Mun
Name: Tsuki
Livejournal Username:
undecipherE-mail: contests.go.here@gmail.com
AIM/MSN: AIM: cremation dance
Character
Name: Dean Winchester
Fandom: Supernatural
Gender: Male, god dammit.
Age: 30
Time Period: After the latest, fourth-wall breaking episode in which Dean learned about the existence of fandom.
Wing Color: A pastel pink, like the kind you'd paint a nursery.
History:
Wiki link.Personality: Contrary to popular belief, Dean Winchester is not a Hunter first and foremost. Though he lives and breathes that life, though he has lived closely by their creed, to define him as a Hunter and leave it at that would be mistaken. He shows all the signs, it's true. Nothing invigorates his senses the way hunting down a demon does. When faced with the fires of Hell, he coped by taking as many jobs as quickly in succession as possible. Way back when Sam tried to pursue a normal life, Dean was still on the job as he's always been. When Zachariah removed him from his memories, Dean still found his way back to what he does best.
But he is not a Hunter the way others are, the ones who live and die for the cause, the job.
No, first and foremost Dean Winchester has always been a son, then a brother. His loyalties extend that far and then they falter, they stumble to a stop. He began hunting for his parents, because his mother was killed by a demon and he wanted to make their absent father proud. Now he continues in part because it's all he's ever known but primarily for the sake of his brother.
An overwhelming part of Dean's life and with it his personality revolves around the little brother he practically raised himself, who has now become the only family he has left in the world. It's proven time and time again that there's so very little he wouldn't do for Sam, and he'd pawn off his own soul not to have to live without him. If asked to do it again even with all he's been through and all he now knows, he can't be entirely sure of what he would answer.
This fact scares him. A lot of things scare Dean, actually, but he's the kind of guy who doesn't like to admit it. Not even to himself. Out the outside, he's a man's man. He listens to classic rock and heavy metal. He likes his food smothered in animal fats and full of red meat. When his words fail him, he lets his fists do the talking. He drives a 1976 Impala, and he likes his women the way he likes his boots; tight and preferably in pairs. He wants the world to know he's tough, he's solid, he's reliable. He's the eldest son, the big brother. He has to be the strong one, the protector, the one who looks after Sam now that John is gone.
Inside, though, he's as scared as the rest of them. If not more. He's been to Hell and back. He's seen things, he's done things. He knows better than anyone what's coming if Lilith isn't stopped. The weight of the whole world is bearing down on his shoulders, and all he wants is for Sam and him to be okay. Maybe not even him. If he can just see Sam through, that's all he needs.
But if you ask anyone around him, apparently that's just too damn much to ask.
There's nothing in the world Dean hates more than demons. And you think hey, that's straightforward enough. Demons are sick bastards. But it's not anymore. Straightforward, that is. Dean's sold his soul to one, he's nearly been turned into one. His brother, the one he cares about more than his own life and soul, has demon blood in his veins. They're up to their necks in angels, who always leave a bad taste in Dean's mouth after they come and go, and Dean's quickly finding they're just as messed up as the demons.
The world's a mess. Everything's a mess.
Dean gets vulnerable at times, because the world's overwhelmingly wrong and so is his place in it. Even with angels steering his life around and meeting a prophet who can unfailingly foretell the future, he has little faith. He's jaded, he's resentful, and he knows all too well that he's trapped in the midst of something much too big. And he's got the feeling, he's almost sure, that it's going to wind up swallowing him in the end.
This is all in his head, though, brewing beneath the surface. He doesn't let it show save for rare occasions when it all catches up to him. He has to be strong for Sam, and so most days he's almost flippantly casual about the happenings of the world. He's got a lighthearted attitude about things, regarding the world around them with an almost cheeky sarcasm. At the same time, his sense of humor is as much as a personality trait as a defense mechanism, as the cheekiness turns to a scathing sort of sarcasm when tensions rise.
