Comments | fountainofcod: Post-apocalyptic setting

miltia in fountainofcod

Post-apocalyptic setting

Jul 11, 2009 22:59

Your character's world has ended and purgatory awaits them, a wasteland full of ruined buildings. The surrounding desert constantly wears down the buildings with a neverending wind. There aren't any monsters to worry about, no zombies or demons, but your characters are haunted by the ghosts of people they once knew and there's only one escape from ( Read more... )

apocalypse, au

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allroadslead July 12 2009, 05:05:29 UTC

There were two beds (mattresses) in the rundown, used-to-be...apartment. He thought it was an apartment; it looked like one, but it was kinda hard to tell these days and Sam didn't have the inclination to bother thinking about it too much anymore. Dean wasn't sleeping in the one next to his, though. Even in the near pitch-black darkness, he could see a faint shadow a few feet away.

It'd weirded him out the first few times he'd woken to Dean standing by the entrance like that, but he'd gotten used to it. There were worst things he hadn't gotten used to yet, like seeing Jess pinned to the ceiling every time he opened his eyes. Half the time, he wasn't sure if Dean wasn't just some spectral image, too. But Jess never spoke and Dean did. That, and Dean wasn't right. Everything about this was wrong, and Sam figured that had to mean it was real ( ... )

roads_end July 14 2009, 10:50:21 UTC

Looting him, looked like.

Dean couldn’t believe this. In that second, he wanted nothing more to roll over and rip the man apart. Where was Sam?

The man obviously thought he was dead. Anyone would be, especially if - and Dean didn’t even want to admit this - it’d been a pretty damn good shot, right smack in the middle of his forehead. Dean felt the man finish checking the back of his bloodied jacket and jeans, and that was when he rolled him over. Dean flopped over on his back, still limp, still unable to move and knowing if anything was gonna drive him insane aside from the thought of being trapped, being unable to protect Sammy, it was how teasingly close the rifleman was and why wasn’t he bleeding? Even paralyzed, Dean felt that impulse to wipe that - that human off the map. Hell, he should’ve been able to possess him, jump from his own corpse to that living body. Dean’s black eyes stared up at the rifleman, a kid not much younger than Sammy, and whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t to see eyes like that ( ... )

roads_end July 14 2009, 10:51:15 UTC

So he’d practiced, obviously.

Or he had help.

Ruby was dead, though. So either it was some major solo study sessions or Sammy found someone else than that bitch.

Why didn’t you tell me?But that was a stupid question. Dean would do anything for Sammy…didn’t mean his little brother owed him squat: Dean couldn’t even die and go to Hell like he was supposed to. If Sam kept things from him, he probably had it coming. He didn’t have to like it, but that was just how things were. Even with this extended lifespan he had (“lifespan”, what a joke), Dean couldn’t ever begin to make up that night when doomsday hit and Sam came for him. When Sam didn’t leave him behind even though he’d been dead for months and was still dead ( ... )

allroadslead July 15 2009, 07:00:07 UTC

It would never stop being unnerving, watching Dean simply sit up, but this? This outdid it all because now Dean was sitting up with a goddamn hole in his head like he'd gotten whacked with a slingshot instead of a .22 ( ... )

roads_end July 15 2009, 08:27:32 UTC

Dean dogged after Sam, following him back into Receiving. Now that everyone was dead and he was able to move again, Dean found himself wondering why he'd taken off like that, angry at himself for what he was realizing was a lack of control. First he didn't even remember to grill that kid for intel about the area, like finding out how big gangs were like in this Wal-Mart, and now he'd booked it after some woman just 'cause he had to give into that part of him that wanted to kill her for no other reason than she was a living, breathing human. He abandoned Sam ( ... )

roads_end July 15 2009, 08:29:22 UTC

Eventually Dean managed to get a hold with the tweezers, removing the bullet from Sam, letting it drop with a dull tink on the concrete floor. He washed the wound carefully with water again before he set to work on the stitches, going the same quick, mechanical pace as before until it was closed up enough that he could apply a bandage over it.

"Drink up," Dean said. It wasn't an order.

It wasn't a question, either. It just was what it was.

Dean had memories of ordering his brother around in the past, even teasing him and jerking his leg with pranks, but those days were over, maybe even for good. All that was left was that thought of protect Sam and nothing else but Sam. Being trapped on that table, even when doomsday rolled around, hearing the door open and seeing his brother's silhouette against the flickering overhead light was burned into his mind with a vivid intensity that overshadowed all his previous memories. Dean couldn't remember if he begged Sam to take him with or not; all he could remember was that sheer sense of ( ... )

allroadslead July 16 2009, 08:19:16 UTC

Removing a bullet was nothing new, but that didn't mean it stopped being painful over time. There was never anything fun about someone going in with a pair of tweezers and digging into a hole in your arm. Back then, Sam would've at least had a shot of whiskey or something to take the edge off, but they were long out of any kind of alcohol-and if they ever found any, it wouldn't be for drinking. With the amount of injuries he racked up and the sheer lack of disinfectant along with the utterly grime-filled world they inhibited, he was surprised he hadn't dropped dead of sepsis weeks ago.

