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21: [Video/Action] Dark Side of the Moon
Mar. 7th, 2011 09:51 amSam?!
[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?
17: [Action] Don't Fear the Reaper
Jan. 16th, 2011 02:19 am[ooc; This is just gonna be reserved for The Operator, Dean, and Castiel to write in. But if you enjoy disembowelment, feel free to read~]
There are a lot worse things that Dean Winchester could be doing with his time than hunting down something that he isn't completely, one-hundred percent knowledgeable about.
Vampires are easy. Cut the head off.
Werewolves shot with a silver bullet.
Ghosts? Salt and burn the remains.
But reapers...the last time Dean's seen a reaper, he was hanging in limbo, waiting to die in a hospital. It wasn't so bad, then. It had taken the form of a young woman named Tessa, startlingly pretty and unfailingly sympathetic to the mortality of humans. Infinitely wise. His first experience had been less pleasant. Dean's first real brush with death was a little over a year ago: heart attack thanks to a fuck-up with a 10,000 Volt stun-gun trying to kill something on the job, and he landed an all-expenses-paid trip to the Great Beyond. Prognosis wasn't good: Six weeks, at best. But a local faith healer had cured him, at the price of someone else's life. Someone controlled a reaper.
Someone was playing God.
In those last moments of consciousness when Faith Healer Roy Le Grange had laid hands upon him, Dean saw a tall, pale man in a dark suit.
The Operator obviously isn't going to play nice. Dean can't reason with it, like he did with Tessa. There's the chance that it could be controlled by someone, the way Le Grange's reaper was, but everyone in this godforsaken place is scared of the damn thing, so that's outta the cards. Maybe it just went rogue.
"Aaaaand I don't even know how the Hell I'm s'posed to kill it," Dean mutters to himself, snapping his father's journal shut and tucking it into his duffel bag. He's armed with a decent amount of weapons, ranging from salt-rounded shotguns to silver knives - because you can't take any chances with Death - and an angel.
Dean takes a deep breath, staring up at the forbidding woods with a tight frown on his face.
"You ready, Cas?"
There are a lot worse things that Dean Winchester could be doing with his time than hunting down something that he isn't completely, one-hundred percent knowledgeable about.
Vampires are easy. Cut the head off.
Werewolves shot with a silver bullet.
Ghosts? Salt and burn the remains.
But reapers...the last time Dean's seen a reaper, he was hanging in limbo, waiting to die in a hospital. It wasn't so bad, then. It had taken the form of a young woman named Tessa, startlingly pretty and unfailingly sympathetic to the mortality of humans. Infinitely wise. His first experience had been less pleasant. Dean's first real brush with death was a little over a year ago: heart attack thanks to a fuck-up with a 10,000 Volt stun-gun trying to kill something on the job, and he landed an all-expenses-paid trip to the Great Beyond. Prognosis wasn't good: Six weeks, at best. But a local faith healer had cured him, at the price of someone else's life. Someone controlled a reaper.
Someone was playing God.
In those last moments of consciousness when Faith Healer Roy Le Grange had laid hands upon him, Dean saw a tall, pale man in a dark suit.
The Operator obviously isn't going to play nice. Dean can't reason with it, like he did with Tessa. There's the chance that it could be controlled by someone, the way Le Grange's reaper was, but everyone in this godforsaken place is scared of the damn thing, so that's outta the cards. Maybe it just went rogue.
"Aaaaand I don't even know how the Hell I'm s'posed to kill it," Dean mutters to himself, snapping his father's journal shut and tucking it into his duffel bag. He's armed with a decent amount of weapons, ranging from salt-rounded shotguns to silver knives - because you can't take any chances with Death - and an angel.
Dean takes a deep breath, staring up at the forbidding woods with a tight frown on his face.
"You ready, Cas?"
11: [Action] I Want You to Want Me
Dec. 16th, 2010 12:49 am[[ooc; Closed to everyone but Cas and Dean.]]
Dean shifts uncomfortably in his chair, prodding the coffee table with the toe of his leather biker boot. A small stack of magazines slides haphazardly to one side and off onto the floor with a muffled thump. He doesn't bother to pick them up. He's not in the mood. Something in the man's stomach is writhing, and it's not the Mexican food he'd asked the kitchen for a couple hours ago. It's not even intestinally-related. He knows that feeling - it's slightly nauseating, and it's a good indicator of having the unnecessary urge to be with someone for every waking moment.
It's been a while since Dean's had this feeling, too, so it makes him even more nervous with regard to the fact that aside from his new, angelic roommate, there aren't many others around he could possibly latch onto. Impending loneliness isn't the issue at hand, either.
It's just a need.
Shooting a disgruntled look at the record player in the corner for playing Baby, It's Cold Outside on a loop, Dean turns his green-eyed gaze to the windows outside, and he watches the snow quietly in the dim light of the motel-style room. He'd strung Christmas lights along the walls earlier in an attempt to be festive, and now it only highlights the emptiness of the season when there isn't anyone to share it with.
"Bah, humbug," He grunts, too lazy to ask the closet for liquor and too comfortable where he is. "'Tis the season to be Grinchy."
Dean shifts uncomfortably in his chair, prodding the coffee table with the toe of his leather biker boot. A small stack of magazines slides haphazardly to one side and off onto the floor with a muffled thump. He doesn't bother to pick them up. He's not in the mood. Something in the man's stomach is writhing, and it's not the Mexican food he'd asked the kitchen for a couple hours ago. It's not even intestinally-related. He knows that feeling - it's slightly nauseating, and it's a good indicator of having the unnecessary urge to be with someone for every waking moment.
It's been a while since Dean's had this feeling, too, so it makes him even more nervous with regard to the fact that aside from his new, angelic roommate, there aren't many others around he could possibly latch onto. Impending loneliness isn't the issue at hand, either.
It's just a need.
Shooting a disgruntled look at the record player in the corner for playing Baby, It's Cold Outside on a loop, Dean turns his green-eyed gaze to the windows outside, and he watches the snow quietly in the dim light of the motel-style room. He'd strung Christmas lights along the walls earlier in an attempt to be festive, and now it only highlights the emptiness of the season when there isn't anyone to share it with.
"Bah, humbug," He grunts, too lazy to ask the closet for liquor and too comfortable where he is. "'Tis the season to be Grinchy."
