One morning jog up to Dean's room [18/??? artefacts collected]
[ For Philip the last 1 1/2 weeks were-- Actually, let's not talk about the last 1 1/2 weeks. Let's just say that being wide awake at night was what he expected and that the hunger made sense, given that he hadn't been able to keep any food down for a while now... and didn't particularly feel like trying either
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He stays close at first, but the sound of Dean's heart is almost too much to bear. Dean might as well be lying naked on a giant plate with an apple in his mouth, surrounded by blinking neon signs that say EAT ME.
Philip takes a step back. His head hurts.
Somewhere deep down he almost can't believe that he isn't giving their last encounter so much as one second thought, he should-- No. No, there it is. One thought. One thought about how Dean's eye tasted fantastic, about how he wants more, more--
He takes a second step back. Swallows. ]
I've got...
[ Finding the right words in a difficult situation is not exactly his forte on a good day, but when his focus his so far off, when all his senses are buzzing with sensations that make his stomach knot hungrily then he... then he-- ]
I think-
[ He takes one last step away from Dean, closes ( ... )
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Looking the part now is only the cherry on top. Not his fault? He can't see it. He can't see how Dean can see it. Not anymore. Maybe that's why he stops to argue in a tone that doesn't seem to come with lower anger content, much as he wants it to. ]
How was it not my fault?
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Mighta had something to do with the whole possession thing.
[Make no mistake - Dean is mad. He's furious. Not at Philip, but at Clarence. Angry, for being forced to live with screwed up vision and a stump for a pinky finger. Livid that Clarence hadn't even bothered to put him out of his freakin' misery, leaving him with shitty depth perception and a vendetta against demonic alien viruses.
Pissed because he's making multiple people's lives a living Hell from the comfort of a body that isn't even his.]
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[ Innocence is not an option. It requires being able to be around people, being close to people without causing them harm.
Philip doesn't live up to that definition, so the argument he is trying to win is aiming for the other side of the scale, the one that justifies isolation because nobody should have to suffer his company.
That is the only option. He doesn't know how to deal with a middle ground. ]
I let him out.
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A demon is a demon; no two ways about it. They tempt, they bribe, they torture. It's just the way that they work.
Dean remains unconvinced.]
Yeah? And what'd he do before you let him out? What'd he tell you?
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Dean's verdict used to mean the world to him. In some respects it still does, but in others it just doesn't cut it anymore. Too late Philip realises that right guilt is currently one such case, that he should have left instead of arguing his point. ]
Something I never should have listened to.
[ He'd torture his friends once he got out. That went well, didn't it? The part where Clarence promised he'd play it nice in exchange for immediate control somehow got swept under the rug. ]
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A very specific, very distinctive event comes to mind: when Sam disappeared for a week. Dean nearly drove himself crazy trying to find him, and when Sam finally called to establish contact, he couldn't remember anything that had happened. But he was covered in blood. He murdered someone, and Dean remembers in vivid detail the moment when he'd been asked to kill his own brother. Somewhat selfishly, but mostly on principle, he couldn't. He wouldn't, because he knew it wasn't Sam.
Here, you gotta do it, Dean.
...You know, I've tried so hard to keep you safe.
I know.
I can't. I'd rather die.]
...Y'know, there's a reason that people have friends, and I didn't understand it until I came here, 'cause in my old life, I never had any. They're the ones that forgive you for all the stupid shit you pull.
[Dean slides his empty mug across the countertop, leaning up against it and folding his arms over his chest.Look at you, man ( ... )
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Well. Philip doesn't want to be alone either. He doesn't think it's going to do him any good, but he can think of a whole lot of other people who'd profit from it. ]
Stupid shit...
[ Pardon the amusement. Laughing, cackling, desperate amusement. ]
Dean, stupid shit is drunk dialing or accidentally breaking something valuable or- or forgetting birthdays, but this--
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This is murder. And you know it's going to happen again.
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Maybe you're forgetting what universe I'm from, dude.
[You know, the one where your closest friends and relatives are constantly under attack from demons and monsters with personal vendettas, eager to fulfill their sinister quotas.]
You've got something a lot bigger to deal with than the rest of us, Phil. It's why you gotta trust us, even when you don't trust yourself. Hell, especially when you don't trust yourself.
