thirty-one beers

[shutupsammy]

[ In his dream, they do nothing. It isn't the same as reality, but Dean's subconscious has never been particularly forgiving of himself, not in the slightest, and Dean's subconscious believes he might have deserved this a little, the pain and the loneliness and the dying and going to Hell

Comments

i've given up my hand for a brother | given up my hand for free

[shutupsammy]

Suddenly his brother is moving; it takes Dean some minute or two to realize it, the way he's been standing nearby dumbstruck and numb, like he's only a confused, casual viewer. But Sam is moving at last, cradling the dead, flayed body with his strangely peaceful face on it.

Dean steps forward, moving behind his brother with steps that feel reluctant and wrong at first, but slowly become lighter. He stops a foot, two feet away and leans over slightly, expression tight as he tries to work up the memory of how to form words with his tongue. A drop of the watery, bright red blood from his shoulder falls, landing on the shell of his brother's ear, and he bites his lip and finally speaks.

"Shit. I'm sorry, Sammy. I got you all grody."

i've given up my hand for a brother | given up my hand for free

[shutupsammy]

"Aw, I hate this fucking part."

His voice is watery more than anything, and it's clear that he said it out of a rote need to be the funnyman, even while watching his brother's face contort like it is, full of grief and maybe a little bit of wholly deserved resentment. He sinks to his knees anyway, tearing his gaze away from his own face, looking like it's sleeping. It would figure he wouldn't die ugly. That would be too much honesty for Dean Winchester.

Ugly was a good word for his life.

He wraps one arm around Sam's shoulders and rests his chin against one of them, digging it into the flesh so he can stare into Sam's profile.

"You're supposed to be dreaming about sunshine and candy canes or some other bullcrap, Sam. You're not supposed to see this shit."

sob, watching you. o_o

[call_me_spooky]

that's creepy creepy mulder o_o

[shutupsammy]

spooky. not creepy, spooky. >_> sob i'm sorry i'm a slow tagger this curse is kljgkldgjdsgfdg /flail

[call_me_spooky]

Damned if he knows how he got here. He'd considered getting really fucking drunk, after Scully disappeared, but decided against it, which took drunken hallucinations off the table. Which left the unpleasant possibility that this was really happening-- something he'd like to avoid considering. Not that he knew Dean all that well, but-- he seemed like a good kid.

He kind of feels like he ought to have a flashlight and his gun. Which is kind of depressing-- mangled corpses shouldn't really make you think about work, should they.

"Shit."

dean says he's creepy mulder now. AND THAT IS A-OK BB.

[shutupsammy]

And Fox Fucking Mulder is now in Dean's dream this time, and isn't that the kicker of them all. It's not as if Dean is surprised by much these days, though, and he speaks up, wondering if he can be seen or heard as he slides out from the corner he's been waiting in.

He crosses his arms over his chest and clears his throat, the temperature in the room dipping low because of his own spirit nature.

"Yeah, I know, right? It happens when you die. You lose muscle control and stuff. That's pretty embarrassing."

[cal_sitter]

Niko reflects, as he views the mess formerly known as Dean Winchester's body, that he never did like hamburger. "Isn't there enough red meat in your life without this?" It's an irreverent question, but in the dream Niko can't bring himself to care.

Still, there's no excuse for a lack of manners, so Niko makes an attempt at an apology for form's sake. "Sorry. One too many maulings for the day. Yours is impressive though."

[shutupsammy]

Dean startles when he hears Niko's voice, not recognizing it immediately, not even understanding words initially. His arms lift halfway to cover his face from any incoming blows before he understands what's happening. This isn't the first time for him.

The dreamwalking.

"Would you believe I'm in the mood for a strawberry milkshake and french fries right now?"

The blood from his chest and shoulders drips audibly to the ground as he lowers his arms again, looking away from Niko and back at what's left of himself on the ground with knit eyebrows and an expression that's more curious than horrified.

"They came to collect."

[cal_sitter]

Hitting Dean right now won't be any fun. Niko would rather not waste his time. The older man looks ragged enough as it is with bits of flesh hanging in strips and second version of him turned into puree on the ground. Hellhounds are better than ccoa at mauling their victims.

