[Open] In the End, It Doesn't Really Matter

[demonologist]

WHO Wesley and anyone at the CGM
WHAT Wes finally gets hit by one of Merlin's windows.
WHERE At the CGM, in the kitchen.
WHEN Sun 5th, Mon 6th, finally late Tues 7th.
NOTES Sun/Mon are narration, Tues is when people are welcome to respond to the late night commotion.
WARNINGS TL;DR, Emo-angst dialed up to 11, self-inflicted violence.

Comments

[hasperkynipples]

Dean had adjusted to the fact that he wasn't home. He had adjusted to the fact that he didn't need to be on edge all the time. But he still had instincts, and those instincts were to snap to attention when there was a sound like breaking glass.

He's making his way out the door, bouncing his car keys in his hands, and when he heard the sound of broken glass, he turned on his heal and ran towards the kitchen. It was Dean's instinct to help more than anything else, and when he found Wesley, bleeding in the kitchen, there was a line of swearing that would make a sailor proud.

"Son of a bitch, Wes," he muttered as he started shedding his shirt to use as a bandage. "What happened?"

[demonologist]

Wes just stands there, not moving, his face pale and expression almost devoid of emotion.

"I had a moment of clarity." His voice sounds eerily detached to his own ears. Then his gaze flicks towards the shattered window, where he can still see his father, pouring a brandy for the son he's not ashamed of. The image is not as substantial as it had been, but still there.

"Can you see it?"

[hasperkynipples]

Dean didn't look. He couldn't look. It would only tell him things he already knew, and he didn't want to see it again. "It's not the same for everyone," he swallowed. "It's specific to a person."

He eyes the glass carefully, reaching for his wrist to cradle it carefully in his hands. "This is gonna have to get looked at," he continues, trying to distract him from the window. "We're gonna have to find a doctor."

[demonologist]

"You've experienced it too?" Wes' attention returns to Dean, and a shudder of relief travels through him. So he's not suffering from some kind of mental delusion after all. "Is it an enchantment? It's unlike anything I've seen before. Except--"

He bites off what he was about to say. Dean would probably think him unbalanced if he started going on about having had dream conversations with God. He looks down at his gashed arm. It's bleeding profusely and he's fairly certain there are splinters of glass embedded in the wound. He doesn't appear to have nicked an artery at least. As reluctant as he is to burden Claire, it seems that he does need her immediate assistance.

"Doctor Saunders lives on the second floor, she's probably closest. I know where it is." He starts to walk into the corridor, slowly, since Dean is still trying to apply pressure to the wound with his bunched up shirt. He's actually feeling a bit faint, due to the blood loss and fasting, but he's determined not to show any more weakness than he already has.

[hasperkynipples]

Dean sighs as he moves an arm around Wesley's back. He's giving him whatever support he can wanting to make sure that the guy doesn't pass out. Passing out from blood loss never ends well for everyone.

"Mine closed pretty quickly," he says softly. "I'm not sure why, but from what I've heard, they've been happening all over town." He starts to guide Wesley back towards the stairs, making their way up to the second floor.

[demonologist]

"Perhaps we should be warning people." Wes muses almost absently, allowing Dean to steady him without comment. He looks down to see the blood he's dripping on the floor while they move. "I'm making a terrible mess, aren't I?"

He gestures to Claire's door as they approach.

"This is it."

Even though he's the one in bad shape, he steps forward to do the knocking himself. After all, he's the one having to bother her. Again.

"Claire. Are you awake? I'm very sorry, but I appear to need your help."

[hewed]

The mirrors have been an annoyance to Claire at best. Random snapshots of people she doesn't know, living lives she can't emotionally interpret. What might have been if one of her imprints hadn't existed. She ignores them as best she can, and avoids reflections when it isn't inconvenient. It would be nice if such things didn't matter, but seeing them has an effect, however much she wishes it wouldn't. Her reluctance to face these unfamiliar moments of might-have-been is one more reason to keep to herself these past few weeks

[hasperkynipples]

"Shoved his arm through a window," Dean sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "He needs to be stitched up -- you were the nearest doc available."

Then he gives a bit of a shrug. "Sorry to bother you."

[hewed]

"It's not a problem." Or not one that ranks with a severely bleeding forearm. The thought that he couldn't have injured himself during clinic hours crosses her mind but she's not about to voice it. Claire steps aside to allow them both in.

[demonologist]

"Not voluntarily." Wes adds, entering the room with Dean. "I just wanted it to stop." He's embarrassed, acutely aware of how this must look to Claire. "I'm not--Dean can vouch for it, there's something going on. Making us see things we don't want to see." He sinks down on one of her sofa chairs. The strange calm which had first washed over him is starting to drain away to be replaced by darker, less manageable emotions. He will not cry in front of them. He will not.

[hasperkynipples]

Dean makes his way over to the couch and sits on the arm of it next to him, giving the man his space, but staying close just in case. "They've been poppin' up around town. They also majorly sucks."

[hewed]

She imagines it must be immeasurably worse to someone who not only recognises the players in the scene, but knows them intimately. Though she still doesn't know what exactly they're supposed to be showing. Nothing pleasant.

"Yes, I'm aware." Claire leaves them, making eye contact with Dean, trusting him briefly and implicitly to keep an eye on Wesley, which he seems to be doing anyway. She goes to the bathroom to retrieve a fully stocked medical kit. It's practical in any household. In this one it's just good sense. She returns and places it on the coffee table before opening it, then comes to stand before Wesley, who looked severely shaken up at best.

"May I see?"

[demonologist]

"They do indeed 'suck'."

Wes obligingly holds out his arm and carefully lifts the soaked remnants of Dean's shirt away from the jagged wound. He doesn't have a shirt on, so there's no need to roll anything up or unbutton. He appreciates Dean's presence. He can't help but feel uncomfortable considering what had transpired the last time he'd stepped foot inside Claire's quarters.

[hasperkynipples]

Dean is not going to let Wesley die on him anytime soon. He's handy -- and in a city like this, handy people are good to keep around. Dean is absolutely not getting attached and making friends.

Nope. Not at all.

"Side effect of being in a city like this, unfortunately."