Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lovemesomepie) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisa2013-10-09 12:09 am
lovemesomepie) wrote in paradisa2013-10-09 12:09 am
Entry tags:
1st Hunt ✖ Action/Dictated
[He wakes up to darkness.
Something in him registers the chill in the air, the crinkle of dead leaves tangled in his hair, trapped under his body.
His heart beats a-one, a-two, and then blood roars in his ears and he springs to his feet, all senses on red-alert as he reaches for a knife that isn't there. His knife's not there - shit, fuck, damn - and where the hell is he, anyway? Where's Sam? Where's Cas?
The closed journal half-buried in leaves next to him doesn't get noticed, at least not right away. His pulse that had been so calm mere moments before is now hammering at a jackrabbit's pace. They'd done it. Killed the big bad, saved the day - so why wasn't he back in Roman's lab? What, exactly, had gone wrong, and how was he gonna get home? And where the hell had his weapons gone?
Hyperaware of the weights he always carries on him, their absence is all too obvious. The gun tucked into the back of his pants, the blades in his boots and his sleeves - even the knife that had been in his hand, all gone.
Whatever trick Dick Roman played on them, Dean doesn't want to stick around to find out. Experience tells him that he's the punchline. Better to get out of here - wherever here is. The trees are thick around him, leaves gold, red, and brown at his feet. When he looks up he can see pale silver fingers of moonlight.
The prickle at the back of his neck cautions him to stay silent, but the urge to find his brother trumps that.]
Sam? [He waits a beat. No response.] Sam! [It doesn't take a genius to figure out that wherever Sam is, it's not somewhere nearby.
But he knows there's someone who can hear him no matter how far apart they are from each other. Dean clenches his eyes closed to pray. His words aren't snarky or tinged with ironic comments like Dean's prayers usually are, instead grimly sincere; the prayer of a desperate man.]
I dunno where you are, Cas, or where Sam is, but I need you, buddy.
[Again he waits. Eventually he cracks one eye open - there was no rustle of feathers - of wings. He looks around again, stunned. Cas didn't answer.
Something is very, very wrong.
Dean presses through the trees - it doesn't take very long until he reaches the fringe of the woods he was in. If he wasn't surprised before - well, now he's floored. Ahead of him, within maybe ten minutes' walking distance, is a giant castle.]
Not in Kansas anymore...
[He's out of options - suspicious as he is, seems like the castle is his only option for the moment. He shoves his hands into his pockets, not sure if he wants to risk it - he could always lay low out here; not very comfortable, but he's had worse.
And that's when his hand makes contact with the journal, which sure as hell wasn't in his pocket before. He's never even seen anything like this. It's clearly for him, though - it's got his name on the front.
He takes the chance to flip through it, accidentally smearing a bit of black Leviathan blood across the page when he turns it.
It doesn't take long for him to snap the journal closed.]
No way. No freakin' way.
[That just further turns him off to the idea of staying in the Castle. But Dean rarely takes his own discomfort into account, and it doesn't take long for him to reach the doors to the Lobby.]
---
[A little later, Dean's had time to discover the journal and take some time to really flip through it. He's settled in the Lobby, having checked the nearest entrances and exits: back outside or up staircases he's not sure he wants to go up yet. Not without a plan, at least. He still doesn't like what he's read. This castle seems more like a witch he'd hunt than anything, or the work of some douchebag angel.]
Look. I did my research, got the memo. Sentient castle, grants wishes, raises hell. Regular little carnival of fun you got goin' here.
But I'm not starrin' in another Shack in the Forest. Alright? [Snort.] I've got enough crap on my plate already.
Now. I know there's a bunch of ya. We can worry about how many later. But one of you musta seen my brother, Sam - ten feet tall, needs a haircut? Or my friend Cas. Castiel. Tax accountant in a trench coat, stares into your soul? If either of you are out there, you got some serious explainin' to do.
In the meantime, where can a guy get a little Jimmy Buffet around here? Far cry from paradise, but I could do with a beer and a burger.
((On his way into the Castle, in the Lobby, or simply over the journal - just specify.))
