bigapplesauce | I Thought of Angels, Choking On Their Halos [open]

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I Thought of Angels, Choking On Their Halos [open]

Lucifer falls.

This is old news for everyone involved. He fell from Grace, he fell from Heaven, and after the so long awaited confrontation in Stull Cemetery, he and his once-beloved brother and the promise of violence, he fell back into the Cage in the body of Sam Winchester.

Now, when he falls, he feels a shift around him like the universe cracking open at the seams; there is the smell of ozone and a lightning-snap that’s louder than even Sam’s fearful internal monologue, louder than the terror that pounds his frantic mortal heart at the sight of Perdition yawning wide beneath him. He is yanked sideways, sudden lateral movement that would be dizzying if he had a center of balance to upset, a rip-tide pulling him in and down and through the rabbit-hole, shadow-thin and darkling deep.

The body that is supposed to be his—that has had his name written over and across and around every fiber of its being since its conception—is suddenly far away, and he is wrapped in the old, familiar skin of a vessel he’d left dying in Detroit, flesh given freely rather than claimed by divine right. And then he is a streak in the sky that hits water and sinks like a stone.

Under the water, cold and getting colder from the seed crystal that is his freezing Grace in its mortal house, he can feel the vast emptiness where Heaven should be above him and isn’t; the universe is silent and it is deafening, a tinnitus ring where there should be angels’ voices. Lucifer grabs two fistfuls of space-time and pulls, moving himself from under the water to standing in the shallows at the bank, and behind him the lake’s surface is already frozen over thick like it’s the dead of winter. The water around his feet is sluggish and barely liquid, filmed over top with a thin frozen layer that breaks and flows around his ankles.

Someone approaches him with a towel, and there is no Hell below him and above him only sky, and he makes no reply; he banishes the water from his clothes with a thought before he puts his fist right through the man’s chest.

[[ooc: So this is going to be the hottest of messes; see mod comment for post instructions and fun stuff like that.]]

[[TW: gore, major character death.]]

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He notices her difficulty getting up almost immediately, and wraps his arm around her in turn, hoping to support her as well. It's thanks to her that he's standing and thanks to him that shes wavering now so he'd like to get her back and resting as soon as possible, but he also needs to warn people out of the area.

"Soon," he answers as he looks around. He's definitely not going in the direction that...whatever that was had gone. Anyway, the birds seem to have had that covered. If that was a thing that really happened. He's assuming. Eventually, he picks out a direction only because he can see a couple people coming their way.

"Come on." He lurches in that direction, bringing her with him.

She makes a sort of strangled groan at that, because soon is not now, but she's not feeling exhausted enough or trollish enough to actually object to Spike wanting to help people. So she sticks with him (almost literally; she's trying very hard not to think about what a mess they both are until she's actually in a position to do something about it) as he aims them both toward some oncoming civilians.

It's a little too familiar, this staggering along in a vampire's company, acutely aware of how terrible they must look. The fat, curly ripples of her affinity moving through her are familiar, too, and she distantly thinks: whoops. She wasn't supposed to be healing him anymore, was she? She pulls it back again, but it's like trying to put a sleeping bag back in a stuff sack; it just doesn't want to go. It wants to keep healing him - finish what it started - and it wants to hold her together because something has to. She can keep it at bay if she concentrates, but it's so hard to concentrate when there are other things that require her attention, like putting one foot in front of the other, and it just keeps coming back until she gives in and lets it be. Fighting it is more exhausting than letting it do its thing.

The cobwebs that start to seep in around the edges of her vision are almost like old friends. How many people have they frightened off by this point? She's lost count. She's not even sure she can trust her vision; aside from the cobwebs, she could almost swear she saw a wolf a minute ago, and that can't be right. She leans heavily against Spike and starts to ask, "Are we done yet?" But she only gets two words out before there's some kind of - of carthaginian eruption from the local wildlife, a deafening clamor of birds and beasts and insects that stops them in their tracks. Sunshine looks around wildly, breath quickening, then starts towards Central Park West in a brief burst of strength, pulling Spike along with her.

"We're going," she insists in an undertone once the noise has died down, focus evenly divided between getting back to the building and wondering what in the fresh hell that was about. "We're going home now."

Edited 2014-09-16 04:49 (UTC)

He can tell that she doesn't have a complete handle on her affinity, because whenever he gets a second wind, Sunshine seems to lag behind. When it seems to be working nonstop without her tamping it down, Spike starts thinking that they've warned enough people off.

