One morning jog up to Dean's room [18/??? artefacts collected]

[sadfreezingbrit]

[ 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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[sadfreezingbrit]

{Don't listen to him, monkey. You've got old Clarence here, so don't worry... I'm always with you. }

[ Philip cringes. Not because of Clarence's words, at least not this time. No, Dean's idea of tough love is simply something he isn't used to, something extremely alien to somebody whose former friends tended to express their concern with words... and gentler ones at that.

It's very possible that he will look back to this moment and be thankful, but for now his head is turned a different way entirely.

When Dean slams him against the door he almost hisses, definitely shows those fangs again, though it's a reaction he is barely aware of, certainly has no control over at that point.

Walking away and pretending that none of this happened? Philip has spent every waking moment (and given his lack of sleep there were a lot of those) replaying what he did in his head over and over again, thinking about how to make up for it, how to apologise if something like that was even possible.

For anyone to suggest anything else is hurtful to say the least. And even once Dean releases his grip Philip's teeth are still bared and his eyes closed, waiting for the physical pain to follow. ]

[dashboardlite]

[Dean grew up in a family of tough love - or no love, at times - and sugarcoating things has never been his strong suit. His brother reacts by pushing back, the teenagers here react by pushing back, which is why he's so surprised that Philip is just standing there, taking it.

There are reasons why Dean never had friends.]

I'm tired of you feelin' sorry for yourself, man.

[Hypocritical? God, yes. True? Also yes. He shakes his head, eye trained on Philip's teeth. His many, many sharp teeth. Dean breaks the stare and looks at Philip instead.]

You're better than this. If you wanna dwell on this shit, be my guest, but I forgave you a while ago.

[Dean takes a deep breath, letting it out shakily and feeling his fingers relax. Philip doesn't even have to say that he's sorry. Dean knows he is.]

[sadfreezingbrit]

[...And when it doesn't follow Philip slowly opens his eyes... and quickly (and with a horrified look) retracts his teeth as soon as he realises they are out.

When he stares at Dean a giant Why? is implied in his look, but he doesn't want to push his luck by asking, fearing that a response or lack thereof might ruin the sentiment of the moment...

...which is a first and very tentative step towards not feeling utterly miserable.

If they agree on one thing then it's that sorry and thank you and anything else along those lines is redundant; useless in some, already implied in other places.

Philip lowers his head and prolongs the silence. When he looks up to speak at last his voice sounds strained from the breakdown he is trying not to have. ]

How-- How is Castiel?

[dashboardlite]

[Dean knows better than to ask about Daniel. He's already spoken to the guy, and he really doesn't want Philip to continue to mull over everything that's happened. So Dean waits, patiently, for Philip to speak and say something that isn't self-deprecating.

But hey, that's new.]

He's fine.

[Dean shrugs. He isn't lying - Castiel made a full recovery and ripped Dean a new one for pushing Clarence so far. Dean didn't even have to tell Cas about that part - his "give 'em Hell" attitude has always gotten him into trouble.]

He's around. Haven't seen him in a couple days. He mostly goes off and prays a lot.

[The nonchalance with which Dean says this should indicate his feelings toward prayer. There's another awkward silence before Dean moves back to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and seating himself in it; the unspoken implication being that Philip should do the same.

For a moment Dean considers asking Philip whether or not he believes in God, but thinks better of it. The mansion is no place for gods.]

He said he's sorry he couldn't do more for you.

[sadfreezingbrit]

[ Philip takes the seat reluctantly. He didn't mean to stay long in the first place and Clarence was not the only reason for his attempted departure.

There's still a tiny issue of bloodthirst at hand and regardless of context getting all up in Philip's space didn't do a lot to make Dean look, sound or smell any less like a gourmet meal.

Still. Leaving now might send the wrong message and besides, he can beat this thing. At least that is what Philip needs to believe if he ever wants his confidence back. ]

He's done enough.

[ Getting rid of Clarence entirely couldn't have hurt, of course, but the sentiment is no less sincere. For somebody who appeared to have made a painful sacrifice for somebody else whose opinion of him was far from the highest Castiel has done more than enough. ]

[dashboardlite]

[Rubbing a tired hand over his face - the coffee didn't do nearly enough for him - Dean scratches at the scar tissue over his right eye. It's been really weird getting used to it, but he can deal.

He's had worse.]

I'll tell 'im. He'd like to hear that.

[Ah, the simple things. It's quiet again, then, and Dean is hesitant about letting Philip out of his room so soon, especially after that whole bit about murder, and then there was the creepy vampire hissing...he suddenly wonders if they can do some recon down in the kitchen to grab some stocks of meat, because a series of hungry vampires wandering the halls can't be a good thing. Speaking of food, though-

Dean stands, moving back to the fridge and grimacing at what he finds. Mostly nothing. The only thing left is shredded cheddar cheese, eggs, and some onions.

He's been trying to learn how to cook, okay?

Grabbing all three, he gets out a pan and a cutting board and continues the conversation a little forcibly. Things are going better now, so they might as well use it to their advantage.]

You ever, uh- [He cracks the eggs in a bowl and mixes them up with a fork.] Wonder how the mansion comes up with some of its events? Like...'cause sometimes they're just themes, and sometimes they're specific to us.

[Reaching for one of the large kitchen knives and setting it beside the cutting board, Dean lights the stove up and sets it to the right temperature, letting the pan heat up.]

[sadfreezingbrit]

[ What sounds like quiet to Dean is like a constant buzz to Philip. An unpleasant soundscape that takes all too long to get used to, especially when it flares up with cooking noises; a creaking fridge, a clattering pan, the slowly sizzling fat.

It should stir his ever-growing hunger additionally, but it doesn't. The smells (vivid and intense) only make him retch like the memory of an unpleasant food experience. He thinks of how much he wants out, how much he wants to crawl back to his room until...