Something in him registers the chill in the air, the crinkle of dead leaves tangled in his hair, trapped under his body.
His heart beats a-one, a-two, and then blood roars in his ears and he springs to his feet, all senses on red-alert as he reaches for a knife that isn't there. His knife's not there - shit, fuck, damn - and where the hell is he, anyway? Where's Sam? Where's Cas?
The closed journal half-buried in leaves next to him doesn't get noticed, at least not right away. His pulse that had been so calm mere moments before is now hammering at a jackrabbit's pace. They'd done it. Killed the big bad, saved the day - so why wasn't he back in Roman's lab? What, exactly, had gone wrong, and how was he gonna get home? And where the hell had his weapons gone?
Hyperaware of the weights he always carries on him, their absence is all too obvious. The gun tucked into the back of his pants, the blades in his boots and his sleeves - even the knife that had been in his hand, all gone.
Whatever trick Dick Roman played on them, Dean doesn't want to stick around to find out. Experience tells him that he's the punchline. Better to get out of here - wherever here is. The trees are thick around him, leaves gold, red, and brown at his feet. When he looks up he can see pale silver fingers of moonlight.
The prickle at the back of his neck cautions him to stay silent, but the urge to find his brother trumps that.]
Sam? [He waits a beat. No response.] Sam! [It doesn't take a genius to figure out that wherever Sam is, it's not somewhere nearby.
But he knows there's someone who can hear him no matter how far apart they are from each other. Dean clenches his eyes closed to pray. His words aren't snarky or tinged with ironic comments like Dean's prayers usually are, instead grimly sincere; the prayer of a desperate man.]
I dunno where you are, Cas, or where Sam is, but I need you, buddy.
[Again he waits. Eventually he cracks one eye open - there was no rustle of feathers - of wings. He looks around again, stunned. Cas didn't answer.
Something is very, very wrong.
Dean presses through the trees - it doesn't take very long until he reaches the fringe of the woods he was in. If he wasn't surprised before - well, now he's floored. Ahead of him, within maybe ten minutes' walking distance, is a giant castle.]
Not in Kansas anymore...
[He's out of options - suspicious as he is, seems like the castle is his only option for the moment. He shoves his hands into his pockets, not sure if he wants to risk it - he could always lay low out here; not very comfortable, but he's had worse.
And that's when his hand makes contact with the journal, which sure as hell wasn't in his pocket before. He's never even seen anything like this. It's clearly for him, though - it's got his name on the front.
He takes the chance to flip through it, accidentally smearing a bit of black Leviathan blood across the page when he turns it.
It doesn't take long for him to snap the journal closed.]
No way. No freakin' way.
[That just further turns him off to the idea of staying in the Castle. But Dean rarely takes his own discomfort into account, and it doesn't take long for him to reach the doors to the Lobby.]
---
[A little later, Dean's had time to discover the journal and take some time to really flip through it. He's settled in the Lobby, having checked the nearest entrances and exits: back outside or up staircases he's not sure he wants to go up yet. Not without a plan, at least. He still doesn't like what he's read. This castle seems more like a witch he'd hunt than anything, or the work of some douchebag angel.]
Look. I did my research, got the memo. Sentient castle, grants wishes, raises hell. Regular little carnival of fun you got goin' here.
But I'm not starrin' in another Shack in the Forest. Alright? [Snort.] I've got enough crap on my plate already.
Now. I know there's a bunch of ya. We can worry about how many later. But one of you musta seen my brother, Sam - ten feet tall, needs a haircut? Or my friend Cas. Castiel. Tax accountant in a trench coat, stares into your soul? If either of you are out there, you got some serious explainin' to do.
In the meantime, where can a guy get a little Jimmy Buffet around here? Far cry from paradise, but I could do with a beer and a burger.
((On his way into the Castle, in the Lobby, or simply over the journal - just specify.))
no subject
Yeah, thanks for wrecking my car.
What happened after we ganked Dick? Like cuttin' the head off a snake, or?
