Lost!Dean - Round Four
My god this part was long. The first scene ended up being not long enough, so I continued writing, and it took another thousand words to finish this part. Gah. Loooooot of words.
Prompt: Lost!Dean
Who: Dean
When he came to, Dean was lying face down in a patch of softly glowing moss. He was soaked to the bone, and filthy, but his body was only aching mildly, all things considered. He was not sure whether he should be happy that he didn’t remember what he’d gone through floating down that river, or pissed that he lost consciousness.
Pushing himself to his feet, limbs shaking, he wiped a hand over his face. The water seemed to have washed away most of the filth that has accumulated on him from the pipes, but he still couldn’t smell a damn thing, and there was a strange bloated feeling in his chest..
As soon as he realized what it was, Dean noticed he wasn’t breathing either, and, forcing a breath into his lungs, he promptly fell back to his knees, heaving, vomiting water.
When he was finished, air burning in his lungs, he looked up again, finally noticing a small white note taped to a tree just a few feet ahead of him. His limbs shook harder as he climbed to his feet the second time, but he forced himself to move, tearing off the note and opening it,
I suppose the ‘already dead’ thing comes in handy, doesn’t it? Welcome to round four.
He stared for several minutes before crumpling the note and tossing it back into the water. “Screw you.” He wheezed, coughing a little as he moved away from the water. If he thought he was sick of this joke earlier, then he had been sorely wrong. The worst part about it? He knew that there was every possibility of it getting much much worse.
Taking a look around his location, Dean noticed that he was seeing green. A soft haze, not quite glowing like the moss, but hovering over everything like a fog, sat in the air thickly. There was no wind, and the air was stale, difficult to breathe in. Probably wasn’t a good idea to breathe it in anyway, but he didn’t know if he could hold his breath that long. His lungs were already burning from the water.
It took him a minute, but he finally recognized this place as the one he saw when he took that look over the labyrinth. The freakish green blot that he'd wanted to avoid. Great.
Breathing shallowly, he moved into the haze, the air stinging his eyes, but he suffered through that in order to move on. At this point, there was no option to stop and rest. He had to get through this game, and to get back home so he could fall into Gabriel's arms and sleep for half of eternity.
That sounded amazing. He missed his nice warm bed at home. His nice new warm bed. The bed he shared with his lover. It was still so shiny and new, still the most comfortable place he could ever imagine being. Yet here he was sloshing through, he looked down...
A bog. Sloshing through a bog. So much for the idea that his clothes would dry out. The boots he'd been given hadn't done too well with all the abuse either, but he wasn't going to take them off. That would just be gross. Who knows what was in this water.
It was too quiet. Almost as quiet as the hedge maze had been. The only sound was the dirty water moving around his legs. He shivered unconsciously, the silence bothering him. He couldn't reach out and talk to Gabe for the first time since they first became bonded and it was bad. Too quiet in his head, too quiet outside of his head. He was started to feel alone. Probably would have long ago if he couldn't feel his bond as strong as ever.
Something rammed into his legs and he went down, hard, sputtering as he flails in the water. He jerks one of the knives out of his belt and looks around as he tries to get back to his feet. The water was too dirty, the air too hazy. He couldn't see what had attacked him. The water swirled around him just a second before the creature hit him again, and this time Dean was ready for it as he fell. He reached out and slashed with the knife before he lost track of it, hearing an unearthly pained wail fill the ear all of a sudden, breaking the silence so swiftly that his head rang in pain from it.
He grabbed the nearest tree and hoisted himself up into its branches, not knowing if it would even hold him, but he knew he had to get out of the water. It was a good thing, too, because as soon as his legs cleared the water it started churning, a large form writhing underneath the surface that he couldn't quite make out. Didn't even know what it could possibly be. What kind of creatures lived in bogs? And how many of them could live in knee high water levels?
Unless there were deep sinkholes that by some miracle he missed while he was walking...
