LIKE TO MEET ===========================================================================
Television Waters by zerodusk
Manips by me
Suicide Prevention:lower right link
"Bent ain't broken and broken ain't broke down. I've forgotten how to quit,and I don't give a damn if I scare you or not a**hole. I'll hurt you anyway. Remember that when you try to take your next shot."--JV--
Stuff you probably know about me already.
BUT READ RULES OF THE ROAD FIRST
Full Name Dean Winchester Pronunciation Seriously? Nickname/Alias Oh man, there is not enough room here for the alias crap. Meaning What does my name mean? I dunno, how about "If you're a monster I gank your ass." Sounds right. Origin I was named for my mom's mom. You got a problem with that? TitleHunter Pet Name Pet name. Nope. ID Number 81A3827 Signature Drunk or sober? Gender: I'm a dude, dude. Gender Role *yell in the distance* "Overcompensates!" "SHADDUP SAM! This is my bio." Orientation True north.Jeeze, if I want you to know I'll hit on you, okay? Real Age Forty.*grumbles* Age Appearance I dunno.I'm sh*t at this sort of thing. Birthday 24 Jan 1979 Deathday Sooner than later. Probably. Birthplace Lawrence,Kansas Astrological Sign Aquarius Zodiac Sign Goat? Who thinks this stuff up Species One eyed one horned flying purple people eater Ethnicity See above Blood Type All over the floor usually. Preferred Hand Right handed shooter, left hand knife and ambidextrous when I'm holding... a beer. Facial Type *crosses eyes and sticks out tongue* Seriously, who makes these questions up?? Eye Color Depends on who's writing the fanfic. Drivers license says green. Hair Color Hair colored I DONT FREAKING CARE! Hairstyle On my head. Skin Tone Skin..WTF man?. Complexion What am I, a supermodel, how the hell should I know. I have a face. Makeup ...We will NOT discuss that. Body Type Two arms two legs the usual. Build I know my way around a construction site, better at working on cars though. Height*yells over his shoulder* "I am not short...or bossy! Weight 183 naked.187 naked and armed. Cup Size I don't wear a jock.*smirks* Boxers,if you really want to know. Facial HairDepends, how bad do you want whisker burn? Shoe Size *grins* You know what they say about shoe size right? Birthmarks/scars There is not enough room. Besides it changes every-time Cass heals me. Distinguishing Features There are a lot of beings out there who can describe my knuckles in detail. Health Meh. I'm good. My liver divorced me years ago. Energy How much coffee you got. Memory *goes very still* Let's skip this. Senses I have an excellent bullsh*t detector. Allergies Douche bag angels, Becky, kale. Handicaps Sam.And if you don't understand that that's not an insult...fudge you. Medication Occasionally.I know people. Phobias Losing Sam.Losing Nyssa. Losing. *glares at the screen* Who freaking wrote this, Dr Phil? Addictions None. SHADDUP SAM Mental Disorders I'm fine.
Status She licked me. I'm hers. WhomNyssa Toivonen(Dream Walker) Claimed 1/12/2019 Our Song(s)Dreams by the Cranberries. Yes I listen to The Cranberries, get over it.
"Also an SG and Dr Who fan" was one of the first things that I said to the nice lady with hot profile pic that friended me when I started creating here. Things have gone uphill ever since.I am completely smitten with the writer behind Nyssa,and that's that.
August 2010: The motel room was a dump, beyond the usual crappiness. Several crushed six packs and a whiskey bottle and a half lay on the table next to a half-eaten pizza. Sam had just been dragged to hell, and there was nothing Dean could do to stop it. The air conditioner wheezed musty semi-chilled air and Dean, in his boxers and t shirt simply stared at the far wall, working on drinking himself back into oblivion.
Bloodshot, his eyes were wet, but he had cried himself out long ago. Now all that was playing on Deanvision was Sam’s face as he backed away, fell away and the stench of sulfur choking him as he gasped for air. There was the taste of blood in his mouth and the bitter bile knowing he had lost. Lost everything. Lost Sammy. He took another searing pull of the cheap bourbon, choking on it.