[Brushing it off and changing the subject? Check.]
no subject
You're the one who wanted a big entrance. And the hell if I know. Like I said. Spent the last year downstairs standing in as Crowley's favorite chew toy. How come you don't know what happened?
no subject
Wasn't there. Showed up here right after he freakin' exploded. Like Sam after too many beans, only with black goo.
no subject
[She's about to admit to Dean how Crowley had nailed her soft spot for Cas and focused his efforts accordingly, but just thinking about it makes her want to run up to Cas' room and bury her face in the lapels of that stupid trench coat.]
no subject
Crypts? Guy's got graves now? What does Crowley want 'em so bad for?
Anyway, hope you don't expect me to offer you my shoulder to cry on. We both know you know a thing or two about torture.
no subject
Ugh. Moose farts.]Wouldn't you like to know?
[She smiles sweetly, but Dean ought to recognize her fuck-you-very-much face by now. It's hardly necessary to say it outright, so she'll just keep up that nice little facade they've had going for the past couple of years.]
Aww, thanks anyway, Dean, but I've got Cas for that now.
no subject
[And then his face contorts in a mixture of disgust and confusion, nose wrinkling, eyebrows furrowing, and mouth pulling into an exaggerated frown.] Don't tell me he's still on that "thorny beauty" shtick.
no subject
[Meg rolls her eyes and sighs, but she'll play nice.]
Look, I gotta get to work, but lucky for you I'm bartending these days so come up to Death Match and I'll get you a few drinks and catch you up.
[She just shrugs and smiles, and he might even notice a little flush in her cheeks. It's mildly amusing how annoyed he was.]
Not sure what you'd call it, but sure.
no subject
His expression gets even more comical as it sinks in. In his time, that 'thorny beauty' crap just got a roll of her eyes. Now she's smiling and blushing? Either Meg's a really good actress, or Cas was the rookie at the pizza place.]
No way. You gotta be friggin' kiddin' me.
[Gawping? Not if you asked him.]
no subject
Never. Had to patch up our little tree topper just the other day, come to think of it.
[Her little smile widens a tad more at his apparent dismay. Sure, things were moving pretty slow, but she was patient and they were certainly headed in the right direction.]
Yeah way. Come on. Let's go.
[She'll lead him up to the bar and disappear momentarily to ditch her jacket in the back and throw on an apron while he gets himself settled.]
So what'll it be, Dean-o?
no subject
He settles down near one end of the bar and gets a good look around while Meg heads to the back. Not bad, even if they did employ a demon.]
El Sol, if you got it.
[He could figure out whiskey later, once he knew where his room was.]
no subject
She pours them each a glass and places one in front of Dean.]
Closest thing.
[She clinks her glass to his in a little gesture of solidarity. Meg isn't sure they'll ever be friends, but she didn't need to be flat out rude.
She let him settle in a bit before speaking again - he already seemed a little more at ease in a bar. She was hoping he'd be a little less prickly with a drink in his hand. That was usually the case, from what she remembered.]
I wish I knew more about last year, but Crowley really had me on lockdown. I heard rumors of course. Supposedly you and Cas were stuck in Purgatory for a while, but I could never tell if that was just nonsense, and he doesn't seem to want to talk about it.
[A little sigh. She knows that if anyone else knew Cas as well as she did, it was probably Dean - he'd probably at least understand the frustration of trying to get the guy to talk.]
Either way, everything was quiet for a while, but at some point all kinds of crap about more of those tablets started going around. I guess Crowley dug up the Demon tablet, then started looking for the Angel one.
[She paused and took a sip of her drink, studying his reaction.]
no subject
I thought we closed that door already. How'd we end up there? You're not tellin' me somethin' killed us again, are you? I mean, shit, that weird thing Dick was doin' wasn't normal, but I didn't think it'd kill us. [His grip on his glass tightens and he sighs.]
And that's why he wanted to know where the crypts were? It wasn't enough to make demons, Satan had to steal God's magic rock, too?
[His free hand rubs at his forehead. He needs a drink - good thing he's got one. He brings his glass to his lips and knocks it back - only to start sputtering. Something is wrong with the drink, he can taste it. He manages to settle a glare on Meg despite how warning bells are going off in his head.]