The creature kept screaming and Dean covered one ear with his free hand, the sound starting to really hurt. "Shut up!" He yelled, voice drowned out but the unholy sound. Taking quick aim, no more than a guess, Dean threw the knife as hard as he could into the water, hoping the creature was big enough that he couldn't exactly miss. He was in luck. As soon as the knife struck down, the scream silenced and the water shifted for a few seconds before falling still again.
Dean waited several minutes, with no more movement, or attack forthcoming. The silence was once again so complete that he feared for a moment that he had just gone deaf, but he could hear himself when he cleared his throat. "All right, Dean. This place is filled with vicious water creatures. Stay out of the water. You only have one more knife," he said to himself, finding a small knot of ground to climb down onto.
There was a sharp pain in his leg when he stepped, and he winced, figuring that the creature must have had fangs or something, but there was nothing he could do about it right now. He didn't even have anything clean and dry to wrap it with. His only hope was that hopefully he could get out of here soon, and that he wouldn't somehow get a supernatural infection.
Ignoring the pain as much as he could, Dean picked out a choppy path of mushy ground to walk on, only traveling through the water when it was absolutely necessary. He moved slowly, keeping an eye on his surroundings in case any other mysterious creature showed up. He couldn't afford another injury, and he definitely couldn't afford losing his only weapon against the jerk who did this to him, who put him in this horrible situation for fun and games.
However, exhaustion was hitting him hard, with no reprieve between rounds three and four, and when he first saw signs of an end to the bog, he couldn't recognize them. It wasn't until he nearly walked right into a stone wall that he realized with relief that the humidity of the air was decreasing, and that he could see a little better.
The knowledge renewed his energy and he walked a little faster, feeling as if he could almost dance in ecstatic joy when he left the bog completely behind him. He took a quick break, breathing clean, fresh air, and sat down. His legs were almost entirely green, coated in a thick layer of slime that must have come from the water, and there was a film of green in large splotches over the rest of him. He had a feeling that it was a good thing he couldn’t smell anything, else he’d probably want to keel over from the stench that he imagined was coming off of him.
The leg that was bothering him had a faded pinkish spot soaked into the pants, the blood from the wound diluted and fading. The cloth was sticking to his leg in a way that he would have to worry about later, when he finally got out of this cursed maze.
After a few minutes of resting, the round must not be over yet, he reasoned, as there was no blackout period, and beyond the natural exhaustion he didn't feel like sleeping, Dean pushed himself back to his feet, favoring his injured leg, and moved on, keeping his right hand on the wall for support so he didn't fall over or get himself turned around. He was slow, and pained, but finally after three dead ends he came across a very familiar site.
Before him sat a crossroads, with an old sign post right in the middle. The signs were still worn and faded, but he knew which way he had to go regardless, without having to study them again. There was only one way he hadn't gone yet. The way that didn't have a name anyway, cause the sign was entirely worn away.
Looking down the final path, he prayed that this would be it. He was so exhausted that the only thing keeping him going was stubborn force of will. He looked down and bit his lip, making a face. "Okay," he mumbled, "no problem. This is going to be it."
With that in mind, he moved forward, hoping he wasn't wrong.
The path moved on and on in a straight line, only slightly curving to either side, but there were no corners or side paths to take. Soon enough he saw the tower above the wall, and he could tell it was steadily getting closer the longer he walked. At the end of the path, Dean saw a set of stairs built into the wall. It was the only way to go. The stairs only went up to the top of the wall, but they were thin and steep. Wincing, he pulled himself up, having to literally climb them to the top.
Standing up once he was there, he looked around, fresh, clean wind buffeted his clothes around him and drying out what water was left on him. He'd almost forgotten what a decent cool wind felt like.
Before him he could see the entirety of the maze, in better detail than he ever could before. He could see the hedges in the distance to the right - had he really walked that far? - and the castle far beyond that ahead. He could almost see into the bog from here, and he saw things flying around that he was so glad he didn't catch the attention of.
Wiping a hand over his face, he turned and there it was in front of him. The tower. Instead of a wall, Dean found he was standing on flat surface leading all the way to the tower, making it seem as if the maze was dug out of the ground. Which, he supposed, was entirely possible, but he hardly cared that much about it to go into such detail as to why things were where they were or how they were made. That was always a Sam thing.