She leans heavily against him and he tightens his grip on her just as a flurry of animals explode from what seems like everywhere. He barely has time to let out a confused shout before Sunshine is tugging him back and away. He wonders vaguely how she can still be moving so fast- he can feel her power working, even now.

"No arguments here." He doesn't see anymore people, and it seems like the mass exodus of animals will scare off anyone else even thinking of approaching.

She can't still be moving so fast, as it turns out. That burst of adrenaline gets her all of ten yards before she stumbles, and it's only Spike's arm around her that keeps her from going down like a sack of toxic FDA-disapproved potatoes. So much for dragging him all the way back - not that she needed to, since he's finally willing to get the hell out of Dodge, but still.

"Oh, damn," she says, foolishly, as she grabs Spike's shoulder for some additional support. She should have expected this. Stupid of her not to mention it earlier, probably, but she's just so tired, and there was other stuff going on. Now that her legs are giving out, though, it seems like the natural progression of things. First she uses up too much of herself keeping a vampire alive, and then she collapses. Typical. Classic frigging Sunshine. She'd be embarrassed if she wasn't too busy being a goddamn liability.

"Whoa there." As she falls against him, Spike pauses and adjusts to hold her up a little better. "You've got to stop that." He frowns down at her, considering his options. She needs help, so the only way they're getting back is by being in contact, but it seems like her power can't control itself long enough to realize that she's in danger of passing out. He needs to help, and they need to get back quick.

He adjust his arm higher and, in a move that's less fluid than it would normally be, he sweeps her up into his arms. "Hold on. And try not to touch any skin."

"It's not listening to me," she complains, as if talking about a particularly mulish toddler. She doesn't add that it's starting to feel necessary, as if she'll deflate without the familiar curls of her magic there to fill her out. Nor does she try to argue that if he's carrying her back, maybe it would be better if she could at least indirectly help with that.

Because he's right - she can't keep this up. She's never been faced with healing injuries so extensive before, so hey, she can forgive her affinity for being a bit… enthusiastic. Overly so, even. But getting Spike back to one-hundred-percent isn't worth her losing consciousness and becoming nothing but a senseless weight for him to deal with.

So, it's with a wince of mingled embarrassment and resignation that she allows herself to be picked up. She's in no position to object (though she is still lucid enough to appreciate how ridiculous it is that this is happening again). "Okay," she agrees with only a little reluctance, putting her arms around his neck in such a way that she's only touching fabric, not skin. Her affinity coils back on itself, the curly ripples thinning into something more noodle-y, but she doesn't crumple in on herself or drift apart into a haze of atoms. She just feels a bit smaller, and weaker, and in desperate need of a nap.

No. She has to do something practical or she'll never forgive herself. "I'll make sure that thing doesn't sneak up on us," she says. She can't see it at the moment, but she's pretty sure its toxic kali wrongness would stand out to her even at a hundred yards.

"Okay, Sunshine." Spike smiles to himself at her insistence at helping. As he starts walking. He thinks that he'd probably realize if whatever that thing was came back, but he won't begrudge her help.

There are definitely still some significant internal injuries going on that she hasn't managed to heal. Despite her healing powers, he's still moving slower that he might normally move. They definitely make an unusual sight making their way through the park. They're still inadvertently scaring people away as they move between here and the apartment building, but Spike isn't making any special effort to scare people off anymore. He's more worried about how long Sunshine is going to last with her powers still trying to heal him. Could something worse than her passing out happen? He needs to get her back and into the sun or lying down or something.

Okay, she's not in great shape, but she's not that far gone. She knows the verbal equivalent of a pat on the head when she hears it. "Don't patronize me, grandpa," she mutters - which, given her current position, ought to be more than loud enough for him to hear. "None of this would've happened if you'd listened to me in the first place." Lest he forget.

Being carried, little as she likes it, does seem to be helping. The cobwebs around the edge of her vision don't recede, but they don't get any worse, either. And she doesn't seem to be in imminent danger of passing out. As they finally exit the park, she gives his shoulder a little rub with her fingertips through the fabric of his shirt. No healing, just keeping tabs. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm surprised a book didn't fall on my head through all that." Maybe his power really doesn't have any rules to it, after all. "Maybe Gray's Anatomy, given how intimate he got with my internal organs. Everything's still..." He pauses short of using the word soupy as a way to describe the state of his internal organs. "...not quite intact. I think the bones healed." If they hadn't, holding her up like this would probably hurt a lot more than it does.

