[open] faces look ugly when you're alone.
Who: Dean, OTA. (Multiple threads/thread jacking very encouraged!!)
What: Arrival. Dean's making his way to the boarding house.
Where: Town Square
When:Day 42. Late afternoon/early evening.
Because Dean was an inmate on the good ship lollipop he’d been left here in nowhere’sville with virtually nothing to come by in the means of guns and ammunition and the way this town was folding out as he walked through it reminded him a lot like the little place that Azazel had taken Sam and the rest of the special kids and where Sam had been stabbed. There was no welcome mat feelings when he jarred awake on the bench in the middle of town square and the cynicism that was normally always there just seemed to swell larger inside of Dean until any candid hope that he’d find his way back onto the barge was over and done with.
He knew he’d done wrong, his entire time at that ship was a giant cluster fuck of bad choices and even worse outcomes but he couldn’t help that now. He just had to pray Sammy was safe up there, wherever the ship even traveled, and that the rest of the people he knew were doing the right things they had to get out or move forward too. He had faith in his little brother. Hell, he even had faith in Ruby, but that wasn’t here or there. Now he was stuck in some 50s style town after being told his entire existence and the existence after that was a crock.
Good to know. He’d file it under one of the worst pep talks he’d ever received.
Dean kept his jacket around his waist as he walked. He’d already gone through his pockets to find his bic and a few other meaningless things. He had the journal that was given to him in his right hand and his tape hidden in the breast pocket of his father’s leather jacket. Right now he was just looking for life. Any sign of life. He could use a familiar face. Even a fresh face would be appreciated right now. He didn’t know up from down and damned if he wasn’t already pissed off by what he’d been told and the confusion that came with it.
What: Arrival. Dean's making his way to the boarding house.
Where: Town Square
When:Day 42. Late afternoon/early evening.
Because Dean was an inmate on the good ship lollipop he’d been left here in nowhere’sville with virtually nothing to come by in the means of guns and ammunition and the way this town was folding out as he walked through it reminded him a lot like the little place that Azazel had taken Sam and the rest of the special kids and where Sam had been stabbed. There was no welcome mat feelings when he jarred awake on the bench in the middle of town square and the cynicism that was normally always there just seemed to swell larger inside of Dean until any candid hope that he’d find his way back onto the barge was over and done with.
He knew he’d done wrong, his entire time at that ship was a giant cluster fuck of bad choices and even worse outcomes but he couldn’t help that now. He just had to pray Sammy was safe up there, wherever the ship even traveled, and that the rest of the people he knew were doing the right things they had to get out or move forward too. He had faith in his little brother. Hell, he even had faith in Ruby, but that wasn’t here or there. Now he was stuck in some 50s style town after being told his entire existence and the existence after that was a crock.
Good to know. He’d file it under one of the worst pep talks he’d ever received.
Dean kept his jacket around his waist as he walked. He’d already gone through his pockets to find his bic and a few other meaningless things. He had the journal that was given to him in his right hand and his tape hidden in the breast pocket of his father’s leather jacket. Right now he was just looking for life. Any sign of life. He could use a familiar face. Even a fresh face would be appreciated right now. He didn’t know up from down and damned if he wasn’t already pissed off by what he’d been told and the confusion that came with it.