paradisa | ǝuo ☚ written

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sam winchester

ǝuo ☚ written

So, now that things have officially hit the level of unexplainable, I'm sitting here writing in a book filled of other people's handwriting. And pictures. And voices. If what I've been reading is true, then I know there's someone out there who can read this too, and is hopefully above the age of five.

There aren't time markers on anything. Can someone tell me the date? Did I just walk into a daycare? And if I should just declare myself crazy now and avoid the hassle later?

Thanks.

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The kid thing's a riot, huh, Sammy?

[Dean's not sure when Sam got here but this is good news. He's better off here than back home on his own facing down an apocalypse. Dean let him down hard when they parted ways in Colorado. Now he had a chance to make up for lost time.]

What room are you in? I'll swing by and pick you up.

[ Oh man- what a terrible day to be new to the castle. ]

...Dean?

[ He doesn't really mean to kick on any sort of phone call to the blank pages of a book, but he'd be damned twice if that voice isn't Dean's. And it makes his stomach drop because the last time he saw Dean, the man was in pieces. ]

--This is a really shitty joke.

[ Whoa. This one takes him a few seconds to get used to. It's...cute? At least. ]

I'm not crazy, but a building has lost it's mind. Right.

[ That makes total sense. ]

Stuck? For a little while?

The date is May the twenty-first, in the year 2013 by the Paradisa calendar.

Edited 2013-05-22 04:16 (UTC)

[ There's the sound of the pen hitting paper, and then- well, it's a hell of a lot easier to just talk, isn't it? So here she goes. ]

Well. Some people are here for longer than a little while. I've been here about three months! But one of my friends has been here for years. It's sort of a toss-up, and completely arbitrary, as far as I can tell.

Yeah, I agree, but you gotta admit- it's funny. Givin' kids to a bunch of hostages who'd probably choke on their own tongues before they tried for a bun in the oven. It's Trickster brand stuff without the just desserts.

Edited 2013-05-22 04:24 (UTC)

[ And then magically he's hearing voices come out of the book. Man. Sam's used to weird, but this isn't his normal area of strange. ]

And here is...a castle. Located...?

[ A straight answer. He can appreciate that a whole lot. ]

Thanks. Is there any known equivalent to other calendars?

Just located.. here, really. Um- sorry, god, that's probably the least useful thing you've ever heard ever. We're sort of in another dimension, from what I can tell.

Based on the seasons, I would say that it's equivalent to the northern hemisphere of planet Earth.

[ He really doesn't sound amused as Dean--Dean's voice does. But he's taking his all in stride and somehow that feels like the last thing Sam can do at the moment.

Sam swallows and his end of the line...the whatever this is, is dead for a moment. ]

...Where are you?

[ WELP. ]

Great. That's...that's awesome.

[ Don't be rude, Sam. ]

Three months in another dimension, huh?

It's not that bad most of the time. There are a ton of people here, so that's pretty great. [ Though she realizes that might not have the same appeal to everyone that it has to her. ] Um- I'm sorry, I don't know that I got your name?

Room 228 on the second floor. You're actin' pretty bitchy, dude, even for you. Guess I'll go ahead and keep the beers cold while I wait up. Judgin' by the tone I bet we'll need 'em.

But no where near Earth.

No, but it is very fond of Earth. Most of the residents are from some version of it, and the castle celebrates mostly Earth holidays.

[ She's coping surprisingly well. Then again, what else is there to do? ]

Ah, yeah--sorry. I'm Sam.

Just-- [ He inhales loudly through his nose. ] Just don't go anywhere.

[ It's a trap. A trap in a really, really wonky dream world. Or alternate reality. Or something. It really wouldn't be beyond the Trickster to do something like this, but right after everything that happened? For however messed up he was, Sam knew his M.O.; he tried to teach lessons in his own twisted sense of humor.

How is this funny?

But he can't deny the fact that the odds are against him. He has to be ready to confront anything at this point. ]

[ He's tired. He feels defeated, even if he doesn't want to show it. Dealing with a possible doppleganger of Dean so soon after his death is really pushing it, but that's just his luck, isn't it? Sam is quiet for a moment before slamming the book shut.

Well. If there's only one way out of this, then he won't hesitate.

He pushes himself away, leaving the journal on the desk before making his way out into the hallway. ]

[ Second floor. Room twenty-eight. Sam stares at it from across the hallway, doing his best not to get trampled over by some kids running by. (Which seems really out of place given the circumstances, at least to him.) He knows what he may find inside isn't Dean.

But he can't really help the small, completely unrealistic bit of hope that finds it's way out.

He sets his jaw straight and takes the few steps that lead him to the door. After a moment of hesitance, he knocks firmly on the door. He doesn't introduce himself; Dean should know who it is. ]

[ Interesting. ] I'm assuming that means you too?

I'm originally from England, in the year 1998.

[Yeah, something was wrong. Sam didn't look too different. At least not by much. He was a little thinner but depending on how bad the demon detox was for him it was reasonable.

Dean waits for him, a cooler of beer between a sofa he'd wished up his first few days here. He's already got a long neck bottle in his fist and it's uncapped, smoking in the room as cold air escapes the mouth piece. Dean presses it to his lips, tips it back with a finger hooked around its middle.]

Heya, Sam.

[It's the first thing he says after wrenching the door open. There's a devil's trap spray painted right in front of the door and Dean's standing in the middle of it. He steps right out of it again and heads back toward the sofa and takes a seat, leveling his brother with a look that says without him having to that he might as well spill. He knew something was wrong.]

Edited 2013-05-22 05:37 (UTC)

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