17: [Action] Don't Fear the Reaper

[dashboardlite]

[ooc; This is just gonna be reserved for The Operator, Dean, and Castiel to write in. But if you enjoy disembowelment, feel free to read~]

There are a lot worse things that Dean Winchester could be doing with his time than hunting down something that he isn't completely, one-hundred percent knowledgeable about.

Vampires are easy.  Cut the head off.

Werewolves shot with a silver bullet.

Ghosts?  Salt and burn the remains.

But reapers...the last time Dean's seen a reaper, he was hanging in limbo, waiting to die in a hospital.  It wasn't so bad, then.  It had taken the form of a young woman named Tessa, startlingly pretty and unfailingly sympathetic to the mortality of humans.  Infinitely wise.  His first experience had been less pleasant.  Dean's first real brush with death was a little over a year ago: heart attack thanks to a fuck-up with a 10,000 Volt stun-gun trying to kill something on the job, and he landed an all-expenses-paid trip to the Great Beyond.  Prognosis wasn't good: Six weeks, at best.  But a local faith healer had cured him, at the price of someone else's life.  Someone controlled a reaper.

Someone was playing God.

In those last moments of consciousness when Faith Healer Roy Le Grange had laid hands upon him, Dean saw a tall, pale man in a dark suit.

The Operator obviously isn't going to play nice.  Dean can't reason with it, like he did with Tessa.  There's the chance that it could be controlled by someone, the way Le Grange's reaper was, but everyone in this godforsaken place is scared of the damn thing, so that's outta the cards.  Maybe it just went rogue.

"Aaaaand I don't even know how the Hell I'm s'posed to kill it," Dean mutters to himself, snapping his father's journal shut and tucking it into his duffel bag.  He's armed with a decent amount of weapons, ranging from salt-rounded shotguns to silver knives - because you can't take any chances with Death - and an angel.

Dean takes a deep breath, staring up at the forbidding woods with a tight frown on his face.

"You ready, Cas?"

Comments

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

Cas stays put, in the weak winter sunshine between the mansion and the trees. He barely notices Dean's question, focusing on his mutter instead. He's an angel; he has really good hearing, okay? And can usually 'hear' Dean from anywhere on this plane, anyway.

"You do not know how to kill it?" That's usually a fairly important detail to know about something you're hunting. Or so he assumes; he has little actual experience to go on.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Oh, brilliant. Just what he needs. A smart-ass angel in the middle of a crisis. Dean inhales slowly, and lets it all out in a quiet sigh.

"Of course I don't know how to kill it, Cas," He turns, looking over one shoulder at the angel. "It's a friggin' reaper - I've never tried to gank one of Death's employees before." The hunter shoves his Desert Eagle into the back of his jeans, hefting a sawed-off shotgun over one shoulder and taking another steady, measured breath.

"We'll just hit it with everything we've got, and see what sticks. Can't be that hard." As Dean leads the way into the thick of the trees determinedly, he hopes to the God he never prays to that he's right.

Particularly when he doesn't even know where they're supposed to be going.

Dean tries not to let it show how nervous he is about going up against something this powerful that he knows so little about.

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

"If it is indeed a reaper, it should not be behaving as it is." If they're going to be stating the obvious, Cas may as well join in.

If Dean has no idea what he's doing, and Cas can't stop him (doesn't really want to, if he admits it to himself; he's been feeling aimless and bored here, and a hunt at least presents danger and the possibility of accomplishing good), the least he can do is tag along and attempt to prevent him from being too rash.

He sighs, then appears to shrug a bit. A long silvery blade appears in one hand, almost as if he's been keeping it inside his sleeve. He strides toward the trees, passing Dean and waiting for him to catch up.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

"You'd know, wouldn't you?" Dean rolls his eyes, watching Cas stride past him wielding a - What the fuck is that, anyway? Some long...shiny, silver thing. It looks kind of like an oversized pig-sticker.

Fighting back the sudden rumble in his stomach - He hasn't had anything to eat today except a bagel and a cup of coffee - Dean forces a steady walking pace alongside Cas as they make their way into the thick of the woods.

Ten minutes in he's made sure they're at least heading in one particular cardinal direction, stalking past heavier wooded areas and losing the original trail. It just sort of...petered off into nothingness.

"You hear that?"

Dean murmurs, stopping short and lifting the gun from his shoulder. It's completely quiet.

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

Cas wonders if Dean actually knows where they're going. They've long since left behind what paths there were to see, and are pushing though undergrowth that keeps catching on his coat. He uses his blade to ease the way, and brambles fall away from it like they're made of little more than air.

