24: [Video] Traveling Riverside Blues

[dashboardlite]

[At first, Dean had thought that the dream he had a couple nights before was just weird.  Clockwork dolls, inky-black demon eyes - it was bad mojo.  Things are changing around him, and for the most part it doesn't bother him too much.  He expects it, now, because this mansion is screwed to Hell and back and there's very little that surprises Dean anymore.

Except for when he takes a walk outside, and his tranquility is promptly ruptured by the sight of his car.  Sure, he's been dwelling on the lack of transportation recently, but still.

His car.

An excited video message from a Dean Winchester that hasn't genuinely smiled in months is being broadcasted, and he'd love to share his obsession one true love beautiful lady with all of you.]

Dude.  Dude.  My- guys, I can't even...seriously, it's just- it's my baby.  She's here, and she's beautiful, and she's so goddamn perfect.  You all gotta come down and see her.

[He suddenly wonders if he can project miles of endless highway if he thinks about it hard enough.  It's worth a shot.

Dean is so ecstatic that he doesn't even know who he's advertising this information to.]

Comments

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

The uniform is missing, [ Philip states, matter-of-factly. ]

But it's a good fit.

[ He smiles lopsidedly. ]

Works better than me with a gun and a jetpack at any rate.

[ Oh, but what grand dreams they were... ]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Jesus, that jetpack.

[He starts laughing.]

I know they say a spy's only as good as his gadgets, but Bond? Man, he was so much cooler when he just used his hands.

[His chuckles die down a little, and Dean groans, scratching the back of his neck. He hasn't sat down and seen a movie since Christmas.]

We should watch one of those sometime. But it's gotta be Sean Connery, 'cause if I have to sit through Roger Moore I'll kill myself.

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

Hey, Roger Moore has his good points. [ Wait for it. ] He is not Timothy Dalton, for example.

[ RIMSHO-- never mind. ]

...But, uh, yeah. That'd be great. Actually, come to think of it... you could help me catch up on movies after '01.

1/2

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

He's not George Lazenby, either.

[Thank God for that.]

2/2

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

New Bond came out, we can watch that. Man, you're really behind. There were a ton of apocalypse movies.

[Why is that so funny? It just is. The surroundings - the small town - waver and peel away, and they're left leaning against his car in front of the mansion.

His smile fades with the rest of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Dean isn't sad, just sobered.]

...do me a favor, will ya?

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ Philip's smile turns a little crooked. Apocalypse movies are not on his list of favourite genres, though he supposes he might as well give them another try.

He tilts his head curiously at the impending request. ]

Um... sure, what-- What is it?

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Dean isn't really sure how to word this, and there are multiple reasons behind his ambivalence. Reason number one being that he's actually really bad about talking with other people, and he's sort of happy that he can consistently find things to talk about with Philip.

Sam is another reason. The Sam that's wrong. To others, it might seem as though Dean has adapted to Sam's absence, but something inside him always grated, like a broken arm that hadn't healed right. Dean is practically intent on drowning his brother in the very silence that keeps rising around him like a wall.

Having someone that remains a constant is...nice. It's grounding. Dean twists the ring on his right hand, thinking.]

...Remind me to tell you about my dad sometime.

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

About your...

[ Huh. Philip eases up. He thought this might turn into another joke at his expense at best, possibly something terribly gloomy or even worse, a request he doesn't think himself capable of fulfilling.

But this is... harmless on first and a little odd on second thought. Nothing to ease up about the longer Philip thinks about it, so-- ]

Sure, I'll-- I'll do that.

[ So he will give his agreement now and worry about the implications later. ]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[For someone like Dean, departing the world and being forgotten completely is commonplace. He's expecting it when he gets back to his own universe and bites the dust, but what about here? What about Wonderland? When people disappear it's noticed, and Dean would much rather go out with a bang than with a fizzle.

Or at least trust someone enough to actually tell them about himself.

Despite his utter seriousness, Dean quirks another vague smile and claps Philip on the shoulder.]

Sweet.

[A beat.]

Sold your statue-thing. We got car parts and a frame in our workshop.

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

Great!

...To bad this [ Nod at the scenic dreamscape. ] isn't going to last. We could image an actual garage.

{ }

[ Philip cringes a little. On second thought, that casual wish really doesn't hold too much water in reality. ]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Yeah, I wish.

[Not really. No, he doesn't wish. That was worded wrong. Wishes are dangerous. The last time his wish was fulfilled, it was all inside his head and he'd been hanging from his wrists in a warehouse, having the blood drained out of him slowly by a hungry djinn. Puts a whole new spin on be careful what you wish for.

