somebody tryin&#39; just to stay alive

Dean?

[She's freaking out at seeing him freaked out but it's hard to tell within the "haven't slept, running on coffee and research"]

Whatever that video said...don't let it under your skin.

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negative-five.livejournal.com

... a-are you okay?

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[Excuse him while he jerks a little suddenly, surprised by the sudden contact.]

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I-I...uh... [He clears his throat, straightening up. The talking helps. He hasn't spoken to anyone since he first saw it. Dean laughs somewhat hoarsely.]

...That...s'a little late for that.

Edited Date: 2011-03-07 05:53 pm (UTC)

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[Hearing people helps.

A lot.]

I've...been better.

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negative-five.livejournal.com

Is there anything I can do?

I mean... since it seems like we're all going through kind of the same thing.

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[Spencer frowns a little]

I know. Whatever it is...it knows where the cracks are. But that doesn't mean it's won. Doesn't even mean it's right. Not entirely, anyway.

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Keep talking.

[Rachel's good at talking, right? Right.

Dean sighs, rubbing his face.]

...I'm sorry, I don't even know you. What's your name?

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Pretty sure this one's right on the money. [A bitter laugh.] Somethin' get to you, too?

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[ Someone? Anyone? Well, how about this guy here?

He's currently lying in a lounge chair at the pool on the second floor. Which wouldn't be so unusual if he wasn't wearing a thick winter jacket on account of the entire room being covered in ice and snow.

The image sways along with the communicator in his hand. ]

Wow, you l--

[ He laughs and puts the device down on a little table beside him. ]

You look like shit, Dean.

[ ...Did we also mention that he's completely wasted? ]

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[Shifty glance away] Maybe. My room's gone all weird too, but I'm not sure whether I did some of that.

[Yes, because that's the important part. The room.]

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Thanks.

[Dean manages weakly, feeling his neck starting to cramp. He's been hunched over for God-knows-how-long, unwilling to venture into the rest of his 'house' should he find something too familiar for personal comfort. He clears his throat a little.]

And you're drunk. Are we done stating the obvious?

[It's not snarky or sarcastic, just...tired. And scared. Terror is an unusual expression on Dean Winchester.]

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I know I sure as Hell didn't do this.

[He gestures to everything around him. It looks like a five year old's room. And it is, technically. Not quite as nostalgic as he would have hoped, though.]

Did you...thing...say weird shit? About you? And others...?

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Why would yousss-- saythat? I'm--

[ He leans down, fishing for a glass and a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's. There's an all-empty bottle standing on the table too. Oh yeah, he's been at this for a while and mind you, the things such a virus does to your tolerance level are quite amazing.

Philip pours himself a generous amount. ]

I'm barely sober at all! [ He blinks. ]

...perfectly drunk, I mean.

[ Pauses. Catches the second error. Giggles and falls back into the chair. ]

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Not so much about others. [Except the parts where she was told she'd always be second best]

But yeah, it said some stuff.

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[Dean gives him an almost incredulous look. At the very least, this is distracting him from his surroundings. He's never seen Philip like this before. Hell, he's never seen Phil smile this much before.

Making a mental note to go drinking with Phil the next time there's not an event fucking with him, Dean runkles his brow speculatively.]

Dude, you're trashed.

[What the fuck is with all that snow?]

...and why are you in like...Antarctica?

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And you're not gonna tell me that didn't fuck with you, because I know it did.

[Dean flails his arm to one side desperately.]

This? All this? This is my house. This is where my mom died. This is where everything bad that happened to my family started. And I can't leave.

[He's only slightly panicked, really.]

Edited Date: 2011-03-07 06:39 pm (UTC)

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It's nothing. I'm fine. And I'll be even better once I figure this out.

[Of course, this would require Spencer's definition of "fine" to include zero sleep, caffienated up to the eyeballs with writing all over her walls and being no further forward than she was several hours ago. But she's still clinging to the fact that if she doesn't say it, it doesn't count]

Wait, what do you mean you can't leave? I thought it was only the rooms going crazy. If you go elsewhere, it should leave you alone.

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[All right, so maybe it's a little more psychological than that.]

My- [He ducks his head for a moment before lifting it again.] ...my room is like a replica of my house. My...my brother's room...I have to walk right by it...s'where it happened...

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They've got--

[ Philip raises his hand. Some of the icicles on the ceiling are ridiculously long and Philip breaks off one of their tips to drop it into his glass. ]

Free ice cubes and all and- and- and anyway, it's--

Greenland, home of the mostsss- scenic artic lands- landscape and the most pesky virus on the whole- the whole planet.

{ }

Of course I bloody well mean it!

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Wait, so your entire house is in your room?

[It sounds like she's deflecting. She's just trying to be practical]

Look, I get that it's hard and I get that you don't want to pass your brother's room for whatever reason. But Dean, being there clearly isn't good for you. And the longer you stay there, the harder it's going to get to escape whatever it is that wants us all like this.

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[This is doing a rather effective job of keeping Dean from thinking about the fact that a replica of his little brother's charred room is right outside his doorway, but that doesn't make it any less weird.]

Greenland. Right. [Well, that would make sense. Not that he'd be able to tell the difference between Greenland and Alaska - they all look the same, anyway. Assuming that Philip is either talking to someone Dean can't see, or rather- Well. He's probably talking to Clarence. Three guesses says it's the alien virus that produces such unsavory, bitter declamations.]

...how's our, uh. Our old buddy Clarence doin'?

[On other words: is he driving you to drink, or are you doing that all on your own?]

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[ Oh, you know, a little bit of column A, a little bit of column B. ]

He's uhhh, he's good.

[ Philip raises his glass and chucks down the lot of it in one gulp, then slams the glass onto the table. ]

Fine. Great, never- never been better, right?

{ }

[ Philip laughs, almost hysterically. ]

Right!

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[...okay, now Phil is worrying him. If Dean's thing - it wasn't Dean, it wasn't him - has the ability to turn a cheesy motel room into a fully-blown house and screw around with his already slightly off-kilter brain, then he can only imagine what it had done to drive Phil to drinking so...irresponsibly.

Pot calling the kettle black, shut up.

Sitting upright and clambering over to his communicator, stupid angel statue still in hand - Dean grabs the thing and pulls it closer, concern clouding his features. Now that he really thinks about it, the laughing is what bothers him. Phil is allowed to laugh, sure, but not like The Joker on nitrous oxide.]

Hey.

[He can't possibly comprehend what it's like having another set of thoughts in his brain, but since a stupid television program can mess with Dean's head and reduce him to this, it doesn't bode well for Professor Physics over there.]

...what'd your Sunday Night Special say to you?

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