very soon, the light will vanish. it will take with it all the hope and joy we've ever known.

[thepull_mods]

Who: Siren's Port
When: The night of Tuesday, October 18th into the morning of Wednesday, October 19th.
Where: In the mind, in the dreams, in the unconscious of the sleepers.
Summary: --
Warnings: These dreams may be considered not safe for work, with violence, gore, death, underlying sexual themes and other mentions of graphic nature. Having them

Comments

[refrigeratormom]

[He'll find himself beaten to the punch by Mary, who's forgotten her favorite wine in favor of being halfway through a fresh-poured whiskey already. She's in the living room, slumped in the chair, watching Sam tiredly. There's something incredibly raw in her eyes that betrays some thin slice of how not-okay she really, really is.

Because she can't say exactly which one was his. Or even that one of them was. One of those dreams was brighter and more vivid than the others, but one of them was obviously Tom's, and had Rochelle's face. It wasn't that one, though. The one immediately after- that was the brighter, the horrible one that recalled in stomach-churning detail the string of nightmares from the other night, the one that was an endless cavalcade of violation and the kind of things that she literally only had experience with in nightmares. The fact that it was that- it wasn't just violence. It wasn't. It was worse, worse in ways she wouldn't ever be prepared to think about, and this was just the latest thing. The latest thing out of so many.

When she the door opens she just looks up, some of the bald emotion fogging over with a kind of softness that is still very much real.]

He looks so sweet like this.

[wearinandtearin]

[He stops dead, just looking at her and then the whiskey and then at her face and the emotion there. And he knew. She'd had the same dreams. He's still shaking a little and he looks spooked, but he does his best to cover it. At her comment, he looks over at Sam, gaze lingering on him for a long moment. Distantly he thinks that he would like for Sam to just stay that way, even if he's still 26 in his head and it's totally irrational. Then he blinks himself out of his thoughts and nods, swallowing hard at the effort to try and calm his mind.]

Yeah.

[refrigeratormom]

[Mary puts her glass down with a thunk and gets up just a little too quickly, motivated by something she can't even start to name and just this side of too earnest.]

Dean. [For a moment she seems on the edge of saying something important.] Can you help me put him to bed?

[wearinandtearin]

[He's caught off guard by her attitude and how quickly she gets up. There's a loud voice in him that's telling him to get out of there, but he knows she'd never let him without an explanation, and he doesn't have a good one. But he just zeroes in on the prospect of having the alcohol that's sitting on the counter, holds onto it like it's the only thing that can ground him right now (and it probably is) and nods again.]

Yeah. Alright. [He goes over to Sam and puts all his mental efforts into picking him up bridal style and not waking him up.]

[refrigeratormom]

Okay, thanks.

[She slips around him and into the bedroom, peeling back the covers and fluffing the pillow just so. The sight of Dean carrying Sam is so precious that for a moment her heart skips painfully and she can't speak but for a thick whisper.]

Careful, careful.

[wearinandtearin]

[He maneuvers Sam in his arms carefully, his arm bent around the back of his shoulders in such a way that it would keep his head from lolling back. He walks through the door sideways so as not to bump him on anything and then carefully lays him down on the bed where Mary has pulled the covers back. Carrying his pint-sized brother like that calms him down enough to let the memories of the dreams take a backseat. He steps back to let Mary pull the covers up over him and just watches Sam's face.]

[refrigeratormom]

[In the low light, Dean looks so like his father that she thinks for a moment that this could be any night, that this could be John coming in with Dean when he fell asleep on his Daddy's lap watching cartoons. It could be the last time she saw her family- but seeing Dean put him down so carefully, seeing Sam's sleeping face, she remembers that she has her family here. She still has them, doesn't she? Even if they're not what she remembers. Even if she has to start from scratch.

Mary pulls the covers up gently, smoothing his hair back from his head with a soft touch. Sam stirs a little with quiet sleepy sounds and even one slow blink, but he doesn't wake up. Not really. She smiles a little and bends over him, doing something she's never done before- kissing him on the forehead gently, then pulling back to whisper.]

Goodnight, Sam. [Pause.] Your family's watching over you.

[It's a perfect moment. As soon as she steps back she wonders if she can really do this.]

[wearinandtearin]

[Something in him aches when he sees her push Sam's hair back and kiss his forehead with goodnight wishes. It aches in a good way. A nostalgic way and he actually lets a small half smile creep into his expression, the dreams still taking a backseat to this moment.

He backs up and waits by the door for her and silently agreeing with what she said to Sam.]

[refrigeratormom]

[She walks out quietly, turning at the door to look back at Sam and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. It's a painful, exquisite moment that she wishes could last forever, but eventually they have to turn the light off and shut the door on him-

-and then it's just them again. It feels to her like a little of the tension is defused. She squeezes his shoulder with a little half-smile before letting him go.]