He stops at the question and listens. Silence. He levels a flat gaze at Dean. "Hear what?"

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Dean has no freaking clue where they're going. He's waiting to see if the goddamn Operator will just show up, or if he has to wait until nightfall (not a comforting feeling), or if he has to procure some kind of Reaper Kibble as a chum to get the bastard to come close.

Dean returns the sharp stare. "Nothing," He replies. "There's nothing. No crickets, no birds. It's too damn quiet." The hunter idly wonders if he should set up some sort of base camp, but there aren't even any- Oh.

A clearing.

Convenient, He muses, walking the next ten yards or so to the empty space between the trees. It's roughly round-ish, with scruffy grass, and measures about fifty feet in diameter.

Dean walks into the middle of it and sets down his duffel, crouching and rummaging through it. "Let's set up a perimeter," Dean remarks over one shoulder. "If we're lucky, it'll come to us."

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

Cas isn't sure how this thing coming to them will constitute luck, but he's not as experienced in hunting, so he complies. Dean is right about the quiet: it is too complete, too unnatural. Not that this place should be expected to adhere to rules of the real world, but still. He can admit it's unnerving.

He walks over to where Dean is rummaging in the duffel. "What would you have me do?" His eyes and other senses scan the woods around them as he waits for Dean's instructions.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

"Dunno, what can your angel mojo do?" Dean lifts his head, looking up at Castiel skeptically. He's still uncomfortable with the whole "God" thing, and he's not sure if he'll ever be okay with it, but for now he has Cas, and might as well figure out what the angel can do.

"This thing doesn't have any weaknesses we know of, so we might wanna assess what we got."

Dean promises himself that he won't start thinking of Cas as a tool; a means to justify an end. He's still a person. Or...whatever. Dean isn't so far gone up shit creek without a paddle that he can't see that.

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

"In this place? I do not know. I can watch and listen, and can sense things beyond your perception. But since we don't know how to fight it, I can merely hope my blade will be effective. It is able to kill angels, which no other thing can do."

He can also transport himself - and Dean, if he has time to mentally prepare, as it is more difficult with two - but that is less helpful in combat.

"What have you brought?"

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Okay, cool point number one: The angel-knife could come in handy. Not that Dean knows what it's fully-capable of, but if it can kill a damn angel, he's sure it could do some damage to a reaper.

"Uh. Guns."

Dean answers anti-climactically, rubbing the back of his neck. He takes another awkward moment before shoving one hand in the duffel bag and pulling out his portable-arsenal. "And stakes...bag of rock-salt, bottle of holy water, silver and iron bullets. Can't take any chances."

Not like this whole thing isn't one big stupid chance.

Dean laughs suddenly, warm and almost-out-of-place in the middle of the woods, and pulls out a bag of peanut M&Ms.

"And provisions."

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

Dean's list sounds fairly comprehensive; he didn't mention any blades, but Cas has his own, so he doesn't mention the omission. Besides, Sam is the one who seems to prefer knives, while Dean likes weapons of the projectile sort. Cas doesn't mention that either, suspecting Dean misses his brother more than he talks about.

When Dean laughs, Castiel's attention is drawn to the bag he holds. "Provisions?" Cas asks, head tilting. He doesn't recognize whatever sort of food this is.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

In all honesty, it's probably for the best that Castiel doesn't mention Sam. Dean tends to stay quiet on the subject, but it's getting harder for him to function without his brother - one of the main reasons he went on this possible-suicide mission is to use it as a distraction from his teeming thoughts.

"Peanut M&Ms, man," Dean chuckles, ripping the top off the bag and popping a few in his mouth, chewing noisily. He holds it out to Cas, speaking around his mouthful. "Try 'em."

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

Cas reaches in the bag and pulls out a handful of the candies. He looks at them in his hand for a moment, not eating any yet.

"Do the different colors signify different flavors?" he asks, expression perplexed. Without waiting for a reply, he eats one, sucking on it for a moment, before biting through the chocolate to the nut inside and crunching on it. His expression turns to pleased, and he eats another, a different color to test his question. Hmm, no different. Still good, though.

