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.))
[Action]
Huh. Wouldn't've expected this place to have an elevator, magic or no.
[Action]