Exhaling sharply, Dean turns to press his palms flat against the hood of the Impala. The metal is still warm with the residual heat of the engine after a drive, black paint glossy in the fading light. He can see his warped reflection - and Philip's - in her curves, and spends another moment just looking at her before stepping away.

The Impala frays at her edges and pulls apart before dissipating into nothingness. Mooning over his car with a cheap imitation is no way to carry on. She'll be safe where she is until he gets back.]

...oh, hey.

[Digging around in his pocket, Dean comes up with a small key and tosses it to Philip.]

S'the second key to the workshop. Don't lose that sucker, I had to sell an arm and a leg for the best lock from the vendors.

[This would probably be funnier if he wasn't still missing an eye and a finger.]

1/2

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ Philip catches the key. And the joke which easily turns into an unpleasant reminder.

He looks at Dean, wondering to himself if he couldn't just wish his eye back, if there's a chance that it might stick around after the event, if maybe Wonderland would cout them a break and overlook the change.

...And if it didn't, if Dean would terribly mind a break from piratehood, just so Philip could look at him for a while without feeling his guilt nagging at him deep, deep down, somewhere not even his friend's reassurance could possibly reach.

He breaks the stare and looks away, realising that it's gone on for just a moment too long. Taking a deep breath he attempts the segue into a casual answer... ]

I'll take care of it.

{ }

2/2

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[...And then quickly moves on to a topic far, far away from his thoughts. ]

...So where to next? Unless you just want to go back inside and imagine a pool table.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[If the narration is going to be totally honest, Dean didn't even think about replacing his eye during this event. This isn't to say that he's gotten used to the loss, because he hasn't, but he's come to accept the fact that he won't get it back until he dies, and anything else would be a pale replacement.

Dean would also reassure his friend for the millionth time that he's really okay, dude, and you need to stop feeling so friggin' guilty, but that would fall upon deaf ears and he knows it.

The subject change is a welcome one, though.

Dean stretches, cracks his knuckles and smirks all at the same time, like a champion multi-tasker.]

I'll whoop your ass at pool.

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ Deaf ears? Oh, on the contrary. If it wasn't for Dean's reassurance Philip would still be spending his days alone in his room. And that would be the best case scenario.

It's largely thanks to Dean that Philip can even cope. But that doesn't mean he can forget, doesn't mean he can stop himself from having nightmares, from tasting eye on his tongue ever so often when he tries to eat. And it doesn't mean he can look at that eyepatch without remembering, sometimes all too vividly.

...But he can push the memories down with grim determination, hoping that one day they'll be gone, that they'll give up before he does.

Philip mimics Dean's stretch and raises his eyebrows, imagining the two of them back in front of the mansion. ]

We'll see about that.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[In front of the house? Child's play. No, my friend, we are now in Diamonds Droog's awesome-as-fuck billiards room (http://www.manosconstruction.com/images/poolRoom.jpg) on the tenth floor. The classy carapace man really outdid himself with the low lighting and perfectly balanced table. Dean is much more at home in places that look a little worn, and he's played a few times in here with Droog. They're on fairly even footing.

He learned to be wary of challenging someone to a game of pool when that someone uses a cue to beat up his enemies.]

Ready to lose?

[Dean's already got a cue in hand, chalking the end.]

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ Philip's already grabbed a cue, but until now he was still busy admiring the new scenery. Dean's comment snaps him out of that and into a quick change of tune. ]

Stop talking to yourself and set up the rack.

[ Because clearly some things must only be done by something more hands-on and precise than event imagination.

Philip prepares his own cue. Back at home he was the best, no doubt. The best of a group of casual players who last met some three years ago. And didn't Dean say he was hustling pool for money?

He grins to himself. No, his victory expectations are not exactly high, but he might as well enjoy the show while it still lasts. ]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[The narration belatedly realized that there is absolutely no way to write any of this without it all sounding really, really gay.

Dean is skilled in the break and run - that is, the method in which a player wipes the table clean in one turn, never letting their opponent shoot. It was the first thing he learned when he started hustling, and while he'd love to clean up with an old trick, it just isn't be fair to the competition.]

Yeah, yeah, chalk up already.

[He mumbles, sliding the rack over the felt tabletop and pulling it away to leave the number balls in a triangle. The cue ball follows, and Dean takes a step back to smooth his fingers over the shaft of his cuestick.]

You're breaking. We're playing slop, right? 'Cause I don't wanna call every shot, it's no fun.