What the fuck did you do to me?
no subject
[Seriously, how had these guys been the undoing of the great master plan? She could swear Dean wouldn't know how to put one foot in front of the other some days if his baby brother didn't constantly need saving.]
I guess. It's not like he didn't have a damn good reason to want to angel tablet, though. Unless you slept through that Sunday School lesson, too.
[She jumps back when he starts choking and spitting, narrowly missing being sprayed and glaring in his direction.]
What the fuck are you talking about? Maybe try ordering something you can actually handle next time, big boy.
no subject
I ordered a fucking beer and you give me some shit tryin' to kill me!
[Dean's all shoot first, ask questions later, too focused on this apparent betrayal than the fact that Meg does sound genuinely surprised. Fortunately for Meg, Dean's fumbling for a knife - a gun, even, anything! - that isn't there. While he doesn't feel well enough to try and manhandle her against the wall to figure out just what he's up to, he does have something else at his disposal.
It's just a threat at first, since it's not pleasant for demons, but he has no qualms about following through if he has to, whether Cas is sweet on her or not. Five words he's got forever committed to memory.]
Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus...
no subject
If you wanted the beer instead of the tequila you could have said something before I poured it. The fuck do you want that cheap watered down crap for anyway?
[She smirks as she watches him fumbling for a weapon. Yeah right, Dean. She'd have you flat on your back in an instant
and you'd probably like it.She won't let on how much it stings that he'd actually pull that stunt after everything they've been through and what she's done for them, but it does.
Her eyes flash black - just to fuck with him, really. Even if she could leave her meatsuit, which she can't - thanks for that, Paradisa - did you think for one second that she doesn't have a binding link tat on this body after what happened last time? It's somewhere fun, too. Maybe she'll show you sometime.
A few moments pass and Meg just smiles and lets it sink in that the exorcism isn't having any effect on her whatsoever before sending a fast punch flying across the bar, straight at his face.]
Seriously?
no subject
[Yes, beer is now a food group.
Dean freezes when Meg doesn't look to be scared or in pain - just has a not-so-happy smile plastered on her face. Something is wrong. It'd been so long since he'd seen a demon locked inside a meatsuit that he'd forgotten that they still do that. They tend to stab demons nowadays and not bother with an exorcism. Of course, all it takes is her smile and otherwise lack of reaction to remind him. A sinking feeling in his stomach joins in with the nausea - Dean's bit off a little more than he can chew.
The thing about demons is that they're a lot stronger than they look, not actually being part of the vessel. The punch catches Dean in the jaw, and he's knocked back, crashing into a table and some chairs and losing his balance.]
Fuck...Binding brand...
Bite me.
no subject
[Meg quips back easily over her shoulder as she grabs a couple of beers. Punching him in the face was a lot more satisfying than she'd anticipated. In fact, she almost feels zen.
She walks around the bar and casually waves a hand, putting the chairs back in place and taking a seat in one, nonchalantly crossing her legs and draping her arm over the back as she pops open her own bottle and tosses the other one his way.]
Sealed. See for yourself. If you have any more problems, I'd suggest blaming the castle instead of trying to exorcise your friendly neighborhood bartender. Now, you ready to talk like grownups or do I have to kick you out?
no subject
It's easy enough to open the bottle and tip it back, but it also tastes terrible and makes him feel only marginally less nauseous than the other one. His nose wrinkles as he forces himself to swallow. Having anticipated the lousy taste makes it easier to not spit it out in surprise, but it still makes him want to gag.]
Ugh, just as bad. You sure you don't just have shitty taste in alcohol?
[Yes, Dean. Trying to pretend that there is not a problem will definitely solve it. Such is the Winchester way.]
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I dunno, this is the stuff the other guy who works here brews himself. It's gotten pretty unanimous praise across the board from people who... like beer in general, so... I'm gonna go ahead and say its you, Dean-o.
[She pauses.]
You did get the memo about Paradisa taking something from you, right?