Philip LaFresque and Jack Daniel's depressing day in the kitchen [29/??? artefacts collected]

[sadfreezingbrit]

[ And then this happened and Philip was back in his body. Just like that. Just... like that.

Not that the time off was a breeze, oh no. The things he said to some people, the things Clarence did, but... there are the things he didn't do. The things he could've done so easily and yet--

And yet Philip is back in his body and nobody is hurt. Nobody

Comments

[dashboardlite]

...I know it wasn't you.

[Dean rubs his hand over his face for the umpteenth time. It's hard to say out loud why he's so bothered. In his own head, it's playing on a loop, skipping like a scratched vinyl.

He's scared because he doesn't know how much was him, and how much was the event. He liked it. He enjoyed sprinting after people, the thrill of the chase - the hunt. Not caring who was who had been easy. They were just things.

When he woke up the first morning of the event, Dean didn't feel any different from the usual. Coffee, eggs, a regular day. It wasn't an out-of-body experience. It wasn't watching someone else wrest control from him, pretend to be him.

But he can't say that to Philip. Dean has to be the rock, the positive encouragement, the one with the experience.]

I finally just know how you felt. And it...it sucks, man.

[...maybe he ought to stop trying to be the rock.

Dean has hurt plenty of people, but never people he knew. Not really. His whole damn life he's been okay with killing, because he's good at the job, but it takes this nuthouse to give him a conscience about it.]

...I couldn't tell what was me and what wasn't.

[sadfreezingbrit]

...I know. I was--

[ Most of the time the line is clear. His mind is soundly suffering from the wrongs his body commits under Clarence's rule.

But there was an exception, an event he was very eager to put behind him, and not just for the eye it cost him.

The man who hid away in that bookstore, the man who only took up human decency as a disguise, the one who betrayed Dean and would have killed him to maintain his cover... that wasn't Clarence.

It wasn't both of them either, no, that one was entirely on Philip with the virus so much as wondering how the hell he woke up one eye short until he sat down for a nice cup of coffee and a look through the event's memories.

It terrified Philip more than he could possibly say. Because he didn't understand how it was possible. Because he tried to rationalise it and came up blank. Because once he shot down all the good theories he finally came up with a solution. And then he could tell exactly what was him and what wasn't.

And he really didn't like the answer. ]

I know,

[ Philip repeats, unable to bring himself to offer the story after all. ]

[dashboardlite]

[Not knowing what you're capable of is the scary part. Humans are sick bastards; Dean knows that from experience. He remembers the hillbilly-holler version of The Most Dangerous Game. He remembers being hunted by people - regular people - and remembers the sizzle of the fire poker, red-hot and searing purple spots in his vision because it was all he could stare at.

He also remembers something much more recent. Researching Hell, looking up the stories, the old stories, because fiction just wasn't cutting it.

Hell brings out the worst in man.

Dean remembers that in particular.]

I'm just-

[Tired.]

...I'm just sorry I didn't get it before, Phil. I'm sorry I scared the shit outta you, I'm sorry I hurt those kids. I'm sorry for a whole lot, and I know 'sorry' ain't gonna cut it. Not by a long shot. But I gotta start somewhere.

[Somewhere just happens to be forgiving himself first. It's hard. Probably one of the hardest things he's ever done, actually, especially since he still worries that it was him, that it wasn't just the event screwing around with people. Recalling the exhilaration and the enjoyment, it's difficult to justify it to oneself that the fault lies elsewhere. But if Dean can't take his own advice, what the Hell is he giving it out for in the first place?

It wasn't you sounds nice, and screaming it at Sam pulled his little brother out of a funk more than once.]

Y'know, my, uh...my brother woulda said that we're both friggin' idiots. We're overthinking this crap, we're looking at it too much.

[A beat.]

I know it's hard, but...I'm startin' to think that he's right.

[Because low expectations and a bitter outlook can only get you so far in Wonderland.]

[sadfreezingbrit]

[ A mirthless laugh. ]

Then I'm starting to think we might really need him around.

[ Oh god. What now? What else? The longer they talk about this the more Philip feels like he needs a shower to wash off this topic of conversation. ]

...I remember what it was like and- and 'it wasn't your fault' didn't exactly cut it for me either, but--

[ He exhales sharply, trying to recall the sentiments that gave him comfort then. ]

For all it's worth, I don't blame you. [ He doesn't. ] And I'm fine. [ He isn't. ] And I'm... sorry I asked about Dan.

[ He is, if only because the lack of answers wasn't worth the trouble.

...And that's about everything he has to say on the subject. ]

[dashboardlite]

S'fine, maybe...maybe later, just not now.

[Now is not, in fact, a good time to talk about people Dean may have killed horribly.]

I'm thinking the one thing I can do is get a drink and try to sleep and hope for the best.

[The implication being You should try to do that, too.]

[sadfreezingbrit]

[ Philip nods. ]

Yeah. Sure. I'll- I'll talk to you later.

[ The implication being none in particular. The truth being that Philip has too much to do and too much on his mind to even attempt sleep right now. ]

Take care.

[ He offers a smile as decisive as he can muster and reaches to turn the transmission off. ]