21: [Video/Action] Dark Side of the Moon
Mar. 7th, 2011 09:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dashboardliteSam?!
[It's playing on a loop in Dean's head.]
Mom? Mom! Dad?! C'mon, this isn't funny!
[The...the Dean in the television had been screaming. For an hour.]
Bobby? Dad! You guys, please! Don't just...don't just leave me here.
[Until his voice was raw. Until he couldn't scream anymore. Until he curled up and sobbed. Dean can remember it distinctly enough. Something that was him. But not him. Alone in a room. It was dark, and quiet. And no one was answering. No one was there. Not even-]
Cas?!
[Dean sucks in a shaky breath, settled in the corner of his childhood room in his old house. The entire kitschy motel room looks like his house, down to the gash in the paintjob from when Dean ran his Hot Wheels cars into the wall, repeating some movie stunt he'd seen on tv when he was four. Cradling a small statue of an angel - one of the only things he found in the room that was completely unscathed, and a gift from his mother - Dean sends a terrified, sidelong glance at a family portrait, framed and hung on the wall.
Hairline fractures have snaked through the infrastructure of the bedroom, the window panes split and spider-webbed, the photographs of everyone close to him torn. His mother is ripped from every single one. Sammy has slashes through his face; white scrapes made with an Exacto knife in anger. And Dean isn't even next to his father in any of them.]
Someone... [He croaks, looking down at the statue of the angel in his hands. Dean can't remember when he first noticed it was in his room, on his shelf, but he definitely remembers that his father thought it was sort of silly. His mother believed otherwise.]
It's okay, baby, it's all okay. Angels are watching over you.
[Dean swallows before trying again.]
...anyone?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-08 12:00 pm (UTC)[ Being forced to move brings a little of his awareness back; enough to mechanically start taking steps without leaning on Dean too much (grudgingly; every single movement is a chore), but not so much that he instantly catches on to what Dean is talking about.
Philip lifts his head slowly and stares at his reflection. ]
Ohth- that'suhh...
[ Wry smile. The fun drunk part of this is very much over and we're back on the main reason why Philip even started getting wasted to begin with.
A 'shows what you really are inside' event is a bitch when it's being so literal. ]
Dean, meet Clarence.
[ Philip attempts a sweeping gesture, but it barely comes out more than a weak raise of his arm.
A low and slightly desperate chuckle. ]
Told you to go away...
[ Because surprisingly enough that's not something he wanted Dean (or anyone else) to see. ]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-08 03:48 pm (UTC)[He frowns at the frozen door, shuddering as another chill runs through him, and casts his gaze around for something to prop Philip on. That snowdrift there should do nicely. Lugging Phil to one side, Dean sets him down gently and makes sure he's mostly stable before clapping his hands together and trudging over to the nearest towel rack.
They're frozen solid.]
Y'know, Clarence, [Dean states conversationally, teeth chattering.] They're doin' all sortsa great things with plastic surgery these days. You should - fuck, this is cold - look into it.
[He would have picked up a lounge chair and used to it to break down the door, but the ice has long since crept over the feet, riveting them to the floor. Dean settles for bracing one foot against the tiled wall and forcibly yanking on one of the racks. It's not a crowbar, but it'll do. Glancing over one shoulder as he yanks again and the metal slowly starts creaking, giving way, Dean tries to keep Philip occupied.
And conscious.]
You still with me, Phil?
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-08 04:27 pm (UTC){ }
[ And that rebuttal goes sadly unheard, at least by Dean.
Meanwhile Phil slips back into standby mode, vaguely realising that he's been given a cue to respond, but failing to translate the general idea of 'nod and say yes' into actions. ]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-08 06:23 pm (UTC)Fuck's sake, no one is dying on my watch.
[Gritting his teeth, muscles straining, Dean wrenches the heavy bar from the wall, sending chunks of ice, tile and plaster scattering around him. Dean stumbles back over a snow-covered lounge chair and feels his elbows scrape ice, tearing the skin. Hissing, he sucks in a sharp breath and haphazardly gets to his feet - biker boots really have no traction - quivering and wielding the piece of twisted metal like a baseball bat. With the little path of snow in front of him, Dean takes a few hurried steps forward to get some momentum and slams the bar into the glass.
It cracks.
Huffing and breathing heavily enough that the clouds of exhalation are substantially bigger than they ought to be, Dean takes a second to assess his body temperature. Fingers? Starting to numb. Forearms? Freezing. Lips? Probably blue. Elbows-?]
...shit.
[He groans shakily, watching heavy drops of red spot the white snow beneath his feet.]
Come on, you sonuvabitch!
[He throws another heavy-handed hit at the door, and the glass spiderwebs further. Dying by being torn apart sucks, yeah. But at least that was quick. Freezing to death? Re-enacting The Shining is so not on his to-do list.]
Clarence- [Another hit. It's really starting to crack.] -If you got any sense of self-preservation... [Yet another heavy crunch.] -you'll keep 'im alive, or- Ah, shit.
[Great, now his hands are bleeding.]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-08 07:23 pm (UTC)'mstillfine.
