sure is heading that way

Between Silver Hearts

The night was pitch black, the streets empty - save for one lone figure that stumbled down the less trodden streets, holding a hand against one side of his face as blood dripped out between his finger tips. He paused for a moment in order to gather his bearings, rage swelling deep within his soul but not too much to cloud his sense of judgement - at least not yet. He wasn’t too sure though of why he was heading this way, of why he felt that he had to reach out for help. It was just another cut, another mark that would heal into a nasty scar - another reason to kill the palace bastards and place their heads on a a few spikes.

A soft crackle escaped his lips at that thought though pain was also mixed in with amusement. He swore once more and stumbled into the street where he’d last seen her before. Kisara? That was her name right? He was shit with names, shit with faces and yet that one seemed to stick in his mind like glue. Maybe it was due to the strange kindness that she’d shown him. Not that he trusted her. That’d taken much more than just patching up a few wounds - yet here he was looking for her help once more. It annoyed him but well - no choice in the matter right? And he always did as was required to keep surviving. Couldn’t kill the bastards if he was dead as well.

Was his fault anyway. He’d fallen asleep right outside where anyone could have simply murdered him. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t recognizable. Not many people around had silver hair. In fact he only knew of two. Himself and the girl who he was now seeking out. He wasn’t even sure if she lived here or not - only that was where he’d passed out before and been found by her and as foolish as an idea as it was to repeat that same pattern it was the only darn plan he had at the moment. So - minus the passing out part at least for now - he sat down and leant back against one of the low walls of a nearby house, removing his hand from the side of his face and glaring down at the blood that now marked his skin. The image of the man who’d injured him flashed through his mind and his face pulled into some type of twisted grin. He was terrible with names and faces, that was true - but those he wished to kill received special treatment.


Imagine meeting newly human Cas: 

“Hello, sir. Sir?” you say with a concern tone. 

The man looks up at you with a pained expression. He says nothing. 

“Do you need any help”, stepping closer.

He nods shyly

“Here I can get you cleaned up”, you extend your hand. Never before had you done this, asking a complete stranger if they needed help. Sure you had left change in cups and smiled before heading on your way but never this. There was something about the way he looked that pulled deeply on your heart strings. 

Normally, you hate traveling. It’s boring and takes forever and you can’t talk to anyone, because when you’re on the phone, you start running over shit. But it turns out when there’s no Boopis checking in every five seconds to make sure you’re still on route to some fight that she scheduled for the next night, traveling can actually be pretty fun!

For one thing, you can go wherever the fuck you want, and no one can say a word.

Heading up north, your plan had been to drop by Fettle’s, show off some of your new tech, prove you’re not just putting out radio silence. (Not that it’s any of her business. You’re a biopaingineer, not a fucking scienstiff newsfeed.) But somehow you’d managed to miss that turn, and then the next one back, and now you’re all the way up into the northern districts proper. Which one? You have no fucking idea: all these places look the same to you, and this little podunk colony really doesn’t look any different from the others.

Definitely not worth stopping at! Your plan had just been to pass on through, see how far this particular road will take you. Maybe you’ll see glaciers. (Maybe you’ll actually have to put on pants. Gross.)

At least, that was your plan, until your dad wakes up from your shoulder while you’re heading towards the town’s exit and takes off flying back towards the square.

“POPS,” you snap, but it’s too late: he’s not paying you any attention, like fucking always, so you have to skid to a stop, your fist clenching the brake of your bike hard enough to break it. He’s flying straight for one of the little buildings, one shooting smoke out of its chimney like it’s gonna run out, and… oh. Great! He’s inside of it.

You park the bike and stalk after him, seething. When you poke your head inside, it’s too dim for you to quite see where your stupid lusus’s gone. Or if anyone’s there, but you don’t really care. Shouldn’t have left the door open if they didn’t want folks coming in! “Bennue! The fuck are you doing, pops?”