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] 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. ]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 03:30 pm (UTC)I know that stuff tastes like crap, but it's all the closet would give me.
[Elbows on his knees, hands clasped, Dean watches Philip carefully, gauging his constitution. He's 90% sure that the man isn't really ready to go anywhere, let alone back to his room, which is probably just as awful - if not more so - than Dean's.
From any other perspective, someone might be happy to trade spaces and sit in the cozy Winchester household, but there's too much negative, oppressive energy in there for Dean's liking - as if the poltergeist was back. As if his mother was gone completely, despite the crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwich left on Dean's bedside table.
Only she would do that.]
...you know you almost died, man.
[Dean shakes himself out of his own all-too real memory, a slightly-strained, crooked smile tugging on his lips.]
Next time you wanna down a coupla bottles of whiskey, lemme know first. That way we can at least turn it into a game.
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 04:31 pm (UTC)[ Philip looks away, not wanting to dwell on the strong So what? sentiment that's currently attached to the idea of his own death.
It's hardly how he feels all the time, but that event was packing a bit more of a punch than he was prepared to handle.
For a while he just sits there silently yet again, occasionally taking a sip of tea and experimentally poking the holes in his memory to see if any information might fall out after all.
So... Dean found him down at the pool.
So. Dean was at the pool.
So... ]
Did you...
[ Philip forces himself to make eye contact. ]
Did you see it?
[ And no, he's not talking about the monster that may or may not be swimming rounds in the pool itself. Think more reflective surfaces... ]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 05:56 pm (UTC)See "it"? There was a helluva lot to see down at the pool, but Dean knows he isn't referring to the icicles or Frosty the Snowman.]
What, the sexy alien zombie in the mirror? Ten outta ten for presentation, Clarence, but I don't think you're gonna sweep the floor in the Talent Contest for the Miss America Pageant.
[Dean smiles understandingly at Philip, clapping him gently on the shoulder before lacing his fingers back together in his lap.]
Seen worse, Phil. Seen a lot worse.
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 06:40 pm (UTC)Alas, his opinion is not the one that matters when Clarence has finally had enough of Dean's wisecracking. ]
{ }
[ For a moment Philip frowns, confused. The expression soon turns into alarm and then into agony as
Making a pained noise he instinctively covers his ears with both hands while rocking back and forth.
Not a very effective strategy, especially not when the noise is only in your mind and telling yourself so does just about zero to make your hung over head feel any less like it's about to explode. ]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 07:02 pm (UTC)And Dean is funny. Well, he likes to think that he's funny, what with the never-ending flow pop-culture references that would put any trivia expert to absolute shame. Raised by television, that's Dean. It's also difficult to gauge the anger of one's opponent - or rather, the butt of the jokes - when they aren't visible.
So when Philip doubles over, teeth grit in pain, Dean suddenly realizes that he's been poking at a sleeping bear that can hear every word he says, and clearly doesn't like it.
Eyes widening in panic - because shit, he doesn't know what to do - Dean can't tell where the source of the agony is, and belatedly he recognizes that it must be originating in Philip's mind.]
Phil?! Where does it hu-? Fuck, just- [He growls, frustrated, and glares at the back of Phil's head, helpless to do anything.]
Okay, Clarence, I get it! I'll keep the comments to myself, just get your damn hands outta the poor guy, Jesus fuck!
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 08:42 pm (UTC)[ Very slowly .
Philip shudders, crosses his shivering arms tightly around his chest and looks down at the floor where he dropped his mug earlier
despite the narration forgetting to mention so explicitly.That hurts.
And it's not just about the violently throbbing pain in his head; the blow to his pride stings and right now he'd gladly trade one of his mansion lives if it meant that Dean had never found him in this state.
Philip's head remains lowered, unable to bring himself to make eye contact again or say anything else. ]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-10 10:30 pm (UTC)Something twists in his gut as Phil curls in on himself, protecting himself, and Dean suffers from sudden deja vu when he realizes that that was him, several hours ago. Sitting in the corner, furious at himself for letting something get to him, for being vulnerable. Phil has it worse, because he's got someone else in his head, and Dean sort of wishes that he could say he feels the same.
But he can't. Because he doesn't.
Not anymore, at least.]
Hey.
[He says quietly, reaching out to rest a hand on Philip's shoulder and giving a careful, reassuring squeeze. Dean stays quiet (for once), just offering the slightest physical tether to the ground for Phil should he choose to take it.
It's scary, being alone.]
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-11 01:17 am (UTC)I should...
[ Philip doesn't actually know what he should do now. His muscles are still aching, his head is still pounding (like mad) and he's still so tired of everything.
He finally looks up at Dean again. ]
I should... probably go and... lie down for a bit in a room somewhere.
[ACTION]
Date: 2011-03-11 05:35 am (UTC)a disturbance in the ForcePhil's tension and not wanting to make it any worse. The poor bastard's had a rough day, and it's not even mid-afternoon.]Yeah.
[He agrees awkwardly, clearing his throat.]
Yeah, you should probably get some real rest on a friggin' bed. Stay, uh- Stay safe, though. Okay?
[A little encouraging smile.]
No more suicide missions to Antarctica.
[ACTION]
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