TDM - JANUARY 2021

[robbies]

TEST DRIVE MEME - JANUARY 2021

Good to the last gasp.
CW: gaslighting, potential mentions and depictions of trauma and other problematic material, body horror, dolls, violence

---

“Help me. Please, help me…”

A child’s voice, calling out for aid. There’s no rhyme or reason for when it comes to you. It’s so quiet, a whisper in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Were it not for the sharp, stabbing pain it pulls out of you, you could ignore it. You could even pretend it’s just your imagination.

It all happens so quickly and powerfully. Left in the dust, your brain struggles to process it all. Blacking out is the least it can do, but it’s also all it can do, and it does so before you even have a chance to fully register just how young the voice is, and how deeply, heartbreakingly lost it sounds.

When you finally awaken with your bare feet tangled in soft sheets, a layer of fuzzy fleece or slinky silk clinging to your body like another layer of skin, the sunlight pouring in from the window next to your bed momentarily blinding you, and the cries of happy children playing outside of it carrying faintly, it all becomes very clear—

Something is horribly wrong.

---

JANUARY 1st.

It becomes very clear very quickly that this isn’t a simple kidnapping. If you’re twenty years old or older, the bedroom you wake up in is very clearly a couple’s bedroom — with separate beds like a modest, modern couple of course! A similarly lost and confused stranger is in the other. They are your counterpart, for everything in this room has a matching counterpart — the nightstand and lamp each of you have beside your beds, the framed pictures on the wall, even your pajamas. If you’re under twenty years old, your room is smaller but more personalized, filled with comic books, model kits, stray baseball cards littered around the floor. Dolls, fashion magazines of people dressed from a bygone era, stacks of vinyl records neatly arranged next to a record player. And then there are the pictures. They’re everywhere in the house — in a frame on your nightstand, hung on the walls, stuck in the photo albums and scrapbooks lying on your desk or tucked away in drawers. Here you are on your wedding day, exchanging vows with your partner. Here’s you sitting in a fishing boat with one of the younger members of your house. Here’s a picture of you at ten years old getting ready for the first day of school. All of the photographs are aged, sepia, even yellowed and dusty in frames hung for a long, long time. By the time you make it down to the living room, you’ll notice that the television is on; someone must have forgotten to turn it off before they went to bed. On it, the morning news is playing. The newscaster, a man in a gray suit and horn-rimmed glasses, keeps shuffling his paperwork on his desk as black and white footage of people in the midst of celebration — throwing streamers, wearing paper hats, toasting flutes of bubbly liquid — is interspersed between his droning report: ”New Year's Eve was in full swing last night as citizens from all over Santa Rosita came together to ring in 1961. A surge in ginger ale and sparkling cider beverage sales was reported by Honeybees as early as eight o'clock in the evening, a boon for the store…“

---

GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS.

As you get acclimated, you gradually begin to learn more about this strange new world you’ve found yourself in. You’re in a neighborhood on the east side of a town called Santa Rosita located… somewhere in California (wherever or whatever that might be). The year is 1961. If it wasn’t clear enough, your neighbors are more than willing to humor you if you ask. Even if you accost them with questions and demands. Sure, you and your family are a little kooky, and you have a very overactive imagination, but the key to any good joke is playing along! And how could something like “I’m from the future, from another world” be anything but a joke? A. CLOWN AROUND. If December was a time for sweet treats and good food, January is the month where everyone is trying to unload their leftovers. Who better to enjoy them than you, the newest family on the block? Your neighbors have quite a bit of food to share: Throughout the month, they'll stop by to say hello, bringing a new sugary dish with them each time. As always, jello molds are a staple. One plate turns into three turns into five, and by the end of the first week of January, you're likely to end up with a collection of jiggling pink, green, and orange lumps taking up space in your fridge. From mountains of Whip 'n Chill to Broken Window Glass cake, you'd be forgiven in thinking that there's no end to it. And yet, there's the occasional exception. Someone comes by with a Bundt cake lathered in vanilla icing and topped with rainbow sprinkles. Were it not for the giant candy clown head topping it, it would almost look good enough to eat. "There's a rumor going around that you've been a bit under the weather, so I thought this would cheer you up!" they say, right before thrusting the technicolor nightmare into your hands, the clown's dead pink frosted eyes staring up at you. Your neighbor is quick to tell you to eat it while the icing is still fresh (you never know who might lick it off when you're not looking, eh kids?), but not that the clown itself is made out of styrofoam. That's something you'll just have to find out for yourself when you take it back inside and start chowing down!