"We're supposed to go out for tofu and salads," Niko points out. "My treat. But hold on a moment." He opens his blood-drenched overcoat and rummages through an inside pocket. Six knives, a hatchet, and a handful of shuriken fall to the ground before Niko produces a small carton of french fries and hands it over. "Don't ask. I don't know, and I don't want to."

[shutupsammy]

Dean gives one cough, one that sounds like it has pieces of lung in it, before ignoring the merciless looks of the other group in the room, the one that never moves every time he has this dream, and he bridges the few steps to Niko, bare feet padding over the weapons that dropped on the floor with a care that's almost funny, considering the condition of the rest of him. Instead of immediately taking the food, he wraps the taller man in a hug made of desperation and a wispy sort of nostalgia, as if he's already forgotten what giving one is like.

He pulls away, sticking slightly to the leather duster, his fresh blood mingling with the gore already staining it.

"This is the first time I've ever been offered a last meal. Dream or otherwise. I told those assholes I wanted some fucking Jack-in-the-Box before I went, but it was all, no Dean, no pee breaks, we're not stopping for dinner. There's no time.

Guess the joke's on them, ain't it?"

we're in the belly of the beast that already swallowed us

[blackeyedskank]

It's like a chain reaction - walking from one dream and into the next, taking doorways and windows and winding staircases into nightmares and fantasies and strings of action that make no sense. She still has the lingering taste of watermelon in her mouth, and that is one dream she's particularly displeased about wandering through without a hazmat suit and a blindfold. Ruby propels herself through a window, the curtain whispering at her back, and pauses when she finds herself in something familiar with a familiar scent burning her nostrils. It smells homey to her, almost, like muffins or brownies or fresh curtains would smell to anyone else

we're in the belly of the beast that already swallowed us

[shutupsammy]

When he hears her speak, he turns his head slowly, eyebrows knit and suspicious, because Ruby is still standing nearby-- her body, anyway. Lilith. Smiling like a biblical serpent in the corner, standing by the angels and his family. For a second, he thinks he can see the 'real' Ruby's face again, beneath the muscle and skin and bone. Lifting a hand, he wipes at his eyes with it while speaking, other arm hanging limp at his side.

"Only in Europe. Hungry, Ruby? I think they saved you a thigh."

we're in the belly of the beast that already swallowed us

[blackeyedskank]

"Wake up. I'm watching my figure. There's too much fat on your meat," she says, though she doesn't look at him and actually moves away half a beat later to stalk around the area like an overgrown and under-exercised cat. If she can see the figures in the corner, begging at her peripheral, she ignores them and alternates her attention between the body on the floor - and it is a body. It can't be Dean Winchester anymore, regardless of whether or not he's standing opposite her - and the man standing just across from her, his arm useless.

She clicks her tongue, a hollow sound in the heavy air, and crosses her arms as she stops moving. "See and none of this would've happened if you'd listened to me." There's little malice in her voice, but enough that she can mask whatever sentiment she might have shown him ever before. "You don't look so good, Dean."

Re: we're in the belly of the beast that already swallowed us

[shutupsammy]

"I look like Hell, Ruby," he says, eyes wide in an expression that might have been manic on anyone's face but his own, and he gives a cranky jerk of his head before moving to step slowly in the other direction, closer to the faces of the silent audience. Their own eyes follow him around the room, suddenly far too small and freezing cold, and never look away to follow Ruby.

Poking at his own head with his big toe, he flips it around to let the blank, fish-eyed, glassy stare rest on Ruby, features stupid with death's lack of intelligence.

"I don't know that. Poo-poo on me all you fucking want to, bitch. This isn't Dean Winchester's big moment of weakness and you're not a Brownie. I rely on you. I need you. But we both know I don't trust you, dead or alive. I ain't Sam."

VOICE, because I am a rebel

[hematophagy]

Dean!

VOICE, that's hot

[shutupsammy]

Saya?

VOICE, lol ty bb

[hematophagy]

Dean, are you... I-I mean...

VOICE

[shutupsammy]

You're not...I don't see you.

I'm dreaming. This is a dream, that's all, Saya.