He paused. Sam. Was this how Sam had felt while Dean had been in Hell? Completely and utterly alone. With no one to turn to when he needed someone, with no brother there, or even a lover to turn to and talk when he had a problem he needed help with.
Dean took a breath. He didn't envy Sam this. As horrible as Hell had been, he'd never been completely alone. There was always someone, and even a victim or a tormentor was better than nothing. Alastair could have done so much worse to him by leaving him alone from time to time. It was truly a hopeless sensation.
But Dean wasn't alone. Not really. None of them were. They had a huge family now to support themselves with, anyone perfectly willing to help them with whatever they needed, regardless of what trouble they could accidentally get themselves into.
Reassured, and confident that he was almost out of this damned place, he moved up to the tower, walking around it a little ways to find a door. It was almost ridiculously easy to find. About halfway to the other side, he found it. There could have been glowing neon signs pointing to it and it wouldn't stand out more than it already did. Where as the stone around the door ws old and looked like it could benefit by having some work done, the door itself was pure white, glowing in the sunlight. There were no imperfections on its surface at all, and if that wasn't a save point, Dean didn't know what one was.
It opened automatically when he walked up to it, sliding into the wall smoothly. Inside the room was completely white, like the first room was, with no other doors or passages to be seen. Once he was inside, the door behind him slid closed again, and the lights dimmed in the room. More like the walls stopped being so bright, really, since there weren't any lights.
The exhaustion increased and he almost fell over, and succumbed to the spell that got him so easily last time, but as tired as he was, he just wanted this over with. "No, dammit! I refuse to play this game with you! I'm done! So you had better show yourself so I can go home!" He shouted, voice hoarse, but still strong enough to be heard.
There was a long silence, and he waited, wavering in place, putting pressure on his injured leg to use the pain to stay awake.
Finally, without a word from the Mysterious Voice from On High, a panel on the opposite wall slid open, revealing a fancy hallway with an expensive looking oriental patterned carpet and wall paintings.
Taking the invitations, Dean nodded and walked forward, hoping he wasn't going to regret not taking the chance to rest.
Prompt: Lost!Dean
Who: Dean
When he came to, Dean was lying face down in a patch of softly glowing moss. He was soaked to the bone, and filthy, but his body was only aching mildly, all things considered. He was not sure whether he should be happy that he didn’t remember what he’d gone through floating down that river, or pissed that he lost consciousness.
Pushing himself to his feet, limbs shaking, he wiped a hand over his face. The water seemed to have washed away most of the filth that has accumulated on him from the pipes, but he still couldn’t smell a damn thing, and there was a strange bloated feeling in his chest..
As soon as he realized what it was, Dean noticed he wasn’t breathing either, and, forcing a breath into his lungs, he promptly fell back to his knees, heaving, vomiting water.
When he was finished, air burning in his lungs, he looked up again, finally noticing a small white note taped to a tree just a few feet ahead of him. His limbs shook harder as he climbed to his feet the second time, but he forced himself to move, tearing off the note and opening it,
I suppose the ‘already dead’ thing comes in handy, doesn’t it? Welcome to round four.
He stared for several minutes before crumpling the note and tossing it back into the water. “Screw you.” He wheezed, coughing a little as he moved away from the water. If he thought he was sick of this joke earlier, then he had been sorely wrong. The worst part about it? He knew that there was every possibility of it getting much much worse.
Taking a look around his location, Dean noticed that he was seeing green. A soft haze, not quite glowing like the moss, but hovering over everything like a fog, sat in the air thickly. There was no wind, and the air was stale, difficult to breathe in. Probably wasn’t a good idea to breathe it in anyway, but he didn’t know if he could hold his breath that long. His lungs were already burning from the water.
It took him a minute, but he finally recognized this place as the one he saw when he took that look over the labyrinth. The freakish green blot that he'd wanted to avoid. Great.
Breathing shallowly, he moved into the haze, the air stinging his eyes, but he suffered through that in order to move on. At this point, there was no option to stop and rest. He had to get through this game, and to get back home so he could fall into Gabriel's arms and sleep for half of eternity.