B. SNOW DAY

What awakens you one cold Friday morning isn't the blare of your alarm clock or your family getting ready to start their day or even the chilly air that tickles your toes as they poke out from the bottom of your covers, but the sound of hooting and hollering outside your window. The sight that awaits you when you go to investigate is something out of a Norman Rockwell painting: The entire neighborhood is outside, playing and carrying on in the snow. While everyone was sleeping, Santa Rosita got four inches of snow, more than enough for the schools to close but not enough to stop everyone from enjoying it.

And enjoy it they are! Children build snowmen in their front yards while their fathers work on shoveling their driveways. Most, however, are busy erecting snow forts in their yards and the middle of the street, running back and forth as they collect ammunition for an ongoing snowball fight that takes up half of the neighborhood. Nobody is spared from their assault, not even the adults, and especially not the newly arrived ones who leave the house. Good luck getting the mail, mom and dad!

"Come on! There's plenty of snow!" one young boy yells at you over a snowdrift. "You can join my team!"

"Nuh-uh!" another boy shoots back. "You can join my team!"

And on and on it goes. Well, for the pacifists among you, making snow angels is always an option!

---

THROUGHOUT JANUARY.

CW: gaslighting, potential mentions and depictions of trauma, and other problematic material

There’s no business like show business! And business is hopping at the Starlight Drive-In, which has been boasting about its all-new film premiering on January 2nd and playing all month long. The critics are raving, the townspeople are flocking, and plans to go to the drive-in seems to be all anyone can talk about. “Make sure you get there early to see the serials,” many of them suggest, eyes wide with excitement. “I couldn’t look away!” Whether you come with your family, your friends, or simply come on your own, the lot is packed, Robbies and normal townsfolk alike beaming as they hook the individual speakers onto their cars. Apropos of the cold weather, the concession stand has added seasonal items to their menu, serving up hot chocolate and kettle corn in addition to its usual soda and popcorn. Watching a movie against a backdrop of gently falling snow while you're sipping on steaming chocolate and melted marshmallows has a certain je nais se quoi to it that even you have to admit is appealing. At last, when it's finally dark enough to start, the projector clicks on from the booth in the back of the lot and the movie begins. A. COMING ATTRACTIONS. The movie, Curse of the Doll People, is a horror flick. A real chill-o-rama, starring actors you've never heard of playing a group of archeologists who unknowingly trigger a deadly curse that sets a group of murderous living dolls upon them. The poster pasted on the ticket booth promises it'll be the most fun you'll have screaming. Unfortunately, you have to sit through several minutes of previews first. The coming attractions aren't anything special — a bunch of westerns, a romance, even a beach musical. Far from being bored to tears like you might be, the people in the cars around you are glued to the screen, popping snacks into their mouths and whispering their commentary among themselves. The movie is the reason why everyone's here, sure, but you don't just get one flick out of going to the pictures! There's also the serials, little 5—10 minute long chapter plays that tell a story in pieces. Nothing can beat those, and when the first one starts, everyone sits in rapt attention as if it were the feature presentation itself. But as the scene opens up on a sight that is instantly familiar to you, and your own face stares back at you from the projection screen, it becomes clear that this is no ordinary film. You watch your memories play out in grainy black and white footage, aired for all the world to see. Or perhaps not — though you may not realize it, the movie playing out on the screen differs from person to person. No one sees the same thing. The person next to you might see one of their worst fears come to life, whether imagined or real, practical or fantastic. You might see one of the worst moments of your life — the death of a friend, your hated enemy bringing you to the brink of death, your absolute lowest point — exactly the way you remember it... save for the way your double on the screen occasionally turns to face the audience, staring directly at you with a knowing smirk and a wink. Or the way your loved ones will sometimes go off-script, gazing at you with pleading eyes as they beg you to help them. The people of Santa Rosita will see an exciting battle between two pirate ships, swashbuckling and cannon fire in place of the traumas you're witnessing. When the serial ends on a cliffhanger, much to the disappointment of everyone around you, it's almost a mercy. "Tune in next week for the thrilling second part!" Well, you will, won't you?