Thanks.

[wearinandtearin]

[When the door is shut there's less of a distraction for him and he looks down at her hand on his shoulder just as she squeezes it and thanks him. There's a tightness in his returning smile as he gives a short nod.]

No problem. [And then he takes in a shaking breath and goes over to where Mary left the bottle of whiskey to get himself a glass.]

[refrigeratormom]

[Mary, possessed of the sudden need to make herself busy, goes to the fridge and gets out- something. Oh, a bag of grapes. Okay.]

You looked like you were going somewhere. It's kind of late at night for that, don't you think?

[wearinandtearin]

[He grabs a glass and pours some whiskey into it like it's the first thing he's drank in months, intent on it like nothing else as she rifles through the fridge. At her question, he rubs his forehead while trying to come up with an answer.]

Uh. [Pause. Then he tosses back some whiskey.] Yeah. [Pouring some more.] Wasn't thinking. [Kinda true. He shakes his head a little while looking at the bottle. Then he collects himself and just lightly touches upon the truth, knowing she'd had the same dreams. It's not the same as admitting any of them were his.] ... With dreams like that, I almost expected a Kreuger cameo.

[But he won't look at her and his fingers gripping the glass are white with strain despite the casual words.]

[refrigeratormom]

[Mary isn't stupid. She's seen him asleep before, passed out on his couch or hers, in beds anywhere. He had nightmares before this, she's reasonably sure, or at least abnormal sleeping patterns- and Christ, who wouldn't? The white knuckling and strain is even more obvious.

She puts the grapes down with a soft exhale.]

Yeah. Just as mine were starting to get better...

[They came. The third night was the worst, so much closer and more physically shocking than the others. The others were creepy, horrifying, violent, painful, but often abstract, faces she didn't know and issues that weren't hers. Some, though, were too much. Even one has left her now with the lingering smell of sulfur even in waking. She looks at him.]

Dean... Was one of them yours? This past week?

[Open enough. If no, then no. If yes, it could be any night, any number of dozens of fevered visions.]

[wearinandtearin]

[He tosses back some more whiskey at her question, just focusing on that repetitive pattern. Pour, drink, pour, drink. He's still not looking at her and just the fact that he's taking more than a minute to speak should already answer her question. And distantly he knows that.]

Yeah. [It's not the same as saying which dream was his and right now he doesn't have the energy or a quiet enough mind to lie. And his own dream is only second on his mind. The one that came before it is what's tearing at him tonight. He pauses with his glass on the counter, just looking at it and decides to follow that up with something else.] Sorry about that. [His eyes flicker to her face with such a brief smile it might have never been there.] My subconscious doesn't know when to censor itself.

[When in doubt make a vague joke about having a dirty mind.]

[refrigeratormom]

It's not like you asked for this.

[She doesn't laugh. It's not funny. She walks up next to him and picks up the now-empty glass, answering gently.]

We should both drink some water.

[Since her usual suggestion of slowing down isn't really an option. Not for either of them. Mary wants badly to ask which dream was his, but it's already enough of a violation that some part of his subconscious was broadcast to the whole city. And some part of her almost suspects which one- there were two dreams this week that have stayed with her more. One had too many angels to be him, but the other-

If that is his dream, she doesn't want to know. Already, her mind is protecting itself, scabbing over the details of the dreams to keep them from staying too long. It's like any dream: the details slip away like water in your hands the more you try to remember them. Only the feelings remain, the ones that make her want to throw up. That's not even touching on the one before it, which is staying with her in sharper detail than the other, startling and upsetting.]

I'm going to visit Tom today. [Time for hunter ethics.] I can get my hands on something for sleep if you want.

[wearinandtearin]

[He didn't expect her to laugh. It was a bad joke. When she takes the glass, he runs a hand through his hair to have something to do. He was thinking about asking her the same thing: if any of the dreams had been hers. But he found he didn't want to know. There weren't any that made sense to be hers so far anyway and even if one was Mary's dream, well... there wasn't anything he could do about it, was there? Besides stew in curiosity over which one.

Then the next thing she says makes his breath catch in his throat. He's okay with the fact that she's seeing Tom, but of all the things to bring up after these dreams... he shuts his eyes and puts a hand over them, thumb and forefinger at each temple to hide the strain and try and push the memories from last night's dream away. Since he got back from the pit, he tended to remember dreams in vivid detail for some time after waking, and the dreams that weren't his this past week were no different.]

Ah. No... Thanks. [He pulls his hand away from his face and looks down at the counter again with furrowed brows. Then he clears his throat and gruffly yanks the question he's toyed with asking her since she started visiting his double.] ...How's he doin'?

[There's a tentativeness born from his immense guilt buried in his tone, but he needs to know. It's his fault and so he should know the extent of the damage.]