[Open Post] When the Wolves Come Out of the Walls...

[77th_earl]

For the first time since his abortive attempt at escaping back in November, Titus no longer feels so much at home in this place. Something nasty has come out of the woodwork, and he's wondering now if trying to escape was the better course of action. He cannot be alone, not after nearly harming himself, and so he's headed for the kitchen, hoping to

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[surfaceshine]

Dean did not happen to run into that particular nasty on the night in question, but he did have a throw down with a couple nasties of his own; and while he is the first to admit that plugging a few of them had been just the kind of stress relief he needed - now that the added stress of knowing Sam is alright, more or less, has been alleviated; and it must, or Dean wouldn't be wandering aimlessly in the Mansion or anywhere else - he's kind of moved on to the just plain bitchy stage of things.

Food usually helps with that, more or less, so that's why Dean eventually limps into the kitchen, skin kind of pale but features determined. His injured thigh is wrapped tightly under worn, loose jeans so it's not readily obvious why he's moving so stiffly, but he's pulled the sleeves of his tan henley up to his elbows so the gauze wrapped around one of his forearms is pretty visible.

[77th_earl]

Titus might be on his third or fourth cup of green tea, determined to stay awake for as long as he can tonight. The wolves howling outside are certainly helping this, but the tea is an extra precaution. Thus he's likely a bit more jumpy than usual when Dean enters.

He might hear a slightly high-pitched "Oh?!" coming from a corner behind the table, and if Dean follows the sound, he might spy a middle-sized youth in his late teens, with violet eyes. His somewhat emo-ish brown hair makes him look oddly modern, but it's at odds with his oddly cut black suit, which makes him look like he wandered in out of some weird costume drama.

[surfaceshine]

Dean had been pretty single minded when he came through the door, but at the unidentified sound, his demeanor changes abruptly; his good hand is on the hilt of the khukri blade strapped at his hip before he's even stopped moving, weight shifting to the balls of his feet, ready. His jaw tightens down and down to counter the pain of moving on the injured leg cautiously instead of gingerly, and a thin bead of sweat breaks out on his upper lip as a result, but he still manages it.

Which is why he feels kind of stupid when he sees Titus. Both eyebrows raised, he immediately lets his hip lean on the nearest counter to take the weight onto his good leg, and exhales sharply. The hunter has an ingrained reaction to shaggy brown emo hair, and he's too tired to catch it kicking in while he considers the kid.

"You might wanna ease up on the caffeine there, kiddo."

[77th_earl]

The youngster looks at him, puzzled. "Ease up on what?" He then glances at the cup on the table before him. "Oh, you mean the tea. I think that my nerves were tightly wound even without it: I would rather not go to sleep tonight and so I have been trying to keep my eyes from closing."

[surfaceshine]

Okay, so, it really hadn't been a good idea to commando his way over here; a moment later, Dean realizes this and abruptly lifts himself to sit on the counter he'd been previously leaning on with a wince.

"Well, at least you got that part figured out. Just keep your eyes open and you got it made." He smirks, settling in without any apparent regard for whether or not Titus wants him there. "Bad dreams?"

[77th_earl]

"Terrible dreams, if they were dreams at all," he says, looking into the cup. He pauses, looks around the room as if trying to collect his words and thoughts from the shadows. "I have reason to suspect I was attacked and by a demon which tried to influence me into harming myself."

[surfaceshine]

It had been a rhetorical question, really; Dean has his own problems, none of which he can really solve, so he's been pretty lax about taking on anyone else's problems. But something Titus said catches his attention, stilling the small settling motions he was making to try to find a way to sit that causes the least amount of throbbing.

"Demon, huh?" Dean does not, exactly, sit up and pay attention; demons are certainly directly pertinent to his interests, but Titus is clearly not a hunter, and civilians tend to call all sorts of things demonic. Could be simple as a hallucination, but old, ingrained instincts won't let the possibility of real demonic interference with an innocent pass by unchallenged, so Dean cocks his head to one side and tries to look less bitchy. "How'd you come to that conclusion?"

He doesn't sound skeptical. Just curious.

[77th_earl]

"I know not what else it could have been: a voice spoke to me out of the darkness, speaking terrible things, things about a friend who had vanished of late," he says. "Then of a sudden, my right hand moved as if it had taken a mind of its own and tried to cut my left hand with a paper knife. I have read of such things, but I did not think them possible. There are neither gods nor demons in Gormenghast."

[surfaceshine]

Slightly strange speech aside - and really, some odd phrasing is the least of the odd things the hunter has encountered so far - Dean mulls that one a bit.

"Christo," he tries, his voice low and steady, just in case. So low in fact that Titus may or may not actually hear what he said, but a demon definitely would. Dean is not afraid.

[77th_earl]

Titus cocks his head, puzzled by this word. "Excuse me, but what was that word which you just said?" he asks, blinking.

[surfaceshine]

Standard procedure - not that Dean has the advantage of saying the routine test has worked 100% of the time, it works often enough and is simple enough to be worth a shot. He flaps a hand dismissively at the question.

"Sorry, hiccup. Alright - back to the beginning. Where were you?" Dean doesn't notice he's slightly raised both eyebrows in his best encouraging expression, eyes fixed on Titus's; Sam is normally better at this, but Dean is plenty seasoned himself.

[77th_earl]

"I was sitting in my room, in the midst of writing a letter, bidding farewell to a friend who has, it seems, departed this place and returned to her world. Of a sudden, I heard a harsh voice speaking from the shadows of the room, telling me that it had taken her away," he says. "I addressed it and it laughed at me, then my hand moved of its own accord, reaching for a paper knife in order to stab my free hand." He glances away. "You will think me mad for saying such things."

[surfaceshine]

It's not, exactly, that Dean is either bored or not listening when Titus starts - in fact it only becomes obvious that his full attention was not engaged when Titus has paused for breath, because now it certainly is. He's forgotten about his thigh and his arm, the green eyes dark and steady on the other man's face. You're fucking kidding me. No fucking way. Finally... If this had been a few years ago, that would've been the end of it: Dean would've just tried to haul Titus by the wrist to find Sam, and that would've been that. Instead, besides the shift in static body language - his shoulders have gone tense, too, and his fidgeting has stopped with the shift in his focus - he makes no overt outward changes, shaking his head and speaking as reassuringly as he can

[77th_earl]

Continued Here: [For the Winchester Brothers] Not Doing a Lunatic Dance Yet...