Strengths: As a Hunter, Dean's fairly had to keep himself in shape to stay up to par with the at times superhuman strengths and speeds they find themselves pitted against. So he's on the tough side of regular human strength, but given that that's not always enough he relies on other things. He's a fair shot and well acquainted with a vast array of weaponry, from hunting knives to crossbows to shotguns. He's the somewhat-cliche street smart to the book smarts of his brother as well, versed in all accounts of arcane mythology with most of it coming from firsthand experience and the accounts their father left them. And when it comes to more non-traditional strengths, Dean's a pro at impersonating anything from federal agents to journalists and knows how to pick locks, commit credit card fraud, and otherwise get by without ever having to hold a job like nobody's business.
As for Dean's mental fortitude, it can be argued that anyone who endures thirty years of torture at the hands of Alastiar is considerably hard to break. He sticks by his guns no matter what should come to pass, and he seems to be able to absorb whatever mental shocks come his way with minimal distress. Though recent events have been near overwhelming, he doesn't let himself stay in a rut for long. No matter what his inner turmoil, he wears the same smile, loads the same guns, and keeps working the job because he has to. Because it's what his father would have done. Because there's a world out there that only he can save.
Speaking of Alastiar, Dean wouldn't really count this among his strengths but the angels certainly seem to, there's the 'training' Alastiar put Dean through during the three decades Dean spent in Hell. Trained by the worst of the worst, Dean knows his way around an interrogation table although he's warned the angels that if they make him relive those days they're not going to like what they wake in him.
Due to his somewhat strange sense of humor and primarily laid-back measure (provided his life/his brother/the world isn't being immediately threatened, a state of being which is quickly becoming scarce) Dean can seem pretty unreliable but the opposite couldn't be more true. He's startlingly competent when it comes to what he does, and he's the kind of person who's always got your back provided you've done something to earn it. All it really takes it to be an innocent, or to show you're not going to sell out his brother and him to demons for a free pass. Though not entirely great at it, he can also be reassuring when things get hard. If he promises you that nothing bad is going to happen to you, he means it with his life. If you're Sam, he means it with his soul. Dean's loyalties to his family, a family which is not in the least limited to blood if Bobby's any example, are virtually unbreakable.
He'd do anything for the people he cares about. Anything at all.
Weaknesses: While plenty strong physically, Dean finds himself way outclassed more often than not. It's because the things he fights are superhuman, are supernatural. Demons, vampires, even demigods. He does his best to hold his own, but if he doesn't stay ahead of the game at all times he gets circles run around him. That and he gets his ass kicked six ways to Sunday. On the bright side, by this point the boy knows how to take a beating. Hell, he got hit by a mini van and walked away so maybe unwittingly vying for the title of 'world's best punching bag' isn't entirely bad of a thing.
Mentally, Dean's a complete wreck. He doesn't like to let it show, but that doesn't make it any less true. His brother's part demon, and the demon he shares blood with is the same one who incinerated their mother and their house when they were little, subsequently sending their family spiraling down the path of becoming Hunters. Their dad sold his soul to save Dean's life, and in turn he sold his soul to save his brother's. He died and went to Hell, where he was tortured until they broke him and then he started torturing others. After all that, an angel reached into Hell and dragged him back to save the world from the apocalypse, only to later learn that the apocalypse is only happening because he let the demons break him. You don't come out of that smelling like peaches and daisies.
Dean can't get through the day without boozing up, and if he's not buzzed he's drunk. It's gotten a little better with time, but so much shit keeps happening it's a wonder he hasn't fallen into the bottle and drowned. He's more paranoid than he used to be, less trusting of others. He holds on desperately to who and what he used to be, but deep down he knows he's changed. He can't undo the things he's done, and it eats at him. He's given up on himself.
He knows his brother is fucking demons but he can't do a damn thing to stop it. He knows the angels are dragging him around like a puppet but there's not a damn thing he can do to stop that either. What he's learned about what the angels want from him has only made him more cynical about himself. When they first dragged him out of Hell, he couldn't accept that they'd done it because he deserved it. He doesn't see himself as a good person. Yeah, he's saved some people but he doesn't think that makes him the least bit special. He's flawed, after all. He's a deeply flawed creation, and no one knows that better than he does. Once he learned it was all prophecy, that only the man who broke the first seal can stop it, it only proved to him that faith is useless. He's just being used.
All he wants to do is be more like John. To be strong like John, to make John proud, to protect Sam. But after Alastiar's words, he knows beyond all doubt that he's not even half the man his father was. He's sure John would be ashamed of him if their dad only knew what shit Dean unwittingly unleashed upon the world.
