One morning jog up to Dean's room [18/??? artefacts collected]
[ For Philip the last 1 1/2 weeks were-- Actually, let's not talk about the last 1 1/2 weeks. Let's just say that being wide awake at night was what he expected and that the hunger made sense, given that he hadn't been able to keep any food down for a while now... and didn't particularly feel like trying either
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He wants to kill things with his bare hands.
Dean wants to do his goddamn job for once in this stupid place and stop hanging around, hating himself. Accounting for the fucked-up depth perception wasn't easy, but he can still shoot well. He can still use knife. Which is why having a mansion full of vampires constitutes as a field day.
Currently, though, he's dreaming sweet dreams about strippers and the days when he was allowed to actually go out and de-stress with a hunt. Or he was dreaming, until someone started pounding on the damn door.]
Fuckin' Christ, all I ask is four hours, minimum.
[Rubbing his eye(s) and throwing his legs over the side of the bed - he's the only one who really uses it, since Castiel doesn't sleep - Dean sleepily pads over to his door and opens it. He squints blearily.]
What the fuck, Phil?
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...Even though Philip quickly found that ravenous hunger made for quite the distraction from his guilt.
See, physics guy was fairly certain that this was an event. Consequently he was fairly certain that Dean would be affected as well. He expected to find him equally changed but infinitely more prepared to know how to deal with this.
He didn't expect to find him human and smelling like a free breakfast buffet.
So whatever Philip meant to say in an urgent voice now gets lost as he stares at Dean, mouth agape, unable to do anything but listen to the throbbing of his pulse and think of the delicious blood pumping through his veins so close under his exposed skin.
And that look Dean is getting now? That's some Mirror Phil grade leering right there. ]
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Just the way his father trained him.
It's not just Philip, either. The whole hallway is steeped in the scent of ozone, and every latent hunting instinct Dean has let fall into disrepair revs up and shudders through him like a lightning bolt.
There are few things that really bother Dean. Philip staring at him like he's a New York strip steak is one of them.]
Phil.
[Unwilling to take chances like the last time he invited Philip in, Dean takes a step back and to one side, gesturing that he come in. Not completely positive on the reason for Phil's sudden interest in his bare chest, Dean shuts the door behind his friend and locks it.]
I know you didn't come over here just to be a pain in the ass and wake me up at- [He checks with watch with a groan.] -six-thirty.
[Dean backs up against the kitchen counter, next to the array of knives he'd been cleaning before bed last night.]
How- Uh. What's up?
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He stays close at first, but the sound of Dean's heart is almost too much to bear. Dean might as well be lying naked on a giant plate with an apple in his mouth, surrounded by blinking neon signs that say EAT ME.
Philip takes a step back. His head hurts.
Somewhere deep down he almost can't believe that he isn't giving their last encounter so much as one second thought, he should-- No. No, there it is. One thought. One thought about how Dean's eye tasted fantastic, about how he wants more, more--
He takes a second step back. Swallows. ]
I've got...
[ Finding the right words in a difficult situation is not exactly his forte on a good day, but when his focus his so far off, when all his senses are buzzing with sensations that make his stomach knot hungrily then he... then he-- ]
I think-
[ He takes one last step away from Dean, closes his eyes and flashes his fangs. ]
I think I've got a problem.
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Philip takes another step back, and Dean's suspicion grows. There is something really wrong here, and it's not just the remarkably pasty pallor of Phil's skin.]
Look, dude, gettin' all hot and bothered about me in boxer shorts ain't gonna- Whoa.
[He stares at the teeth. The teeth. Holy shit, he's-]
You're a vampire?
[Dean's hand slides over the counter carefully, fingertips resting on the handle of one of his knives.]
There anything else you feel like tellin' me, Phil? Is this a- Uh. Recent development?
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[ Fangs. Retract. Oh God, Dean's pulse, stop speeding up! ]
But you- y-you're...
[ Tasty. Awfully, awfully tasty.
He takes yet another step back, this time with nervous eyes on Dean's arm. No, for once that little manoeuvre did not escape him. ]
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[Dean finishes for him. While he doesn't relax any more, he does fold his arms across his chest, leaving the knife behind.
This is a whole new kind of crazy. Like a-dingo-ate-my-baby crazy. An entire event based around vampires. It's as though it's catering specifically to Dean Winchester, vampire-hunter. If, say, half the mansion was afflicted, then the other half was in serious shit.]
Okay, just-
[Dean looks towards his clothes draped over an armchair, and chews on his lip. He has no idea how hard this is for Philip, but it can't be easy. Glance darting back to Phil, Dean makes a temporary game-plan.]