"I'll heal. I'm more worried about how we're going to stop that thing." Maybe he could go talk to Aziraphale about it, or try to conjure up some more magic books of his own, but someone that shaves their fist through people's chests for fun probably shouldn't be allowed to roam free.

"Could've come in handy if it had fallen on the thing, instead," she says, leaning her head against her arm. She frowns deeply as he describes the extent of his injuries, appalled that it's still that bad after all she's done. Gods, he only thinks the bones have healed? How in the hell is he carrying her at all?

She lifts her head a little so she can frown at him properly. "Seriously? You're not making it easy for me to keep my hands to myself," she informs him.

He snorts a laugh at her unintentional innuendo and smirks back down at her for a moment before lifting his gaze to the street again. Navigating a sidewalk like this isn't exactly easy.

"As much as I'd like that, I think it can wait till you're not in danger of passing out, hm?" He could comment on his injuries again, but it's easier for him to just not acknowledge them at the moment.

Well, at least he's capable of laughing. She'd be impressed if she wasn't too busy worrying about how messed up he still is.

"I'm not," she insists, transferring her frown over his shoulder towards the people they're passing. They're getting some quality Looks. Quick and furtive as they might be, she still catches them - no doubt because all she has to focus on right now is keeping her eyes open. She almost envies them. They have no idea how much worse it can get than just two bloodied people making their way down the sidewalk.

Still, it's a hell of a relief when they finally reach their building. Maybe it shouldn't be - she got the impression that that thing is going to go wherever the hell it wants, and there's no reason their wardless building is safer than any other (though what kind of ward would even keep that at bay, she can't imagine). But its stolid normalcy is so far removed from the chaos of the park that she can't help but feel they'll be okay as long as they just stay inside.

"Need me to get the door?" she asks, shifting a little so she can face forward (more or less). "Because I can." That sort of trick is easy as breathing, and she doesn't want to seem utterly useless, here.

He's almost ready to accept her offer when he notices that someone is already at the door. That's good. Sunshine won't have to use any of her powers and he won't have to set her down to fish out his keys. "You can knock."

When they reach the door, it's clear that the person by the door is the janitor cleaning the glass. In the end, they don't even have to knock. By the time they're standing in front of the door, the man's eyes have gone wide and he's hastily pulling the door open.

Spike slips them through the door while the janitor stammers, 'A-are you both alright?'

"Fine," Spike answers immediately, and keeps walking towards the lifts, leaving the man behind them very confused and very concerned about why the young couple seems to be covered in blood. There wasn't some sort of costume party nearby, was there?

Spike maneuvers so that he can press the up button then, once they're in the lift, pushes the button for the roof and hopes that nobody gets on between here and there. If they do, they're in for a surprise.

Sunshine blinks at the janitor as Spike carries her past him, turning her head to continue staring at him over his shoulder. "Hey, it's that guy," she says - drawls, almost. Gods, she's so tired. But not so tired that she can't lift her hand in an absurd little wave before she loses sight of the guy. Maybe he'll find it reassuring.

Once on the elevator, she squints in confusion at Spike's choice in floors. For a moment, she'd thought he was shooting for her floor instead of his (and had felt a vague, distant sort of indignation at his presumptuousness, and at the prospect of so much blood in her nice, clean apartment), but then it registers that they're going all the way up. "Are we going to the roof?" she asks, baffled. Then, because she's really starting to feel ridiculous, "I think I can probably stand."

… Okay, so that didn't sound all that confident. "Yes," she says, trying for a more authoritative tone, "I could."

~~No, she's not getting loopy from being all flipped out and exhausted, why would you even suggest such a thing.~~

Spike doesn't even bother to let her down. She's starting to get worryingly out of it and setting her down is going to take up time that he's not sure he has. And despite what she says, he doesn't actually believe that she'd last very long on her feet.

"Yes, the roof. Best place to sit in the sun and recharge your powers. Or...whatever it is that gets recharged." Just...her in general? That doesn't sound quite right.

"… Oh." Sunshine considers that for a few moments, a pensive little ~~frown~~ pout on her face. That's actually a solid plan. Points for Spike. "Good idea." Forgetting the no-touching rule, which doesn't seem to matter anymore, anyway (if her affinity is doing anything right now, she's pretty sure it's only applying to her), she reaches up to pet Spike's hair. "You're a good boyfriend," she says. She even manages to sound as if she's delivering an actual compliment and not just praising an obedient dog.