Until Dean begins the conversation. ]

There was this pamphlet I found when I came here. I think Commander Ivanova wrote it. It said the events were based on our memories.

[ Philip relaxes visibly... to his own surprise. He expected his response to come out forced and uncomfortable, but... ]

If that's true I suppose... I- I guess some of those memories would be more specific and others could... just be an ordinary day. Actually...

[ But this is more than a small relief.

For more than week he didn't exchange one word with a single soul. Not the longest of time spans, but enough to let yourself become too introspective and pile up what is better off anywhere but in your own head. ]

Actually this could be yours, couldn't it? Did- did you feel any different today?

1/2

[dashboardlite]

Commander Whosawhatsit?

[Dean mumbles over his pan, back turned to Phil, pouring a little milk into the mixed eggs and opening the plastic bag of shredded cheese. He's never heard of anyone by that name before, but they sound like a character from some long-lost episode of Star Trek.]

Don't think I saw any pamphlets lyin' around when I first got here. But memories...huh.

[He purses his lips and considers this. For the non-specific events, something always seemed to tie in with things from his past. Things he remembered the most vividly.

In fact, while here, Dean's been forced to remember more about his own life than he ever thought he might. Perhaps it's just a method of coping.]

...I don't think it's my memory. I got too many memories of vampires for this one to matter.

Besides- [He turns back to the cutting board, peeling the skin off of one of the onions. Slicing it in half, he starts chopping the thing into haphazard pieces.] -if the mansion really wanted to mess with me, it'd do demons or somethin'. Neckbiters are small-fry compared to- Shit.

2/2

[dashboardlite]

[Dean hisses suddenly, dropping the knife onto the counter with a clatter. Distracted with too much thought, not particularly paying attention to his actions, he's sliced into the meat of his hand just underneath his left thumb.

He reaches over to another side of the counter for a towel, intent on staunching the flow of blood.]

Fuck, ow.

1/3

[sadfreezingbrit]

She's the one who organises the neighbourhood watch. I've got a copy of the pamphlet too if you like and-

[ He clears his throat, pausing to check if he remembers the next part correctly. ]

I've actually been told that the events- that not all of them have to be bad, so if you hhhhhnnhhh

2/3

[sadfreezingbrit]

[ And that would be approximately the point in time Philip smells the blood.

Now. Seeing blood on screen was bad. Being so close to somebody with blood was worse.

But to have it within reach and in plain sight, to be suffocated by the scent is... unbearable.

Philip's eyes roll back and he sways. Hunger, any hunger he's ever felt times ten doesn't compare to this. The candy withdrawal doesn't compare to this, because it's not pain, it's just craving and greed and there is instant gratification right there.

Philip swears that he remembered why this was wrong just a second ago, but a second could have been ages already and he... ]

3/3

[sadfreezingbrit]

[ He needs this now.

Philip jumps to his feet with swiftness and speed completely alien to him and before the action even registers he's already on the counter and jumping straight at Dean, fangs bared and ready to strike. ]

[dashboardlite]

[The cut isn't too bad; it's just a flesh wound, and he can bandage it up pretty easily. There's a quiet choked noise somewhere behind him, but Dean is a little preoccupied.

He turns around just in time to hear Philip snarl, and to see him vaulting across the counter. Dropping the towel and throwing his left arm up instinctively, they both hit the floor with a sickening thud, Dean gasping as his hip and elbow grind against the tiles.]

Phi-Ahhhhhhholy shit!

[Two rows of fangs have sunken into his forearm, the skin around the puncture wounds numb and tingling. Shaking the limb helplessly to dislodge the teeth, Dean grapples with his spare hand for the refrigerator door - there's a jar of dead man's blood just inside the shelf.]

[sadfreezingbrit]

[ The way Philip has Dean straddled would make his Mirror proud, although the manner of sucking taking place may not exactly meet his preferences.

Now one hand holds down Dean's arm, the other is pressed against his chest, allowing Philip to hear and feel the strength and speed of his heartbeat as if it was his own excitement.

Imagine eating again for the first time in days. Imagine it being your very favourite meal. Multiply it by as many times as you want, it still won't compare to the incredible sensation of blood finally touching Philip's lips, warm liquid trickling down his throat.

Greedily he sucks on Dean's arm, lapping up the red goodness as it gushes forth. He buries his fangs deeper while digging for more, inhaling and exhaling sharply out of habit rather than need. ]

[dashboardlite]

[Fuck, when did Philip get this strong? Dean didn't exactly expect all the vampire traits from his world to carry over, but the way that the relatively light-looking physics professor is pinning him to the floor clears up any doubts he might have had.

And he's torn between following a hunter's instincts and avoiding decapitating his friend. Every fiber of Dean that's screaming for self-preservation is telling him to grab the nearest knife and hack Philip's head off at the neck. The smaller voice calls for reason, but Dean is pretty sure that reason flew out the window like a brick the instant he cut himself.

Twisting his torso with a grunt, trying to pull away from the hand on his chest, Dean makes a last ditch effort to pull open the fridge door. It eases out...and he catches it, fumbling for the jar of thick, red liquid and gritting his teeth in satisfaction as his fingers touch it-

-And the whole jar tips off the shelf, shattering on the floor.

Oh, for Chrissakes.

He grabs one of the blood-soaked shards of glass and slashes it across Philip's arm. Dead man's blood is better than a beheading, at any rate.]

[sadfreezingbrit]

[ Dean's struggle barely registers. The shattering of the glass barely registers. The smell- registers too late, because then the shard is already drawn across his arm and Philip loosens his bite and screams.

He falls to the side and clutches the wound and emits a whiny growl, struck down by an avalanche of sensations which all boil down to searing pain. ]