Everyone: For gog's sake, get out of that burning building!

[misspouncellor]

Who: Everyone
Where: The Mansion
When: Final night of the event.
Rating: PG-13 for now?
Summary: The mansion is on fire, and escape can only happen in pairs!
The Story:

Comments

[sadfreezingbrit]

It was the first day's nightmare all over again. Red's voice was screaming from somewhere, as it always did. Only inside it was Daniel, banging against the glass, surrounded by the flames.

And when Philip moved Red's voice shackled him, yelled and kept him in place because it wasn't fair, because you cannot let one friend burn and spare the rest. He wants to die, believe old Red, you are helping him!

(But somehow Philip wasn't quite convinced.)

He woke up, panic and fear and helplessness still clinging to him. Only this time a deep breath got stuck in his throat; the air was stuffy and warm, the scent of smoke all too recognisable... somehow the fire must have made it out of his dream as well.

Philip jumped to his feet, but the window wouldn't budge and when he opened the door a thick cloud of smoke let itself into the room. He slammed the door shut again. Backed away from it, as if fire was an intruder that could be kept out just like that.

But of course that wasn't it. It was...

With any luck it was just another dream, another hallucination, another mocking phantom escaping from his mind. If that was the case then it would be over soon enough.

Philip sank to his knees and curled up in a corner.

Either way, it would be over soon.

[[ OOC: He already has a dramatic rescue date, thank you. ♥
(Feel free to meet him outside the mansion though!) ]]

[dashboardlite]

The night before the event began, Dean didn't have a nightmare.

He had a dream.

A recurring dream, actually, only this time the details were just off. He was grown-up, the doors wouldn't open, his father wasn't there. It was the mansion in Wonderland, not their house back in Lawrence. But this time the flames were accompanied by screams.

To be honest, he didn't really think anything of it until he woke up smelling smoke a few days later. Then it clicked.

"Shit."

Sprinting down the halls with every intention of finding the people who need him, Dean presses a shirt to his face and waves through the smoke, squinting as it stings his eyes. The ones too small to leave by themselves are the ones most likely to be running around, panicked, or hiding in their rooms. With fraternal instinct feeding his adrenaline, he kicks down the first door on his list in true Winchester fashion, smoke pouring into the room.

"Philip?!"

He takes a moment to cough and slams the door shut behind him.

"Phil, where the Hell are you?"

[sadfreezingbrit]

The cloud of smoke startles him, the noises even more so. The first call is lost on him; Philip draws his knees up to his chin, closing his eyes and trying very hard not to remember what burnt flesh smells like.

His whimper is almost voiceless, his actions restrained by a grim determination to have this all be a terrible dream and nothing more.

Only the second call breaks through and spurns him into action... or the tentative equivalent thereof. A response:

"...Dean?"

Philip lifts his head and his voice, but little more. The effort is tentative; he doesn't trust his dreams to throw him a bone.

[dashboardlite]

"Phili- Jesus, there you are," Dean mutters, crouching to avoid the smoke creeping in through the cracks around the door. The kid's curled up in the corner, arms wrapped around himself.

Shuffling over to him, Dean resists the strong instinct to grab Philip's arm and yank him closer so they can get the Hell outta Dodge, and offers his tiny friend a hand instead.

He also tries to keep the panic from coloring his voice. This is too much like home. Too much like home. Too much like home.

"C'mon, we gotta get you outta here."

[sadfreezingbrit]

...That is incentive enough for Philip. He scrambles to his feet and seizes the hand along with most of the arm and clings to it like what the narration would describe as 'burning', were it not a cruel and entirely insensitive comparison.

"Don't die, please don't die!"

It comes out a choked sob, the kind you think you can still hold back until the very moment you open your mouth.

In this form the concern may seem odd, but Philip in his current state of mind doesn't have a good overview. What he has are memories of a terrible dream, of his friends burning and of more death than such a young mind should be allowed to handle.

[dashboardlite]

"I'm not gonna die, and neither are you," Dean mutters hurriedly, glancing over one shoulder at the door. Smoke is still pouring through the cracks like sand in an hourglass.

"C'mon."

Instead of bothering to pull Philip along after him, Dean grabs the kid around his middle and holds him to his chest with one arm. The other is too busy fumbling through the haze, past a bed, a table, a sofa, a nightstand, reaching for the too-hot doorknob that his skin sizzles around as soon as he grips it.

Gritting his teeth through the pain and yanking it open, Dean barrels into the hallways (and subsequently a heatwave). Everything is crackling and red.

"Don't panic," he finds himself mumbling - more to Philip than himself, although the reassurance is nice - as he works his way around charred timbers and tries to remember where the goddamn staircase is.

"Don't panic, don't freak out, it's gonna be okay."