That sounded amazing. He missed his nice warm bed at home. His nice new warm bed. The bed he shared with his lover. It was still so shiny and new, still the most comfortable place he could ever imagine being. Yet here he was sloshing through, he looked down...
A bog. Sloshing through a bog. So much for the idea that his clothes would dry out. The boots he'd been given hadn't done too well with all the abuse either, but he wasn't going to take them off. That would just be gross. Who knows what was in this water.
It was too quiet. Almost as quiet as the hedge maze had been. The only sound was the dirty water moving around his legs. He shivered unconsciously, the silence bothering him. He couldn't reach out and talk to Gabe for the first time since they first became bonded and it was bad. Too quiet in his head, too quiet outside of his head. He was started to feel alone. Probably would have long ago if he couldn't feel his bond as strong as ever.
Something rammed into his legs and he went down, hard, sputtering as he flails in the water. He jerks one of the knives out of his belt and looks around as he tries to get back to his feet. The water was too dirty, the air too hazy. He couldn't see what had attacked him. The water swirled around him just a second before the creature hit him again, and this time Dean was ready for it as he fell. He reached out and slashed with the knife before he lost track of it, hearing an unearthly pained wail fill the ear all of a sudden, breaking the silence so swiftly that his head rang in pain from it.
He grabbed the nearest tree and hoisted himself up into its branches, not knowing if it would even hold him, but he knew he had to get out of the water. It was a good thing, too, because as soon as his legs cleared the water it started churning, a large form writhing underneath the surface that he couldn't quite make out. Didn't even know what it could possibly be. What kind of creatures lived in bogs? And how many of them could live in knee high water levels?
Unless there were deep sinkholes that by some miracle he missed while he was walking...
The creature kept screaming and Dean covered one ear with his free hand, the sound starting to really hurt. "Shut up!" He yelled, voice drowned out but the unholy sound. Taking quick aim, no more than a guess, Dean threw the knife as hard as he could into the water, hoping the creature was big enough that he couldn't exactly miss. He was in luck. As soon as the knife struck down, the scream silenced and the water shifted for a few seconds before falling still again.
Dean waited several minutes, with no more movement, or attack forthcoming. The silence was once again so complete that he feared for a moment that he had just gone deaf, but he could hear himself when he cleared his throat. "All right, Dean. This place is filled with vicious water creatures. Stay out of the water. You only have one more knife," he said to himself, finding a small knot of ground to climb down onto.
There was a sharp pain in his leg when he stepped, and he winced, figuring that the creature must have had fangs or something, but there was nothing he could do about it right now. He didn't even have anything clean and dry to wrap it with. His only hope was that hopefully he could get out of here soon, and that he wouldn't somehow get a supernatural infection.
Ignoring the pain as much as he could, Dean picked out a choppy path of mushy ground to walk on, only traveling through the water when it was absolutely necessary. He moved slowly, keeping an eye on his surroundings in case any other mysterious creature showed up. He couldn't afford another injury, and he definitely couldn't afford losing his only weapon against the jerk who did this to him, who put him in this horrible situation for fun and games.
However, exhaustion was hitting him hard, with no reprieve between rounds three and four, and when he first saw signs of an end to the bog, he couldn't recognize them. It wasn't until he nearly walked right into a stone wall that he realized with relief that the humidity of the air was decreasing, and that he could see a little better.
The knowledge renewed his energy and he walked a little faster, feeling as if he could almost dance in ecstatic joy when he left the bog completely behind him. He took a quick break, breathing clean, fresh air, and sat down. His legs were almost entirely green, coated in a thick layer of slime that must have come from the water, and there was a film of green in large splotches over the rest of him. He had a feeling that it was a good thing he couldn’t smell anything, else he’d probably want to keel over from the stench that he imagined was coming off of him.
The leg that was bothering him had a faded pinkish spot soaked into the pants, the blood from the wound diluted and fading. The cloth was sticking to his leg in a way that he would have to worry about later, when he finally got out of this cursed maze.