---

END OF THE MONTH.

CW: body horror, dolls, violence

Aside from the horror of the drive-in, January might seem to be passing calmly... until one night, something changes. In the middle of the night, once you fall asleep in your comfortable bed (or on your couch, or with your head lolling against the kitchen table), a nightmare comes to you. The shift from whatever dreams you were having to the cold, dark void you find yourself standing in happens gradually and quietly. So too does the image that plays out in your mind's eye: From out of the darkness, a featureless mannequin stands ramrod straight, facing you with its arms pressed rigidly to its sides. It has no face, no identifying marks, no features at all. It's a blank slate in every sense of the word... until it isn't. Slowly, the material of the lower half of its face begins to split as a searing pain tears through your own, as if invisible fingers are ripping your lips off inch by inch. The slit on the doll's face widens and deepens until, finally, mercifully, its new mouth opens as yours disappears, replaced by a flat, smooth barrier of skin. Like it was never there to begin with. The pain returns, this time in your arms and neck — right as the doll's own begin to jerk. Your joints are hardening, seizing up as the doll's arms go from minutely twitching to slowly flexing. While every nerve and bone from your fingertips all the way up to your shoulders grows heavy, the doll tilts its head and looks down at its hands, as if seeing them for the first time. By the time it takes its first step, you've taken your last: the pain has spread to your feet, ankles and toes hardening and locking into place. Every part of you is claimed this way; what isn't taken by force simply fades from your body and shifts into being onto the doll's, your skin replacing its cloth body, your clothing dressing it, your hair filling out its head. Your tongue goes numb as the licks its newfound lips, coarse cloth and batting surging up from your lungs and all the way to the back of your throat. By the time it's over, you can't move. You can no longer breathe. All you can do is stare at the perfect, eyeless double of yourself standing before you. As your eyes begin to burn, the last thing you see before everything goes black is the sly curve of a smile — your smile — before the face wearing it turns away and walks back into the darkness. Luckily, you wake up to a room full of sunshine and the distant sound of traffic as the neighborhood gets ready for another beautiful day. The morning air feels cold and dry on your skin. You're you. As much as you've always been. Right?

A. DOPPELGANGER.

It's the kind of morning that makes you want to sing. Where the sky was once dull and grey, it's now a deep blue. Barring the usual hustle and bustle on the streets of Shadyside, the first sound that greets you when you wake up is the steady beat of water trickling outside your window as the snow begins to gently melt under the rays of the sun. You may even hear the chirp of a bird! January, in all its dreariness, is nearly at an end.

When you leave the room to go downstairs — or upstairs, if you slept in the living room — the house is quiet and flooded with sunlight. With how perfectly silent everything is, it's easy to mistake the calm for solitude and think you're alone.

This is not the case.

Waiting to greet you is a familiar figure. If you go downstairs, you'll see it sitting in your kitchen with its head bowed and its arms hanging limply at its sides; if upstairs, lying in your bed on its back. There's no mistaking who it is. Even at a distance, their hair, face, clothes and features all instantly recognizable, and you know who it is before you even fully register their presence:

You.