Dean's also always been a little too self sacrificing. He sold his soul for his brother, yeah, but even before that he was willing to risk his life for perfect strangers. Dean's sense of self worth has always been in the gutter, and not one thing about his life has helped him fish it back out.
Samples
First Person: Ugh, my head. Jesus, how much did I have to drin--
Where're my clothes? The hell?
This has got to be one fucked up dream. It-- It was that tofu burger, wasn't it? Man, I should've known better than to eat that shit. Tasted like feet, too--
--Sam?
...Sam!
God dammit, again?
What the-- Did I land on a fucking flamingo? Where all these pink feathery shits coming fr--
HOLY--
Is this another Trickster demigod-bullshit? Last I checked, Lilith didn't wanna play dress up with me. She wanted my head on a stick. Why the hell do I have--
Ooh, hey, I can move them.
DAMMIT! This is not cool--
...
Did that squirrel just--
That squirrel just--
Fuck.
I'm standing in the middle of goddamn Narnia, I've been stripped down to pants that aren't even mine, I'm molting pink shit, and the squirrels are fucking sayin' hello.
That's it. I'm sitting right here until someone fixes this. You hear me? Cas? Cas! You want me to stop the apocalypse, fine, but not until this bullshit stops!
Third Person: Screams.
During day they whispers, but at night they were screams. In his head, in his soul, ringing in his ears onto eternity. Eternity. The word had meant nothing to Dean before, not with the life he led. Forever was waiting for the next issue of his favorite line of porno mags. Forever was waiting for Sammy to finish brushing his fucking hair in the morning. But after the pit, eternity-- The screams were always there, branded into him by the fires of Hell over the time he had spent in the Pit. It didn't matter, though. He reminded Sam how long he'd been there to give him some idea, but Sam really had no idea at all. Whether he said it was three months or thirty years, it might as well have been three days. Three seconds. All of it bled into one never ending moment of agony and fear. Of being alone. Lost. Being in the Pit was forever. Even now, Dean wasn't really out. Never would be. He knew that, but he made himself keep going because he was the one who had pawned off his soul. Even now, he didn't regret it. He'd go back to the Pit in a New York minute if it meant never having to sit next to Sam's body again, feeling him go cold.
Fuck.
The screams. Howling at him, laughing at him, whispering to him like a long lost, long scorned lover. Calling him home. Home. The thought was so numbing that Dean wanted to laugh even suspended here in this pitch blackness he'd once called sleep, with the Pit smoldering below him and nothing above him. Just this. It was home to him, Hell was. Hellfire lapping at his soul until it ate all that he was and made him one of the demons he'd spent his whole life hunting. Every night, he was back here. And when he died, when those bitch angels ran out of use for him. He didn't even question it. He knew he would go home.
The sound of a tree branch rattling in the wind started him awake, and his eyes snapped open even as he sucked in a breath and was surprised that the air was cool and not choking him with the taste of smoke and despair and blood and decay. It left a strange taste in his mouth though, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. Groaning, he ran his hand over his face, noting that he was going to need a shave before slowly sitting up. His hand reached out to where he'd left his flask of whiskey.
"Sam, you better not hog the fucking bathroom, I--" he began with his usual variation of 'good morning' to his brother, then cut off as his hand closed around nothing. He blinked slowly, gaze focusing for the first time, and he realized he was no longer in the motel room he had gone to sleep in. He was in a forest, and not the sorry excuses for forests usually found in the cities they drove through. This was a forest. Trees from horizon to horizon, so green and lush that Dean found it little unnerving. He'd been in forests. He'd been in way more forests than he liked to think about, doing things he like to think about even less. This forest was a little too nice, and if Dean's life had taught him anything it was to never trust things that looked too good to be true.
Besides, how the fuck had he even ended up here?
He hadn't been drinking last night, he hadn't picked up any strange women, and--
Dean took another moment to take in his surroundings, then swore loudly as he climbed to his feet.
"Castiel!" he shouted. "Goddamn angels-- At least fucking bring my shit with me if you're going to get your jollies dragging me dimension hopping! ...WHERE THE HELL'S MY SHIRT?"