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ Philip's majestic, firm and polished cue is chalked up, standing ready and absolutely oblivious to the supposed gayness of their elegant hobby. ]

Uh huh.

[ He stops himself just before a remark on that technique can escape. He's already in for way too much post-defeat taunting here without asking Dean whether he's afraid of precision.

Instead he simply bends Dean over the ta-- sorry, wrong side. Instead he simply bends over the table and opens the game. A clacking sound sends the balls rolling apart and Philip is relieved to find that he can at least still get the basics right. Yet. ]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Dean isn't afraid of precision. He can sink any ball into any hole he wants with the skill and manual dexterity of a pool professional. This magnificent talent isn't strictly limited to billiards, either.

And he's just making it easier for you, my friend.]

You play Poker?

[Dean asks idly, leaning to one side and watching everything roll across the table. Moving over to one of the solids, Dean settles behind the 4 ball and lines up his cuestick.

He only inquires out of curiosity. It's not like he can win any money here.

With another CRACK, he sends the ball towards the corner pocket and sinks it, glancing back up at Philip to hear his reply.]

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ Philip does not need Dean's charity to sink his balls, thank you very much. ]

Not--

[ Philip watches Dean's move, not really surprised by his proficiency. Previous anecdotes about his life made it clear that Dean is a man who knows how to use his cue. ]

Not really, no.

[ Emphasis on the no. Casual card games were rarely included in their get-togethers and the only one whose rules Philip still remembers by heart is Pyramid.

Speaking of which, here comes the revelation about what this scene is missing! Dean's proficient shot may not have been surprising, but it was certainly sobering, so clearly a dream glass of whiskey is in order.

And voila, quickest service ever! Philip takes a sip, pleased about the quality of his imaginary liquor. ]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Huh. Shame.

[One day Dean will find someone he can play Poker with in the mansion. He leans to one side over the table and knocks a solid ball against a striped, switching up a few positions just for the heck of it, not managing to sink any. Stepping away, glorious cuestick in hand, he finally notices the all-important liquor now that his turn is over.]


...s'that whiskey?

[Now why didn't he think of that? Dean imagines a glass of Johnnie Walker Blue and takes a satisfying sip.]

So what'd you do with your free time if you weren't cheating bikers outta their dough?

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ Philip nods. Don't let his absence in the official CR chart fool you, Mr Jack Daniel is and has been one of Philip's closest companions for a long time.

And so Philip only parts with the glass after it has been emptied, placing it on a chair behind him for future imaginary refills. ]

My free time if--

[ He laughs and steps up to the table. ]

I, uh...

[ Distracted by the upcoming shot he trails off. Tempting as attempting an impressive manoeuvre may be, the now far more conveniently positioned 12 strikes Philip as the better target for the sake of avoiding instant ridicule.

He pauses, aims and sinks it, then turns his attention back to the question. ]

I haven't really--

[ He remembers telling Dean about the swimming, but that seemed more relevant when they were both living underwater. He doesn't actually remember visiting a single pool or beach in the year before he left.

There were the movies of course, whenever he could find the time, but they were a hobby to fill the gaps. He swears he recalls plenty of other interests, but... ]

I was... working a lot.

[ But as time went on too many of them peeled away for the sake of his job. Punctuating the answer with a look at Dean Philip takes up his cue again and circles the table for his next striped victim. ]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Philip is acquainted with Jack, too? Wow. J.D. is one of Dean's best friends. Small world.

The Mansion must have seemed like a vacation for Philip after being magicked the Hell out of Greenland, and after all that work. Dean is married to his work and it's already a hobby (of sorts), so being thrown into Wonderland is like getting that tour of the Grand Canyon he'd always wanted. It makes him miss what he left behind, though.

Eyeing the 12 as it falls into a pocket - he's impressed, actually - Dean takes another sip of Johnnie and licks his lips unconsciously.]

Just Physics-y stuff? Man, I run on a tight schedule too, but you just gotta make time for R&R or you'll go crazy. Or at least some kinda overlap between business and pleasure.

[Butt of his cue stick resting on his instep, Dean rolls his eyes up to the ceiling.]

I mean, just once I woulda liked to have had a case where strippers were involved. [GRIN.] That is the best of both worlds.

1/3

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ Philip looks up from his pool analysis, offers the ever-popular eyebrow and states, very matter-of-factly: ]

I think it's a little too late for me not to go crazy.

[ You know, voice in his head and all.

Putting his cue stick into position he turns his attention back to the game. ]

...Besides, I actually enjoyed my work.