Motionless, your doppelganger looks more puppet than person. Its chest is still, not a single breath leaving its mouth. Its eyes are closed. They snap open when you get closer to it, wide enough to see the whites, as its head jerks up to look straight at you. In a staccato imitation of your voice, it chirps at you:

"Hi!"

"Good morning!"

"Hello!"

"Rise and shine!"

Your clone is a good imitation, but not a perfect one. Its movements are stiff and uncoordinated, like a marionette being commanded by unseen strings. Though its cheeks are rosy, its skin is pale and almost glossy with the texture of newly polished porcelain. None of these setbacks bother it in the very least. If left alone, it goes about the house mimicking your morning routine, though given how awkward just walking is for it, it's almost certain to do a very bad job. Still, it tries its hardest, following you all day around the neighborhood, trying to imitate your movements — all with a smile!

That is, until you become aggressive with it.

It doesn't take much to set your doppelganger off — a simple shove will do it. When that happens, its eyes will do the impossible and open even wider, its mouth yawning into a wail that pitches louder and louder. That's the point when it will lunge at you. Its hands will try to go for your throat, but not always. It's resourceful enough to improvise with whatever it has around it, whether that be a kitchen knife, a paperweight, or even a letter opener. Luckily for you, they're fragile. Just hitting them is enough to crack and chip away at their skin. With enough strength, their limbs can even come off. Unluckily, they don't stay down for long; even a severed appendage can be popped back into its proper ball-jointed place.

All the while, they never stop childishly whining and shrieking at you.

"Not nice!"

"Why are you so mean?!"

"Not nice, not nice, NOT NICE!"

The only way to shut them up for good is to keep pummeling them until they're nothing but a pile of doll parts. But be thorough — even a mouth that's nothing but a shard of porcelain can still talk.

---

OOC INFO

Hello, and welcome to We're Still Here's second TDM! Here's a few things we'd like you to keep in mind:

The TDM is canon. You can treat this as the game's first real event and pick and choose what threads you would like your character to remember when they enter the game. For characters who app into the game, the events of the TDM will be treated like a dream. Upon awakening from it, characters will find that time has jumped ahead to February 1st. You may also feel free to use similar reality and/or time distortions to explain why the family members your characters have in the TDM aren't the same as the ones they may be assigned to in the game proper. Additionally, starting today comments made to the TDM will now count towards Activity Check. Current players are permitted to use up to five comments from it for this month's Activity Check — half of the required amount to pass. The other five must be made within the game's communities.

If you would like to have January or other winter-themed content in your relaxed housing prompts, please feel free! You are not beholden to follow our prompts exactly so long as the spirit is maintained.

There is no Network prompt listed, but feel free to wildcard one for your characters anyway.

Although the TDM is canon in the sense that characters are free to remember its events when they app into the game, it does not count as an official plot heavy event, meaning that characters will not receive regains from participating in it.

A note about the drive-in theater: Players are in full control over what memories, phobias, or fears the serials before the movie will depict. You can also specify whether or not other characters will be able to see your character's serial. Be sure to label your threads with relevant content warnings if needed!

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Comments

CW: breaking porcelain limbs, violence, doppelganger death, Cas does not play around

[heraldingangel]

[ The porcelain thing that's enflamed to violence is quickly brought down to one knee when its leg cracks beneath the heel of Crowley's boot. The leg splinters and its weight does the rest. It breaks off falling on the ground with a loud CLAK. The doppelganger doesn't wail, it doesn't even look like it's in pain but there's anger behind those blue eyes. Anger that it redirects to the man walking up to them. ]

I'll take care of it.

[ Castiel walks past Crowley, his eyes on the creature that far too volatile to keep alive. ]

I hate you!