After a few minutes of resting, the round must not be over yet, he reasoned, as there was no blackout period, and beyond the natural exhaustion he didn't feel like sleeping, Dean pushed himself back to his feet, favoring his injured leg, and moved on, keeping his right hand on the wall for support so he didn't fall over or get himself turned around. He was slow, and pained, but finally after three dead ends he came across a very familiar site.
Before him sat a crossroads, with an old sign post right in the middle. The signs were still worn and faded, but he knew which way he had to go regardless, without having to study them again. There was only one way he hadn't gone yet. The way that didn't have a name anyway, cause the sign was entirely worn away.
Looking down the final path, he prayed that this would be it. He was so exhausted that the only thing keeping him going was stubborn force of will. He looked down and bit his lip, making a face. "Okay," he mumbled, "no problem. This is going to be it."
With that in mind, he moved forward, hoping he wasn't wrong.
The path moved on and on in a straight line, only slightly curving to either side, but there were no corners or side paths to take. Soon enough he saw the tower above the wall, and he could tell it was steadily getting closer the longer he walked. At the end of the path, Dean saw a set of stairs built into the wall. It was the only way to go. The stairs only went up to the top of the wall, but they were thin and steep. Wincing, he pulled himself up, having to literally climb them to the top.
Standing up once he was there, he looked around, fresh, clean wind buffeted his clothes around him and drying out what water was left on him. He'd almost forgotten what a decent cool wind felt like.
Before him he could see the entirety of the maze, in better detail than he ever could before. He could see the hedges in the distance to the right - had he really walked that far? - and the castle far beyond that ahead. He could almost see into the bog from here, and he saw things flying around that he was so glad he didn't catch the attention of.
Wiping a hand over his face, he turned and there it was in front of him. The tower. Instead of a wall, Dean found he was standing on flat surface leading all the way to the tower, making it seem as if the maze was dug out of the ground. Which, he supposed, was entirely possible, but he hardly cared that much about it to go into such detail as to why things were where they were or how they were made. That was always a Sam thing.
He paused. Sam. Was this how Sam had felt while Dean had been in Hell? Completely and utterly alone. With no one to turn to when he needed someone, with no brother there, or even a lover to turn to and talk when he had a problem he needed help with.
Dean took a breath. He didn't envy Sam this. As horrible as Hell had been, he'd never been completely alone. There was always someone, and even a victim or a tormentor was better than nothing. Alastair could have done so much worse to him by leaving him alone from time to time. It was truly a hopeless sensation.
But Dean wasn't alone. Not really. None of them were. They had a huge family now to support themselves with, anyone perfectly willing to help them with whatever they needed, regardless of what trouble they could accidentally get themselves into.
Reassured, and confident that he was almost out of this damned place, he moved up to the tower, walking around it a little ways to find a door. It was almost ridiculously easy to find. About halfway to the other side, he found it. There could have been glowing neon signs pointing to it and it wouldn't stand out more than it already did. Where as the stone around the door ws old and looked like it could benefit by having some work done, the door itself was pure white, glowing in the sunlight. There were no imperfections on its surface at all, and if that wasn't a save point, Dean didn't know what one was.
It opened automatically when he walked up to it, sliding into the wall smoothly. Inside the room was completely white, like the first room was, with no other doors or passages to be seen. Once he was inside, the door behind him slid closed again, and the lights dimmed in the room. More like the walls stopped being so bright, really, since there weren't any lights.
The exhaustion increased and he almost fell over, and succumbed to the spell that got him so easily last time, but as tired as he was, he just wanted this over with. "No, dammit! I refuse to play this game with you! I'm done! So you had better show yourself so I can go home!" He shouted, voice hoarse, but still strong enough to be heard.
There was a long silence, and he waited, wavering in place, putting pressure on his injured leg to use the pain to stay awake.
Finally, without a word from the Mysterious Voice from On High, a panel on the opposite wall slid open, revealing a fancy hallway with an expensive looking oriental patterned carpet and wall paintings.
Taking the invitations, Dean nodded and walked forward, hoping he wasn't going to regret not taking the chance to rest.