Spike submits to her touching his hair long enough to be shocked at being called her boyfriend. As far as he knows, they're just dating. Dating often and (he assumes) exclusively, but they'd never really talked about anything else. He'd like that, if it were true, but he suspects that she might not call him her boyfriend once she has all of her wits back.

He tips his head away from her touch and looks up at the number indicator on the lift, urging it to go faster. "Your goin' a bit funny, babe. Stop touching me."

"'Babe'?" she repeats, wrinkling her nose. Ugh, no more pets for you. She pulls her hand back, considers trying to fold her arms, and decides that act would require more dexterity than she has at her disposal. "I'm not responding to that nickname," she informs him as they reach the top floor and the doors slide open.

"What's wrong with babe," he responds immediately, a little confused, but mostly focused on getting her out into the sun. Once they're out on the roof, he sets her down into the first chair he finds. Thankfully, it's a decent distance away from the bee hive so he won't have to be swatting the things away the entire time..

Once she's seated he runs a hand back into her hair, tucking it away from her face, but he quickly brings his hand back when he realizes he shouldn't be touching her right now. He finds another folding chair then, as an afterthought, pulls over the umbrella so that it's casting shade onto his seat, but not hers. The sun may be good for her, but it makes him nervous, especially when he's already injured.

He sits down with a small groan. His body is still healing, and it's going to take a while longer before he feels put together again.

"Blech," she says by way of explanation, but before she can elaborate on that salient point, she's distracted by the welcome return of sunlight on her skin. It's a testament to how wiped she is that the pleasure of being in full sunshine outweighs the unpleasant stickiness of the blood on her dress (and legs, and hands) to such an extent that she hardly notices it anymore as Spike deposits her onto a lawn chair.

The feeling of his fingers in her hair ranks below the sunlight, too, but well above the blood, and she turns her face into his touch with a little hum. But then he pulls away, and she slits her eyes open (damn, how long did she have them closed?) and peers at him as he arranges himself on a lawn chair beside hers. Under an umbrella, like they're on vacation at the beach. Ludicrous. He's not within easy arm's reach, and while some distant part of her realizes that's probably for the best, it's still hard to suppress a pout. What if he needs her? He sounds like he needs her.

"Hey," she says, turning onto her side so she can frown at him properly. She should probably say something intelligent sounding about how she is uniquely qualified to lend assistance, here - or she would be if she wasn't so exhausted, and she will be in a little while, once she's had some time to recharge - but she's so tired that what comes out is a cranky, "You'd better not be dying."

The concerned crankiness is oddly comforting, coming from Sunshine. Her being outright delirious had been scary. Now that she's safely recharging her batteries he can relax a little, and he does, scooting down in his chair so that he can rest his head against the back. "I'm not dying. I'll be fine." At some point in the future he'll be fine. Now, not so much. The hole in his chest is gone, but he doesn't particularly want to look down to check. He's covered in his own blood.

Instead, he lets his head tip to the side so that he can look at her. It may be best not to actually talk about any of that at the moment. Instead, he decides to bring up what she'd said in the elevator. "Boyfriend, hm?"

Her eyes drift shut again as Spike reassures her. She's more concerned with how not fine he is right now than how fine he'll presumably be at some unspecified future date - yeah, give it a few weeks and a bucket of brain bleach and they'll all be fine - but at least he's in good enough shape to get comfy on a lawn chair, so the situation can't be that horribly deadly dire.

But he's not just getting comfy, he's getting chatty. Sunshine slits her eyes open again to peer at him suspiciously. 'Boyfriend'? Wait, did she say 'boyfriend'? When did she say 'boyfriend'? A more put together Sunshine would probably panic; this one just manages a faint frown. "Huh," she says, as if listening to Mel explain some technical issue he was having with an engine. It's more acknowledgment than genuine comprehension, and she lets her eyes close again as she shifts into a more comfortable position on the chair.

Spike doesn't respond right away. Maybe he expected more of a reaction to his engine troubles. No. To the 'boyfriend' thing. What, is this a semantics issue? "Is there a better word for it?" she hazards, asking if he's asking.

Gods, she could fall asleep right here.

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I Thought of Angels, Choking On Their Halos [open]

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