[ It yells, snarling at the angel that comes forward, eyeing the garden shovel still gripped in his hand. Without a word to the thing sporting Jimmy's face, Castiel brings his make-shift weapon down on its chest caving it in as the thing shrieks. It hits him with its porcelain hands but it does more damage to itself with its forceful hits. Bringing the weapon down a second time, this time on its head, Castiel destroys the thing, breaking it to pieces. When he's done, he rises from the mess of porcelain that no longer carries his visage. ]

[demonicmiracle]

[Bastard that he is, Crowley makes a sweeping gesture towards the doppelgänger as Castiel moves towards it, a silent be my guest, before retreating to a slightly safe distance to watch the destruction.

It is, admittedly, a tiny bit disturbing, watching someone enact violence upon a creature that looks exactly like them, but also, it really isn't the worst thing Crowley's ever seen in his life, so........ you know.]

Well, that was a thing.

[A bit bemused, really. With the doppelgänger down, he feels safe to approach again, idly nudging a piece of porcelain with his boot.]

Where'd you find it?

[So he can avoid wherever that was.]

[heraldingangel]

[ Looks don't matter to him. It's the soul that counts, and that thing wasn't Jimmy. It was simply another monster imitating human life. Being a soldier, there was only ever one-way things would end. When he rises, there's no piece large enough for it to continue its tirade giving him leeway to turn his attention back to Crowley. ]

On a chair. It was there when I woke up.

[ Which was one hell of a wake-up call. ]

It's been following me ever since. It started showing signs of violence when I tried to get rid of it.

[ Which may have involved a shove or two when he tried to walk past it which the doppelganger could not abide by and attacked. And Castiel, being a garrison angel, could not ignore an attack against him and so the thing sealed its fate. ]

[demonicmiracle]

They things here have upgraded from loitering on the lawns, then.

[Not the doppelgangers in particular, but the general Evil Bullshit that exists within the town. He considers it all the same, whether it's corpses in snowmen or lake monsters or porcelain copycats.]

I take it you're not local?

[The locals don't really... react to the weird shit, the way they ought to. It's a good metric.]

[heraldingangel]

[ Upgraded? Were there other things going on? He's used to the odd so finding a copy of his vessel with a porcelain base isn't all that weird to him. ]

No. [ His voice is deep and a little gruff for someone of his stature. ] I'm not [ he looks past him as if searching for something he doesn't find before slowly bringing his gaze back to Crowley ] from around here.

What is this place?

[ He's spoken to enough people to recognize the difference between the way he talks and the way the others do. They smile a lot for one and always ask him if he's okay. He's fine. But this person seems to recognize the oddity of the thing he just killed which is more than he can say about the 'friendly' neighbors he's encountered. ]

[demonicmiracle]

My bet's on pocket dimension of some sort, but there's other theories floating about.

[Time travel, for one. Some people seem to think this is actually a town in the 1960s, in actual California, but Crowley finds that hard to buy.]

Crowley, by the way, hi. [He even offers a hand to shake; he has some manners.] Sorry you're stuck here with the rest of us.

[heraldingangel]

[ Pocket dimension? He thinks back to Gabriel and the pocket of space he cut out for his diversions. Gabriel could do anything in that space; warp reality at will. ]

I was trapped in a similar place once. [ He nods looking off to the side, distracted by his thoughts. ] There were people there too. [ He licks his lips. ] To fill in the gaps.

[ Back then, he'd used his grace to pierce through the veil, something he didn't have here. Gabriel had been able to render him useless in that place much the same way he was useless here. Perhaps he was right. Turning back to the man, Crowley as he calls himself, he looks at the offered hand and can't help but recall the demon from his world that shared the same name. ]

Castiel. [ He hesitates for a moment, before slowly reaching out to wrap two hands around his, shaking it between his palms. ] I don't plan to be stuck here for long.

[demonicmiracle]

[Weird sort of handshake, feels a bit too familiar considering he's just met the man, but they're also trapped in suburban hell and dealing with porcelain doppelgangers, so Crowley will forget about it within a few minutes.

More interesting, is the name given.]

God is my shield. [He mutters it to himself, frowning slightly, but it's likely a coincidence. There's a million wankers named Michael, after all. He shakes it off, offering a wry smile.] You'll have to put those plans aside, those of us who've been here a bit longer aren't any closer to figuring out what's going on or how to get home.