[ Did he say that one out loud now? It's becoming a little hard to tell. ]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-08 08:36 pm (UTC)Nonetheless, they're still trapped unless he can smash this stupid fucking door.
No thanks to you, Clarence.
Dean appraises the bent metal in one fist skeptically, and clearly decides that he's not a fan. He tosses it over on the pool, where it skitters across the ice and something stirs beneath the surface. Eyes widening - he does not want to know what that is - Dean glances around frantically. His limbs feel heavy, but he moves to what looks like another pile of snow and wipes some of it off.]
...oh, Hell yes.
[Diving belt weights.
He has no idea how deep this pool is, or who would want to go scuba diving, but these babies are five or ten pounds each of solid lead. Hefting a ten-pounder in one hand and wetting his lips, Dean turns, takes aim, and throws.
The glass explodes into God-knows-how-many pieces. Dean scrambles to Phil's side, grabbing his coat by the collar and dragging him out through the metal frame of the door, back into the mansion hallway. Second floor, right? Hell, he doesn't know. Dean pulls Philip into one of the nearest common room areas and thanks Castiel's Father that there's a fire on the hearth.
Willing the room to stop spinning, he arranges Phil on the rug in front of the only source of heat and tries to remember what he had to do that one time Sammy got hypothermia when they were kids.
Yeah, sorry Phil, he's starting to take off all your wet clothes now.]
[ACTION] 1/2
Date: 2011-03-08 09:08 pm (UTC)He looks through the mirror and grins. ]
Way to go, flipside Dean!
[ Alas, flipside Dean will receive neither this commentary nor the heartfelt thumbs up for his effort, so we might as well return to the relevant part of the story... ]
[ACTION] 2/2
Date: 2011-03-08 09:08 pm (UTC)Despite alcohol-fueled temperature ignorance the true warmth of the common room is appreciated, at least in the moments before he starts to actually warm up, before his skin starts feeling like its being pierced with thousands and thousands of needles.
Eyes still closed from earlier resignation he frowns and tilts his head to the side, attempting to run his hand along the carpet as if this would somehow wipe off the pain.
The gesture is a lot slower and weaker than he'd like. ]
{ }
[ACTION] 1/2
Date: 2011-03-08 09:24 pm (UTC)Hard.
Let's call it tough love.]
[ACTION] 2/2
Date: 2011-03-08 09:25 pm (UTC)And really, Clarence, it was only the coat he was taking off. Let's be mature adults.
Tensing a little as he moves, Dean can feel his own muscles starting to cramp from all the sudden use. Slowly, very slowly, he gets up and makes his way over to the nearest magical wardrobe or whatever the Hell these things are, asking for blankets and some type of mildly warm tea.
Dean hates tea.
He does recall it helping to warm the body core, though, so tea it is. And Phil should like it, he's English. English people love tea.
Draping the blankets over Philip and leaning back on the nearest easy chair, Dean finally lets his own heart rate slow.] Lemme know when you want somethin' to drink that ain't booze. [He coughs, throat hoarse, and chuckles a little.]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-08 09:56 pm (UTC)[ Not!Booze? Honestly now. Apart from that it sounds like drinking would be all too much effort now, especially when Philip's been made comfortable like that.
The cold, unpleasant as its gradual dissolution may be (because now his skin is burning), is hardly the main issue for his sluggishness.
After the midnight transmission sleep was not on Philip's list of options. Booze however seemed like a perfectly sensible alternative. It's been a couple of hours since then to say the least and - freakishly high tolerance aside - at some point shutting down is just inevitable... ]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-08 10:14 pm (UTC)[Dean replies bluntly, folding his arms behind his head - or he tries to, before stopping and glancing at his elbows. They look like shit. Huffing a sigh, he nudges Philip with his foot.]
How ya feelin'? Don't make me check you every thirty minutes, man.
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-09 01:44 am (UTC)Well. He'll be fine in any case.
Probably.
If Dean wants Philip to drink that tea though then he'd better not rely on his participation. And if he wants an answer then he's going to have to try again (and possibly kick him harder, but the narration is reluctant to suggest such treatment of its dear protagonist), because at this point Philip is sort of slipping in and out of consciousness.
Right at this very moment he's out. ]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-09 02:40 pm (UTC)Dean casts a conflicted look over one shoulder to the common room door and considers his options. He could go back to his room. Part of him - a big part - wants to go back to his room and subject himself to the torment it provides. He knows he deserves it.
He knows it's right.
Not that Dean would admit to it, though, because it's not something he wants anyone else to be aware of: that he is, quite literally, shattered inside. That he's tried his best to keep his family together and no matter what he does, the glue won't hold. Quick fixes made with Ace bandages and liquor simply can't withstand the test of time, and the animosity between father and son on Sam's side is what breaks Dean's heart the most.
Family is supposed to be about protection, and love. Family is what you rely on when you have nothing left to fall back to.
Dean reaches out for the stupid tea anyway and drinks some of it, eyeing Phil's unconscious body. He sighs, fingers drumming against the ceramic, resting his head on the chair behind him.]
Man, we're just a couple of middle-aged weaklings, aren't we?