[Dean advances a few steps, suddenly grateful that he'd had the foresight to lock the door.]
Are you seriously gonna make me give you a pep talk about this? You don't wanna end up the way I was. I was friggin' miserable, man. I didn't trust anyone else - I didn't even talk with anyone else - and now I got one foot in the fire, just waitin' for time to run out before the repo man comes to collect my soul.
[He shakes his head.]
Yeah, you fucked up. You fucked up real bad, but life goes on. It's not gonna wait for you to catch up after you're done having your little pity
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[ He didn't forget Dean's universe, but he doesn't know it either, he's never lived in it and he certainly can't begin to imagine it, not when not brushing off torture and murder equals throwing yourself a pity party. ]
Well.
[ And trust? He trusted Dean. He trusted Daniel. He trusted them just like his father trusted him to destroy those documents. And look how that went for all of them. ]
Thank--
[ Dean's words certainly did something to open Philip's eyes, but whether they make him look in the desired direction is a different matter entirely. He takes a step back. And another. ]
Thanks for... the advice.
[ And then he turns to leave. ]
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Dean Winchester is not the most persuasive of individuals. He'd much rather talk with his fists than with his mouth and a well-thought-out argument. It's hard to completely express how little Dean really cares about Philip's hang-ups over the torture. He knows what it feels like, yeah, and it's not a cake-walk, but there are much bigger things they should be worrying about in the mansion.
Which is why it's frustrating when Philip takes a few careful steps back and turns with every intention to leave.
Oh no he didn't.
Dean stomps over, grabs Philip by the lapels of his jacket, and slams him up against the door.]
Listen, you self-hating limey bastard. I didn't tell you all my dirty secrets for shits and giggles. I didn't offer you help 'cause I thought it'd be nice. I did it because you're my friend. It's ( ... )
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[ Philip cringes. Not because of Clarence's words, at least not this time. No, Dean's idea of tough love is simply something he isn't used to, something extremely alien to somebody whose former friends tended to express their concern with words... and gentler ones at that.
It's very possible that he will look back to this moment and be thankful, but for now his head is turned a different way entirely.
When Dean slams him against the door he almost hisses, definitely shows those fangs again, though it's a reaction he is barely aware of, certainly has no control over at that point.
Walking away and pretending that none of this happened? Philip has spent every waking moment (and given his lack of sleep there were a lot of those) replaying what he did in his head over and over again, thinking about how to make up for it, how to apologise if something like that was even possible ( ... )
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There are reasons why Dean never had friends.]
I'm tired of you feelin' sorry for yourself, man.
[Hypocritical? God, yes. True? Also yes. He shakes his head, eye trained on Philip's teeth. His many, many sharp teeth. Dean breaks the stare and looks at Philip instead.]
You're better than this. If you wanna dwell on this shit, be my guest, but I forgave you a while ago.
[Dean takes a deep breath, letting it out shakily and feeling his fingers relax. Philip doesn't even have to say that he's sorry. Dean knows he is.]
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When he stares at Dean a giant Why? is implied in his look, but he doesn't want to push his luck by asking, fearing that a response or lack thereof might ruin the sentiment of the moment...
...which is a first and very tentative step towards not feeling utterly miserable.
If they agree on one thing then it's that sorry and thank you and anything else along those lines is redundant; useless in some, already implied in other places.
Philip lowers his head and prolongs the silence. When he looks up to speak at last his voice sounds strained from the breakdown he is trying not to have. ]
How-- How is Castiel?
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But hey, that's new.]
He's fine.
[Dean shrugs. He isn't lying - Castiel made a full recovery and ripped Dean a new one for pushing Clarence so far. Dean didn't even have to tell Cas about that part - his "give 'em Hell" attitude has always gotten him into trouble.]
He's around. Haven't seen him in a couple days. He mostly goes off and prays a lot.
[The nonchalance with which Dean says this should indicate his feelings toward prayer. There's another awkward silence before Dean moves back to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and seating himself in it; the unspoken implication being that Philip should do the same.
For a moment Dean considers asking Philip whether or not he believes in God, but thinks better of it. The mansion is no place for gods.He said he's sorry ( ... )
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