[And even if Castiel had some ability to move between worlds, Crowley knows it's likely been stripped from him, the same as everyone else.]

[heraldingangel]

Shield of God.

[ He answers, surprised he knows the meaning behind it. Being a warrior of god, it was a fitting name for an angel of the garrison. ]

How long have you been here?

[ He asks, releasing his hand. He has no intention of putting his plans aside on the word of one person. ]

[demonicmiracle]

Eh, close enough.

[Language is a malleable thing, generally. He's not too surprised that the man knows the meaning of his own name, most humans look those things up, or their parents tell them, even if it's just letters strung together.]

That's the tricky part. I was here in October, sort of? But then I've no proper memory of November. Was definitely about in December, and now it's January. Problem is that it was December 1961, now it's January 1961, which isn't usually how that goes, in my experience.

[Time is weird and fake at the best of times, but more so here.]

[heraldingangel]

Three months.

[ He surmises, eyes sliding again past him again like a cloud drifting by. ]

1961?

[ His gaze once against turns to him, brows slightly furrowed by the oddity of that statement. As far as he knows, only angels have the ability to travel back in time. ]

No. That's not how it goes. Does everyone here believe it's 1961? Maybe it's a mass delusion. A spell of some sort.

[demonicmiracle]

[Three months, one and change, it's all both ridiculously short and achingly long.]

The locals do, those of us who aren't from here come from all sorts of places. It was twenty-fifteen for me, but that's not the same for everyone.

[He's curious about the mention of a spell, since... most people don't believe in magic, as far as he's aware.]

S'why I figure it's a pocket dimension, and someone's playing at it being the sixties. We've not actually gone back in time to some shite American town.

[heraldingangel]

[ Angels use Enochian magic which they power with their grace. He's performed many spells in his lifetime and knows many more. ]

I see, so the ones trapped here are being taken from different points in time and possibly being kept in a pocket dimension stuck in the sixties.

[ Turning over that explanation in his head takes a few moments. Considered angels can time-travel, the idea isn't as far-fetched to him as it is to Crowley, but he also knows the simplest explanation is also the most probable. Time-travel took a lot of energy and to keep pulling people here for at least three months would take more power than any angel possessed. But there's still one question: ]

Why 1961?

[demonicmiracle]

That's my theory, at least.

[This is really outside his scope of experience; the whole alternate Earths thing was a shock, considering he was pretty confident there was only the single one that God was responsible for, but he's taken it in stride.]

Hell if I know. Someone's got a thing for all that nuclear family, traditional family values bullshit?

[As much as he's been trying to figure shit out, he's also been trying to a) not die and b) earn a living and keep his stupid, freshly human body functioning. It takes up a lot of time and energy, as it turns out.

Which is partly why he sighs, glancing down the street.]

Not that I mind giving you the whole welcome spiel, but could we do it over coffee?

[He wants to like, sit down.]

[heraldingangel]

[ His brows scrunch up. ]

Nuclear family?

[ He doesn't get it. Was he talking about atomic bombs? Families in the nuclear age? He wants to ask more, say more. But like Crowley, Castiel isn't used to a human body. Not one whose needs he actually has to address, so at the mention of coffee his traitorous stomach makes a gurgling noise whining for more than bean water. ]

Fine. It seems I need to eat anyway.

[ He sounds annoyed as if it's a bother, which it is. Angels don't concern themselves with the needs of their human vessels. Their powers were enough to keep them in pristine condition and curbed any need for sustenance. ]

Which way is the coffee shop?

[demonicmiracle]

[Crowley squints at him openly now, as if trying to figure out a puzzle, which Castiel sort of is, with all the things he's said as the pieces to be put together.

Rather than immediately address the initial question, or ask his own, he gestures to his left.]

This way, c'mon.

[He starts walking, assuming that Castiel will keep up with him.]

