned. So, that falls to her. Spartan. Maybe there's an alternate universe where she got to drink her tea in peace, but this is fun, too.

"It's a mystery," she says in response to Castor's question, dry and dismissive, because Spike has been ridiculous enough for one day, and getting into the unhelpfully vague minutiae of whatever's wrong with her will only encourage him. She gives Spike a swat on the backside with the paperback, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get her point across, then gently extracts herself. Look, she's fine, she can stand on her own two feet and everything. "You guys want to come in? I just made tea." She doesn't have the energy to invest much enthusiasm into the offer, but she shouldn't have to. 'Let's take this humiliating scene out of the frigging hallway' is an easy sell.

Oh no they're cute. This is much better than yelling at each other on the threshold. Castor smiles, delighted by the news of Spike's animal self, and nods quickly at the offer to step inside.

"That would be great if you're up to it," he says, waiting on Spike to go in first. Her illness being a mystery is sticking in the back of his mind. That's not a good sign, has she been to a healer or a doctor? Can rifties afford medical care? He should probably find out about that. But he, too, doesn't want to give Spike anything else to worry about, so he keeps quiet about it for now.

He stays in place while Sunshine backs away. He's reluctant to let her go, but her attitude works to relax him a little about how she's feeling. The danger isn't gone, but he's calming down again now that he knows the danger isn't immediate. After a moment a small smile lifts the corner of his mouth and he nods. "Okay, yeah. I'll get the tea."

He follows her in, and drops a hand to touch her shoulder on the way to the kitchen to grab a couple extra mugs. Now that she's pulled away he doesn't want to crowd her or cling too tightly, but he's feeling untethered at the moment and being close to her is an effort to ground himself again. While Castor follows them into the apartment he pours out some tea from the pot, busying himself.

Okay. This is progress. "Already got mine," she tells Spike over her shoulder before settling back down on the couch. She puts the paperback face-down on the coffee table, then recovers her cup, letting it warm her fingers.

This is still awkward as all hell. Not that she minds meeting Castor properly, and she notes the bakery bag he's carrying with some interest. She's probably not even indirectly responsible for whatever he's got in there, but she did at least manage to start the dough for the cinnamon rolls last night, so she could take partial credit for that. Even if he's not eating her food, specifically, he's frequenting her place of work, which at least earns him a few points.

"So," she ventures, in an effort to start a conversation that isn't about what a frigging train wreck Spike decided to be today, "when did you, uh... arrive?" There should be a better word for it. 'Arrive' sounds so innocuous.

"Oh, um, like four days ago," says Castor, smiling faintly as he shuffles over toward the couch. He doesn't want to sit anywhere without being invited so he just stands awkwardly, clutching his pastry bag. "I, uh, met Spike last night, and we..." He gestures vaguely to his bruised up face before realizing he probably should have led into that better. "Um - it was a friendly, like... yeah. I think we both needed to, uh, let off some..." He's making this worse. He looks briefly to Spike for help, but without waiting for it to arrive he looks back at Sunshine.

"So I went by to see him today, and..." He looks at the bag. "I got this cinnamon roll. Spike and Arlo say you make 'em better, which... I guess you must make 'em pretty damn amazing." He nods and smiles, hoping to appear at least somewhat put together here, not sure if he's succeeding with his face all a wreck.

As he walks back to the couch mugs in hand, Spike cringes a little at how open Castor is about what happened to his face. Inviting people to spar with him is one thing, but he imagines Sunshine might take a dim view of him wandering around and picking bar fights. When Castor looks back at him the look on his face must betray some level of discomfort with the topic. He's grateful when he moves on to complimenting Sunshine's baking, but he's not dumb enough to think that the topic of the fight has been dropped entirely.

He sets the mug for Castor down on the coffee table, then joins Sunshine on the couch. He hasn't missed how Castor is hovering- maybe now that he's designated a place for him he'll feel welcome enough to sit down. "Everything she makes is amazing," he says, hoping to guide the conversation over to the intricacies of baking instead of anything that involves him. "You should try the fudge next time."

The compliments to her baking prowess register dimly as she takes in Castor's injuries in a new light. She touched Spike enough to get the sense that it wasn't an entirely one-sided pummeling, but still. Her eyes narrow, and she gives Spike a thoroughly unimpressed look. "You were picking fights?" The 'with humans' is heavily implied.

Okay, so Castor must have something up his sleeve, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to hurt Spike that badly. But whatever he has up his sleeve probably doesn't include 'healing powers,' because if he had those, he wouldn't still look like shit. Whatever leeway she extends to Spike in terms of acting like an idiot, it doesn't cover him acting like an idiot at the expense of someone else's bone structure. 'Friendly,' her ass.

"You are such an asshole," she says, almost wonderingly, as if discovering it for the first time.

Castor sits gingerly, taking his mug from the coffee table, increasingly nervous now that he perceives he's overstepped.

"Honestly, I picked the fight," he says, jumping in before Spike can respond. "He seemed like a fun guy for it. He is fun! It was fun." He takes a gulp of tea before it's ready to be gulped, and smiles awkwardly. "I'll be fine, guys back home generally give me worse without the banter or the advice. It was like sparring. Drunk sparring."

