If you were faced with Him in all His glory

What would you ask if you had just one question?

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IC contact: Sirenspull
- your calls are bad news
Uh, hi! This is Ca- I mean Chuck Shurley, just- Chuck, sorry. [Indistinct fumbling noises] Leave a message after the beep and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks?

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[There's a clinking noise over the PCD first when the feed opens, and if you're listening carefully through the house, Chuck, you might even hear it coming from the other room. Then, Castiel's voice comes over the feed, tired but curious.]

Why does one of the bottles in the cabinet have writing in marker across the label?

Cas, that's Everclear!

[WHEELCHAIRING OVER TO YOU. Fuck the police crutches hurt his ribs.] What are you doing in there?

[He wings his open NV onto the table and nears the liquor cabinet, looking up at Cas with a "y u do dis" face.]

[He glances over at Chuck's approach, not entirely sure what that face is for.]

Looking for something to drink.

[Obviously, Chuck.]


Are you still on the meds?


[He's been behaving.]


You can't mix booze and painkillers, man. [Wheeling forward to gently take the bottle from Castiel's hand.] It's dangerous.

Edited at 2011-09-09 04:00 am (UTC)

[He allows Chuck to take the bottle, leaning back against the counter and putting his hands on the edge of it for support while he looks down at the prophet.]

You do so.


Your liver doesn't have training, okay?

[Putting this bottle away now and touching Cas' arm lightly. So concernicus.]

[Pause. Not sure he's buying this.]

Is that really the factor?

[And he pulls his arm away moodily when Chuck touches it, drifting suddenly toward another cabinet, this time in search of something to eat if he's not allowed to have alcohol.]

Kinda. I know how to drink without overdoing it, and I have a higher tolerance than you.

[He's just going to... wheel over here. And wheel backwards and forwards and quietly dick around to work off jangled nerves.]

Sorry, man. That just means you need more practice when you get off the pills.

[He just lets that go, glad that Chuck doesn't have anything in particularly high cabinets so he doesn't have to reach too much to find something edible. Pulling down a box of ritz crackers containing one roll that's half eaten and totally stale and one that's unopened, and he begins opening the sealed one.]

Can I simply stop them?

[Though the pain medication makes the injury much less bothersome, the alcohol would have the same effect and he can deal with it anyway.]

No. [Leaning back over his wheelchair at Cas.] Can you get me a fudgesicle from the freezer?

Why not?

[But he does as he's asked, going to the freezer and handing Chuck a fudgesicle before starting on his crackers.]

Because I said so.

[He takes it and immediately spins the wheelchair around once.]

Thanks, man.

But seriously- you don't have to be on them all the time, but you can't drink when they're kicked in.

[He nods slightly at the thanks.]

Your statements are contradictory.

[If he doesn't have to be on them all the time then why can't he just stop?]

Life is contradictory.

Don't plow through my booze as your pain medication. It's not exactly healthy.

I'm not using it as such.

[The pain's manageable on the medication. He just wants the other effects from the alcohol.]

Mixing substances is really risky.

If you need more pain relief, just up how much you're taking. [Licking the popsicle mildly.]

[He's quiet a moment before actually sharing something.]

The medication is making me nauseous.

[Hence the crackers. And after resting so much the past few days, he can't sleep anymore, so there's another reason, and he really wants the more mind-numbing effects of the alcohol that the pain meds aren't giving him.]

[ 8( Caaaas.]



Cut down your dose by half a pill and next time you take them, you can have a little to drink?

[Well. Guess who's at the end of their dosage and set to take the next in about fifteen minutes anyway? Good timing.]

How much?

[He's drifting back toward the liquor cabinet now.]

[Wheeeeeling up to cut you off there, Barney.]

I'll make it. What do you want?

[And there's a flash of temper at that, before he can suppress it.]

I'm capable of doing it.

[He sighs and pinches his nose.]

Cas. You've helped me in and out of my wheelchair about, what, eighty times now? I just... come on, I know you can, but.

[He almost looks like he's going to be stubborn about it, but the flare or attitude disappears as fast as it came. He backs off and leans against the counter once more, answering the initial question.]

It doesn't matter.

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