dashboardlite: (Keep it classy.)
[This program is brought to you by Herpexia: Daily Treatment for Genital Herpes.]

So, uh. It's come to my attention that whenever events roll around, everybody's usually running through the halls like chickens with their friggin' heads cut off. So today we're gonna fix that, 'cause this is what I do for a living.

[It appears that Dean is in the kitchen, and has covered an entire countertop with assorted objets d'hunting.]

Got a coupla basics here. Salt. [He lifts up a canister of the stuff.] Purifying chemical compound. Burns ghosts, but won't keep 'em away for long. You can protect yourself by drawing a circle with it and stayin' inside. Iron- [Dean gestures to the crowbar.] Also purifying, harms malevolent spirits.

[With a click, he's got a Zippo lighter out and lit.] Whole bunch of stuff is gonna hafta be burned. [Out goes the lighter.] Usually the remains of a dead person, so you might get your hands dirty, fair warning.

[Dean pockets the Zippo and leans in for a dramatic close-up on the camera.]

Where I come from, monsters are real. And they're not about to go away - especially not in Wonderland. You can either sit here with your thumbs up your asses, or be ready. I'm gonna take questions about whatever stuff you wanna throw at me, so knock yourselves out. Class is in session.
dashboardlite: (The hell...?)
As he stands there, staring, Dean Winchester wonders why he's never noticed this door before.  It's not anything normal, by any stretch - it's just a huge door; tall, foreboding, made of something that looks like solid oak.  He hasn't touched it yet, he's simply been waiting.  Waiting for it to open, waiting for someone to go in or come out. 

It doesn't even have hinges or a knob or a lock, but he knows it's a door, and not some giant slab in the middle of the foyer.

Without dragging his eyes away, Dean slips a hand into the pocket of his coat, pulling out the comm unit he'd warped into an EMF reader.  Something this big and unexpected had to have a spike off the charts.  Switching the device on with a little click, he takes careful, precise steps towards the door, holding his electro-magnetic-frequency measurer up to the offending object - He really shouldn't be feeling like a gorilla out of 2001: A Space Odyssey right now, but he does - and his eyebrows shoot into his hairline as the EMF lights up and squeals, obnoxious beeping echoing through the front hall.

"...sonuvabitch," He mutters, tucking his little invention away and running his fingers over smooth wood.  "We chased our pleasures, here...dug our treasures, there, but can you still recall..."  Dean hums quiety, squinting at the grain and scratching a fingernail over it, half-expecting sulfur to come away.

"...the time we cried...break on through, to the other side, break on through, to the other side..."

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Dean Winchester

January 2020

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