He should stop, probably. He sets his tea back down on the table and fidgets, picking anxiously at his cuticles.

"I was looking for a fight and I found one." He offers Castor an awkward smile in return, then turns back to Sunshine. She doesn't look too happy, and while he's used to being called an asshole he's not as used to being called an asshole by her.

He dips his head and kisses her shoulder, then scoots down and rests his head there. He's still feeling relieved that she's here and alive, and he finds he can't muster up the energy to be too worried about this. He wants to make it clear that he isn't ignoring her worries, but it seems strange to him that she'd even be concerned about him punching a guy that was clearly up for a fight.

He chuckles, "I may be an arsehole, but i'm your arsehole." He nuzzles into her shoulder briefly, then adds, "Do you know he has garbage powers? It's brilliant. You should see it."

Sunshine's eyes remain pointedly narrowed for a few more seconds as she digests their explanations. Does Castor even know that Spike's a vampire? Because no one seems to be acknowledging that carthaginian crucial point. Even a vampire lite is more than a match for an average human - and what if Spike had found an average human, as opposed to a Rifty who could conveniently hold his own (in what was apparently a good-natured punchfest, but that's getting deeper into inexplicable male psychology than she would really care to go even if she was at her intellectual best, which she decidedly is not)? Does 'jittery enough to go looking for someone to pummel cathartically' come with a side of 'but not too hard because humans are pretty goddamn delicate'? Or should she be thanking the listening gods her boyfriend didn't accidentally murder some random drunk thor type who felt like trying his luck, and instead just roughed up a fellow Rifty who, by some small miracle, happened to be into it?

And now he's being all cute with her. Gods and frigging angels. "Lucky me," she deadpans, though she doesn't shrug him off (considers: yes; follows through: no).

If she had more energy - and if outing Spike wasn't a concern - she'd be more inclined to belabor the whole 'but seriously what in the triple carthaginian hell were you doing punching potentially normal people with your vampire fists' point, because it has not been addressed to her satisfaction. But she doesn't have much energy, and then Spike distracts her with the 'garbage powers' comment, and she remembers the vaguely hilarious thing from that joint dream that she hadn't been able to pin down.

"You have a trash affinity," she says. Which, as far as fending off vampiric aggression goes, probably isn't as useful as a sunlight affinity. But in a densely populated city like this, it's not bad, either - garbage might be more ubiquitous than wood in some areas. That could explain how he was able to hold his own during their friendly fracas. She glances down at Spike, stubbornly refuses to find him endearing, then looks over at Castor. "What did you do with it?"

Castor grins, pleased she remembers that tidbit. "I punched him so hard he flew up in the air a little bit. A few inches. Not a lot." He settles back, finally feeling a bit more comfortable. "And by 'punched' I mean I was several feet away and I didn't actually touch him. Basic force spell, just funnel the energy into a point and you can hit shit. It's the most, uh, fight-worthy thing I can do. Throwing garbage at people usually just makes them mad."

He sips his tea politely. "And you had sun powers, right? Cause of the name. Or not because. That's just how I remembered." Speaking of, she really looks like she could stand to get some sun right now, she's pale as hell. Winter and sickness'll do that, he supposes. "Can you do anything like that?"

"The offensive only works against vampires, as far as I've seen. Lucky me." He may have meant it to be sarcastic, but it comes off sincere. He's genuinely glad that Sunshine can protect herself if he suddenly became dangerous again. it's partof what makes him feel safe with her.

He pushes himself up off her shoulder so that he can get a sip of his tea. "Unless there are some witchy magic handler things you can do that I don't know about." He smiles a little wider then adds. "She teleported into my bedroom once."

Sunshine wrinkles her nose. It still feels kind of... distasteful... to refer to her counter-affinity as some kind of blessing (even if it arguably functions as one). Probably because there's no way to imagine her efficiently defending herself from her rampaging boyfriend without imagining him on a rampage to begin with. No, thank you. Once was more than enough.

"Transmutation, mostly," she says with an idle flap of her hand. "Small stuff. Nothing fancy." A lot of it is pretty flash by her universe's standards, but she doesn't expect those to translate. How can you explain that what you actually did was a big deal without sounding like you're bragging? "I don't use it much."

"Oh yeah, I remember you told me about that," he says, sitting up a little straighter. "That's so cool. I don't know anyone who can do something like that. We just channel stuff, it's not like we can actually... full-change something into something else." He smiles, a little sheepish for being so excited about it. "Then again, we don't have vampires, either."

He reaches into his bakery bag and tears off a little piece of cinnamon roll. Eating by scraps is normal where he's from, gotta save it, bit by bit. And it's a convenient way to keep crumbs off the couch.

"So wait, you have the sunlight thing and the transmutation thing. Is it just like... I mean, do you draw energy for the transmutation from light or can you do something else with it?"

He hopes this isn't boring Spike. He could honestly talk about magic theory all day. Then again they already scrapped in an alley, so at least he has good shared activities with each of them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

wake up in the mornin feelin like p diddy [closed]

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soak it up, joel

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