The rest of the handful disappears in the course of a couple minutes, and when he is finished, Castiel's palm is speckled with sticky spots of color. He looks at it for a moment, frowning a little, then licks the sweetness off, tongue stained with color as well, taking his time to make sure he's gotten all of it.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Introducing Castiel to new things has to be one of Dean's favorite past-times now. Admittedly, sometimes, talking to the angel is like communicating with a particularly frustrating toddler, but he eases up and adapts. Cas is a startlingly quick learner. And seeing the delighted expression on his face as he bites into his first M&M is like when Dean persuaded the Medicine Seller to try pie.

So worth it.

Except...for the part where he's licking his palm. Like a cat. Meticulously. There can't be that much sugar left, Cas, His mind whines in desperation. Dean isn't supposed to be watching this. This shouldn't be interesting. He's supposed to be arming himself with guns to gank a rogue reaper.

Clearing his throat loudly and turning back to his duffel, the hunter pulls out another firearm - his usual Desert Eagle - and tucks it into the back of his pants before withdrawing a bag of salt. He occupies himself by leaving a large circle of the stuff around them, then crumples the empty packaging and shoves it back where it came from.

...Dean thinks he's better now.

Finally turning back to Cas (the angel's lower lip is stained a little blue, he notices, from an M&M), Dean strains a smile and offers him the rest of the candy bag.

"Last meal?"

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

"I hope not," Cas answers gravely. "I do not think these contain everything required for proper nutrition of a body." His comment doesn't hold enough weight to stop him from taking the offered bag though, setting himself to the task of finishing it. Very serious business. "Though they are... flavorful."

When he's finished, he adds the empty bag to the crumpled salt package in the duffel, brushes his hands together, and sets himself to watch the woods again. He lets his senses extend into the space around them, looking and listening and feeling. With the exception of where he can sense Dean's warmth and life near him (if the low off-key humming wasn't enough to give him away on its own), everything is still and quiet, no presences beyond their own.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Ever the effective, logical buzzkill, Castiel shuts down his 'last meal' suggestion and Dean snorts in response, "Thank you, Mr. Spock." The hunter rolls his eyes, crouching and resting his elbows on his knees as he waits in the silence. Idly, he fingers the amulet around his neck.

As time drags on, and he switches positions from crouching, to standing, to sitting, to standing again, Dean feels the nauseating sense of paranoia creep into the back of his mind like a sponge slowly soaking up water.

"...Cas?" Dean murmurs quietly, suddenly, twisting to look around behind him. It's past midday now, and shadows are growing longer. It's darker in the woods, and he can't shake his unease.

"I feel like something is watching us."

[seesyou.livejournal.com]

If you feel that, it is for a reason. Perhaps it was some perverse impulse that led the Operator to hunt his hunter only in his own good time, or perhaps there's no significance to it at all. Still, there he is, just on the edge of vision, still a ways off.

It might not even be him. It might not be anything at all. It's just a suggestion of darkness amongst the branches, a gleam of pale that could be faceless face or stripped birchwood.

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

Cas has never understood the human expression about having a 'sixth sense.' As an angel, he has many more than six senses, and none of them are informing him that there is anything out in the woods. He almost tells Dean as much.

But... somehow, he has no idea how, he just has a feeling, an itch at the edge of his awareness, and casts his gaze yet again in a full arc around their small clearing. At first his eyes skip over it, but then track back: a spot of deeper darkness, almost indistinct against the gloom at the very limit of sight. He swallows, not sure if he should say anything to Dean yet.

He looks over to Dean, to see if his expression indicates he's seen anything, but Dean is looking in a different direction entirely. When Cas looks back out to the trees, the spot is gone, or perhaps was never there. He shakes himself, adjusting and settling back into his surveillance.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Cas doesn't answer him.

Somehow, this bothers Dean more than it probably should.

After narrowing his eyes speculatively into the growing darkness, Dean clenches his jaw and starts to think that maybe this was a bad idea after all. It's getting late. The sun is far past its peak and, most of all - No one knows they're out here. He'd refused to tell any of the teenagers for safety's sake, and Dean's already lied to Mark about going into the woods in the first place.

They're alone.

Cut off.

Just where it wants us. He mentally groans, reaching slowly into his duffel bag and pulling out a flashlight. Dean's taken enough chances for one day, and getting caught off-guard isn't one of them, particularly at night. It ought to be another hour or so before the sun really starts setting, but until then he's going to stay prepared.

If only the back of Dean's neck would stop prickling like someone's walking back and forth over his damn grave. "I don't like this," He states quietly, but it sounds near-deafening; there is nothing else around. No birds, no crickets, no Rocky Raccoon clamoring through the underbrush. Just silence, and it makes the short hairs on his nape stand up.

"Not one friggin' bit."