[He smiles wryly into the tea.]
...yeah.
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-09 10:40 pm (UTC)In any case, if Dean thought the pool was bad then trust this narration, he doesn't want to go and find Philip's room.
...Not that it seems all that necessary right now, since Philip seems perfectly fine where he is. Okay, so he said the same thing about the Greenlandish pool area, but this time there might be a more general truth to it.
...Not that he would be too happy about waking up in a random common room later, but that's a possibility he brought on himself. ]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-09 11:04 pm (UTC)The man's alive, he's just stupid for drinking in Alaska. Greenland. Whatever. Dean done dumber things, but Philip doesn't have to know about those occasions.
He suddenly wishes that he knew what affected the shadows. How to kill them. 'Cause salt rounds aren't gonna do it, as much as he'd like to get his arsenal back into shape. Light, maybe? Jesus. He doesn't want to leave an incapacitated friend in the lurch on the floor when he's not even sure if whatever things are prowling the halls can enter rooms.
But he doesn't want to risk it.]
Not after I saved your limey ass. [Dean grumbles, making a face as he finishes off the tea and checks his watch. He lightly nudges Philip again.]
Hey. Hey, Phil. What room are you in?
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-09 11:20 pm (UTC)And now he's also awake... ish.
He groans and turns his head squinting in an attempt to locate the source of that noise. ]
Wh... my... where'suhh I...
don'tknow
[ Well. That was helpful. ]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 12:00 am (UTC)[Dean huffs a sigh, wishing there was a chart somewhere so he could figure out where everyone lived. Too bad the closets provide non-specific things only. Dean moves forward, stopping at Philip's side and nudging him again.]
C'mon, man, we gotta get you back to your room. And I don't think you wanna go visit mine.
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 12:04 am (UTC)[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 12:10 am (UTC)[Hanging his head, Dean pulls himself up from the floor slowly and plods to the door, shutting it just in case anything feels like poking its ugly-ass head in. This time Dean throws himself inelegantly across a divan, yanking his blanket after him and sprawling across the cushions.]
Fine.
[Like he's going to be able to get to sleep now.]
When you wake up and your back hurts like a mother, [Dean mumbles, staring up at the ceiling.] Don't come cryin' t'me.
[So he waits.]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 12:36 am (UTC)After that Philip returns to the land of the living, if only partially and without much enthusiasm. He stretches and thinks he almost hears his body creaking, stiff muscles revolting against every movement.
When he sits up a jolt of pain in his back gives him the proper incentive to open his eyes fully, even though the light in the fireplace alone is enough to worsen his throbbing headache.
He slowly looks around the room, trying to recall how, when or why he got here or where exactly here even is.
...Oh. Hey. Well, at least there's a familiar face! ]
De--
[ He coughs violently, his throat dry like sandpaper. He swallows, though it does little to make his voice sound any less hoarse. ]
...Dean?
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 01:02 am (UTC)[Dean blinks quickly, startled into awareness from his catnap. Rubbing his eyes - he's pretty sure that's the most sleep he's gotten in a while, and he was only phasing in and out of consciousness - Dean sits upright and wrinkles his nose. Tossing the blanket to one side, he slings his legs over the edge of the divan and plants them on the floor, smiling crookedly.]
Oh look- [YAWN.] -Sleeping Beauty's awake. How's your hangover?
[Probably awful.]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 01:15 am (UTC)Hangover.
Hangover.
Hangover.
Philip violently throws the blanket aside and jumps to his feet in panic. He brushes something invisible off his clothes, then looks around.
...
...
...
All clear.
He tentatively lets go of his tense pose and allows himself a sigh of relief. ]
Thankgodnotthepinkdressagain.
[ He rubs his eyes with both palms, the pain of that all to quick stunt making itself known.
Philip sinks into a chair nearby and closes his eyes, waiting for the throbbing ache in his head and body to dull a little.
After a moment he looks at Dean. ]
What... what happened?
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 01:32 am (UTC)[Dean cracks his back and groans with satisfaction as several vertebrae audibly pop. Kicking aside one of the blankets as he shuffles over to the closet again, he chuckles lowly.]
Y'know, there's a really good cure for a hangover: It's a greasy pork sandwich served up on a dirty ashtray.
[Another cup of tea, thank you, O charitable closet. Dean sits on the chair across from Phil, handing him the mug and raising an eyebrow.]
You can thank me later.
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 02:20 pm (UTC)[ Philip mutters, essentially to himself.
After that he only stares ahead silently with a pitifully miserable look on his pale and clammy face.
At least the beginnings are coming back to him now and if he felt up for it he could correct Dean and inform him that he only started drinking after going down to the pool and that he only went down to the pool after his own room horrified him so much he had to leave in order not to start drinking instantly.
Well. Apparently that did not exactly work out in the end.
Philip accepts the mug mechanically and takes a sip, not getting around to the point where he asks what's being offered here.
At least it tastes like tea. Awful, awful tea which is nowhere near his favourite brand, but which at least does something against the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach while substituting for the saliva he doesn't have. ]
...Thanks.
[ He'd do it later, but he already has plans of crawling into a hole then. ]
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