...I'm gonna get dressed. You want...like...a raw steak, or something? So you can stop lookin' at me like you wanna jump my bones? It's kinda weird.
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[ Philip trails off and nods. His attempt at analysing whether raw meat would sate his appetite is thwarted by Dean's constant I AM FOOD beacon, the metaphorical brightness of which is giving him a very actual headache. ]
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[Sidestepping out of the kitchen warily and towards the sitting area, Dean remains decently vigilant of Philip's movements while he tugs on his pants and shirt. Tying his shoelaces, he asks, legitimately curious:]
What's it like?
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[ Again Philip swallows. So far he hasn't moved or taken his eyes off Dean. ]
You smell differently, I canhear your blood--
[ Philip stops himself, noticing his fangs on the verge of deploying.
Steaks. Fridge. Right.
Hastily he moves past Dean. He hesitates before opening the fridge, but once he sees its contents he doesn't have so much as a thought left to draw revolting parallels between his and Clarence's eating habits, to ponder whether this is truly the right course of action.
Instead he merely inhales sharply and greedily helps himself to Dean's supplies and sees to the updated food count in the steak category rapidly reaching zero. ]
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Nose wrinkling at the ravenous noises he hears coming from the kitchen - thank fuck he always keeps some raw meat in there for cooking - Dean swallows hard. He has some options. Ninety percent of Dean's instincts are screaming at him to cut off Philip's head. He's a vampire. It's the only way to stop him. That, or tie him to a chair, which would be conveniently cleaner and might hold him until this event is over.
And killing friends is really not cool, anyway.
Curbing his growing need to do his job, Dean takes a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his face, and glances back up at Philip. ]
Is that, uh...that tidin' you over, buddy?
[Dean grabs his father's journal from the desk, moving back into the kitchen and leaning against the table.]
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He stops himself just before he can lick his hands clean. Once the sentiment of near-starvation has been reduced to mere hunger Philip finds that he has regained the presence of mind to mind his manners.
Frowning at the realisation that he just wolfed down several raw steaks with fangs and his bare hands he slowly closes the fridge and washes his hands and face over the sink.
Slowly everything around him is softening... not by much, but enough to make the sounds and sights and smells bearable... vivid rather than assaulting.
He slinks over to Dean. Unaware of the hunter's own instincts it doesn't occur to him to keep his distance once that pesky pulse is finally background music rather than a dinner bell. ]
What... what now, what-- What am I supposed to do?
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Bad memories. Let's tamp those down.
Clearing his throat, he trails his finger down the page and hangs over a few lines. Great. All the shit he already knows. Dead Man's Blood is like a painful sedative, sunlight gives them a mild sunburn, they live in packs and mate for life - Dean snorts at that one - and the only cure for vampirism is nothing more than a rumor.
He starts a little as Philip's voice breaks the silence fairly close to him, and takes a step back.]
Shit, dude, don't do that.
[Dean checks the journal page one last time, then snaps the book shut. Christ, he needs caffeine for this.]
Do you... [Moving over to the coffee pot, he fills it with water, shoves some grounds in the machine, and sets it to brew.] ...you got a bite mark anywhere?
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[ He groans. The sound of coffee making is so much closer to a sledgehammer than he remembers. ]
No. No, I...
[ He feels his neck. Cold. ]
You think someone did this?
[ Philip can't for the life of him (pardon the pun) imagine who or why... or when, but the thought of this being more than an event is absolutely terrifying to him. ]
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[Dean pulls a coffee mug out of the cabinet above his head. Oblivious to Philip's fresh and fantastic sense of hearing, he lets the cupboard door slam shut.]
But it could be a mansion-thing if you don't have any teeth marks...
[Pouring his coffee, Dean leans to one side to scrutinize Philip's neck. He seems fairly unmarred, actually, which is unusual. Maybe it's just an event. A douchey, bloodthirsty event.]
...'cause you don't. If it was a person, in theory, all we'd have to do is find 'em and make some kinda tonic outta their blood, you'd drink it, and then you'd be cured.
[Dean grimaces and takes a sip of his coffee. Ohhhh, much better.]
But you might be stuck like this for the next coupla days, Phil.
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I don't think-- [ He shakes his head. No, that verdict is certain. ] It can't have been anyone else. It has to be--
[ He pauses, but really, that other option doesn't make any sense. ]
It's an event. I... thought it would be, but...
What am I supposed to do for the next couple of days?
[ His hunger level is presently the kind that would make you decide to slowly start cooking dinner. It's manageable all right, but given that he had to empty an entire fridge to get there he is not overly optimistic. ]
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