Looking Back, Fundamental Romance |Rated E | Word Count 57,776
Author: Susu_st
Artist: Onowey
The ads in every corner of your vision, the ultra-processed food that doesn’t satiate, the attention spans fried by algorithms, the normalised violence—it’s called brain pollution. And to it, you are helpless.
Luckily, there’s a cure. And it comes in the form of a handy little pill.
OR emotionless!Cas AU
Link to fic | Link to art
Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester
The ads in every corner of your vision, the ultra-processed food that doesn’t satiate, the attention spans fried by algorithms, the normalised violence—it’s called brain pollution. To this, you are helpless.
Luckily, there’s a cure. And it comes in the form of a handy little pill.
*updated with new pinch hitter artist on 2/28
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
‘There is routine in each day. Those days build into weeks to months to years, until a satisfactory life reaches its neat and tidy end. The human peacefully ceases to exist, leaving society as a net-positive contributor.’
The people in front of Castiel read those lines in the pamphlet with pursed lips and wrinkled foreheads. He supposes they are not pleased with what they are reading. They likely have not considered the overall picture and find no regard for it now. Usually, these materials are received well after an initial dosage. They will appreciate it later, he is sure.
“The car,” the man says, lowering his hand so only his wife is still holding the introduction materials. “Guaranteed on day-two of entry, is it?”
Castiel nods to confirm, because that is all that is needed.
“Will the house be ready for us soon? Do we get to choose?”
Castiel finds it curious that they are asking him rather than consulting the materials in front of them. It has been a long while since he last spoke with humans still functioning along fundamental lines.
“This information is all within the folder I gave you. It is very detailed,” he reminds them, because he knows fundamental humans can be forgetful. “The apartment is ready now. It is from an assigned furnished block; they are all identical.” Then he further clarifies, because he knows they likely need simple answers. “No, you cannot choose.”
The couple look at each other. The wife sighs. “Okay. This is it, I guess. Where do we get our first kit?”
Castiel gives an unpractised smile. It is polite to do so. “Down the hall. An escort will meet you at the exit door.”
They do not smile back. There is not a small chance they dislike him. By tomorrow, they will be rather similar, and he makes note of the irony as a neutral brain exercise. He himself does not feel dislike, though he remembers it.
He reawakens the computer, checking if any appointments have been added. He is to occupy this desk regardless, as the Welcome Centre is organised to have a volunteer available during the full opening hours.
Volunteering is mandatory, done on a rotating enrolment basis to maintain fairness. Over the first months of this year, every Thursday, Castiel has been here. Today is his last day. He does not feel strongly about it one way or the other.
For the most part, Castiel does not welcome anyone. It is quite the rarity, with so many already within the city, those that remain outwith do so with intention.
Castiel checks his watch out of nothing more than curiosity for the time. He will remain here for hours more, as the Welcome Centre requires a volunteer at the desk, and it is Castiel’s turn to meet that purpose. He will rest his eyes as is a natural biological response to a lack of stimuli, but he will not find boredom, and it will be another perfectly fine day.
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