He suspected it had to do with the demon blood, either what Ruby and Dean had given him or what had always been in him ever since Azazel. He didn't know how else to explain it. It sure as hell wasn't luck or anything ridiculous like that. And it most definitely wasn't divine intervention. If there'd been any to begin with, they'd long abandoned this world ( ... )

WAL-MART: Inside RECEIVING -> Time Skip to Evening roads_end July 16 2009, 09:40:13 UTC

Dean sat there with his arm still offered, blood welling through the fresh cut across his wrist into rivulets, rolling over his skin to drip to the ground. He'd lost enough blood just from today that not long ago, he'd probably be floored, loopy, but right now he was more concerned he was wasting it while he was still bleeding. They still had no idea how much he could produce before he ran out, assuming he could run out.

For a second, he thought Sam had enough.

There was just that split second of hesitation. His brother reached out, grabbed his wrist in a grip that would’ve bruised him if he’d been alive, and pulled him closer so he could drink from the bleeding knife-cut. Dean waited patiently for him to finish. Dean knew his blood somehow helped his brother, kept him from blacking out, kept him on the ground and on his feet, but he still didn't know why. He knew he should just be glad he could help Sammy and leave it at that...but there was also this uneasy feeling, something he guessed was a throwback to when he'd been alive. At ( ... )

WAL-MART - Evening roads_end July 16 2009, 09:40:57 UTC

Most of the Wal-Mart had been raided already; what they’d found had been some kinda hidden cache or something, but aside from that, it was a lot of empty racks, displays, some bikes with tires missing, books scattered all over the floor in one corner, and a few ratty sleeping bags. Dean had already opened the boxes, trying to arrange the sleeping bags into something that would be comfortable for his brother and hoping it’d be good enough. Dean showed Sam to the sleeping bag pile ( ... )

allroadslead July 17 2009, 07:56:39 UTC

The pounding in his head had receded to a dull throb and his bandaged arm was feeling a bit better by the time Dean had scrounged together a small pile of sleeping bags. Obnoxiously bright sleeping bags, to be specific. As if they were getting ready to entertain a bunch of nine-year-olds. Not that there were kids around anymore; there hadn't really been any at the institute and he hadn't seen any since the universe collapsed around them. Of course he hadn't; grown men barely were barely staying alive ( ... )

Re: WAL-MART - Evening allroadslead July 17 2009, 07:58:18 UTC

He settled back against the rough material of the sleeping bags, on his side because he'd learned pretty early on that sleeping on his back just meant that he'd find Jessica on the ceiling every time he woke up, blood dripping but never managing to splatter. Her skin peeled away and she never stopped watching. Having her follow him around was hard enough. He wasn't particularly inclined to get an instant replay of what he remembered all too clearly on his own, anyway ( ... )

Re: WAL-MART - Evening roads_end July 17 2009, 09:08:19 UTC

One of the things he did remember was that a grown guy usually needed about seven, eight hours of sleep, all in one go. Sam was getting not even half that. He'd been aware of Sam waking up even as he read his new book, hearing his brother's breathing becoming less slow and level as before. He glanced over, the bullet-hole in his forehead glistening a little in the flashlight as he looked almost surprised at the question, and flipped the book so he could see the cover ( ... )

allroadslead July 18 2009, 07:34:32 UTC

Of course Sam couldn't have expected Dean to know what a romance novel was, or the implications of him reading one. Though maybe Dean was better off spared from knowing that kind of useless crap, but useless crap was what made them ( ... )

WAL-MART - NIGHT theroadsofar July 18 2009, 08:10:44 UTC

If there was one thing he wasn't used to, it was the sound of Sam laughing.

Almost laughing, actually.

Dean sat up a little straighter at it - he couldn't forget a sound like that, even with his body torn to pieces and his brain pretty much just a gray pulp, thanks to today's run-in with fellow survivors, and searching his fragmented memory, he remembered Sam laughing a lot more before Landels, remembered doing stupid crap like pranking him in the car, and sometimes getting a laugh out of him, even if it was one of those Dean, you're being retarded laughs. Dean relished in that almost-laugh, making it a point to hold on extra tight to this new memory even if it didn't seem like nothing much. Dean's mouth almost started to quirk up in a smile again. He turned away, standing up and going over to their duffles to search through what they had ( ... )

allroadslead July 18 2009, 09:45:24 UTC

That wasn't a whole lot in terms of batteries, maybe enough to power the flashlights for the next little while or so, but not longer. They needed to stock up. Sam wasn't keen on having to wander blindly at night. He could stay in, true, but he wasn't about to let it come to that. Being essentially trapped inside with only Dean as his set of eyes when night fell was fairly low on his priority list. For now, they had a few lighters and matches they could use as a last resort, but without candles or proper accelerant to fuel a makeshift torch, a flame wasn't worth much ( ... )

Re: WAL-MART - NIGHT allroadslead July 18 2009, 17:11:29 UTC

Sam searched through the pockets of the first one, taking the 9 mm off of him (two bullets left, when he checked it) and the single extra magazine. He could've just taken the bullets and left the gun, but there was no point in leaving stuff lying around. He could decide what he needed and what they could leave behind once he had it all gathered. He picked things off of the bodies as he went, ducking outside at one point to grab the knife off the girl and the rifle off the sniper, along with a Swiss Army pocket knife and another flashlight. Dean might bitch later about Sam going outside without backup, but Sam figured it was safe enough; there was a difference between caution and outright hiding ( ... )

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