Nuclear family's that notion of a mum and dad, two point five kids, white picket fence. [And then, without missing a beat:] You're not human, are you?

[heraldingangel]

[ Clipped steps hit the ground, and he moves in the direction he points to. With his back straight, Castiel moves with the gait of a soldier easily keeping up with the other man. ]

No.

[ He answers without inflection, his gaze up ahead in search of the coffee shop as his stomach continues to grumble. ]

How far is it?

[demonicmiracle]

[There is, in the back of Crowley's mind, a very loud alarm blaring to inform him that he's likely fucked up really badly, but he's good at having fucked up really badly and not letting it show, so he doesn't miss a step.]

'Bout three minutes walk, not all that far.

[He's going to regret the next words out of his mouth. He just knows it.]

What are you, then?

[heraldingangel]

[ Three minutes, he nods to himself. It isn't far. He can deal with the sudden hunger surging through him until then. With his thoughts on the needs of his vessel, it takes a moment before he registers the question which draws a steady gaze to him. He's silent for a moment, blue eyes piercing as they search his face. For what? It's hard to tell, and he answers in the same gruff voice. ]

An angel of the Lord.

[demonicmiracle]

[The horrible thing about being human is that he has no control over his corporation, that he can't tamp down on the prickle of fear.]

Shit. [Somehow, he keeps his voice calm, keeps walking, even if his voice is tight and he has to clench his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.] Shit. Fucking — thanks, mate. This throws a real bloody spanner in the works. And I was having such a nice week.

[Yes he knows he's talking like a crazy person, no he does not care.]

[heraldingangel]

[ Naive as he may be about social etiquette, he's still a tactician, observes everything even if he doesn't always understand it, but this reaction? It's not unfamiliar to him. ]

You know about angels.

[ It's a statement. One he doesn't bother clarifying as he watches his hands fist at his sides. Does he mean to attack him? ]

[demonicmiracle]

'Course I know about angels. I was one.

[A long, long time ago.

In an ideal world, he would have been smarter about this, but he tends to get carried away with his anger, sometimes. And that's what he's feeling now, he's furious, because it's easier to deal with than fear, and because he knows that this is going to make Aziraphale clam up, pull away from him again.

It's not fair.]

[heraldingangel]

[ Surprise flickers across his face morphing into an open expression that carries none of his previous indifference. Taking a step forward, his hand lifts as if to reach for him before he stops, hesitant. The name of every angel was etched into his mind like the name of the prophets, but Crowley wasn't one of those names. If he still had his grace, even a small drop of it, he'd be able to know the truth in an instant, but he doesn't, and instead, he's left unsettled. He doesn't question the legitimacy of the claim, angels don't lie, but instead, questions why his name wasn't seared into his being like all his brothers and sisters. His guard lowers and his shoulders lose their rigidness as a quiet voice asks the only question swirling in his mind. ]

Brother?

[demonicmiracle]

[Crowley automatically steps back, hands up in a placating gesture, the look of someone who thinks they're about to be struck rather than embraced, because he thought it should be obvious what he meant by was.

But Castiel's actions don't remind him of Gabriel or Michael or even lesser angels he's occasionally crossed paths with, it's something else entirely. It leaves him confused, the fear and frustration draining away, leaving him floundering for a response. The only thing that seems to come is honesty.]

I'm Fallen.

[He rarely puts it that way, and the ache in his own voice surprises him. There's a reason he talks around it, makes jokes where he can't avoid it. Some wounds don't ever fully heal.]

I doubt you'd want to call me your brother.

[heraldingangel]

[ Fallen means something different to him. He rebelled against a corrupted Heaven and fell as a consequence. The Host cut him off from Heaven leaving his grace to drain away until it was a sputtering thing inside him. Despite this, he fought for humanity going against Heaven and Hell with only three souls at his side. ]

We're still brothers. I fell too, but God restored me.

[ Resurrected him. Twice. And stronger than ever. ]