It was the nail in the coffin, and his head spun into oblivion. The last thing he heard was a plaintive cry “Dean, Dean Winchester! Help me!” The next thing he heard was “Hey buddy, you got jet lag or something?” He staggered ,back ready to swing and ended up tripping over someone’s luggage, falling on his ass.
When security came up, and they did so quickly, the best story he could come up with was that he was terrified of flying (truth) and had been hypnotized to endure the flight. Mollified, but watching him carefully security let him go. He recognized his duffel bag on the carousel grabbed it and ran. It took him the better part of the next hour locating the Impala. Once safely inside, he checked over everything he had. There was no paper trail, and his last flight had been out of Chicago. He had no idea what had happened other wise.
Nyssa Toivonen, a dream walking extraterrestrial had been held captive by an organization bent on exploiting her ability to manipulate sleep and dreams. While held in Finland, she reached out to someone, anyone who could hear her. Dean Winchester's history with dream walking and other subconscious altering phenomenon, combined with his vulnerable state, left him wide open to Nyssa's SOS. He responded, rescued Nyssa and in the process the two of them had all memories of their sojourn together sublimated.
//Current storyline with Nyssa: Dean is in Louisiana on an annual pilgrimage to Benny's grave, and stops in New Orleans where Nyssa runs Crescent City Sleep Clinic, using her abilities to help people, especially children, overcome their night terrors. Something is killing the children of New Orleans in their sleep. Nyssa is determined to find out why, and has run into Dean. Their memories are reawakening.
This is where I'm supposed to put all the canon connections. Nuh Uh. I'm not relegating my friends to a bunch of pop button links, got that. These are the people I care about here...and damn straight I'm going to tell you about them. So pull up a barstool, I'll set you up a shot and a beer, and you listen.
Dream Walker was one of the first people to invite me to RP. I was new to this format of RP, she sent a request, and because I'm a sucker for redheads,I accepted. Best move I ever made. She's a great writer,and was very kind to a new Dean. (Apparently there's one born every minute) Because of her shares, I've met some great writers, who have become my friends here.My other feelings for her, there's a whole page.boo.
The ONLY Castiel I will role play with. Great guy, has Cass/Misha down pat.To the point of scary "oh wow."I would "hear" what he wrote in Cass's voice straight off.He's thoughtful,and comes up with some awesome story ideas. Don't ya Featherduster. Biggest heart I've ever met in RP or RL Honored to be your pal.
My Three Sams
Coulrophobia is not my Sam, he's Lone Soldier's, but he is the first Sam who RP'd with me. A friend of Dream's, he helped share me out, get me going and we have a rather gritty and tearful RP going. I owe him. NO seriously...I owe the dude. Sorry for the wait buddy.
I know..which one right? The one leaning against Baby drinking a brew. MY Sam...Sammich, Moose. Hilarious dude with totally rando stream postings. We've gotten to be great friends off-line and if our RP is as slow as molasses we don't care. Definitely my brother for life.I'm his Dean. Love you too, Bitch. *chick flick warning sounds in distance*
Spooky Sam. What can I say. Dude's been with me irl since forever. From being chased through the dark woods of Fort McCoy by a chopper during an Army combat exercise, through various MMORPG's and play by posts, he's been my weirder half for years.
(insert gratuitous 'play with yourself' joke here) He's Clownyphobe's Dean. He's also the guy who helped share me out,shared a few drinks,insults and just been lurkin in my world being a pal. Storyline? Who knows. Don't care.Just glad to have him here.
RP'ing as The Impala. Not a car...THE CAR. Baby. The cradle that rocked Sam, the lifeline of the Winchester family,not picked by chance but by a bend in time itself. The lesson of destiny. Dean's link to the past chosen in the future. Ok enough mystic sh*t. Seriously awesome roleplay by a seriously awesome person.
Cosmo the best friend
He's a space dog from Russia that lives in the Knowhere. How can you not groove to an RP like that.Knowing him makes me happy. Reason enough for anyone to know anyone, right?
Plenty of Room
Plenty of open seats in my place, my heart. It's got this weird TARDIS type vibe, it's bigger on the inside. Lot's of folks I'm looking forward to creating stories with, Lil Psycho (Harley/Harleen),SixthSense(Pam),Ashand Dust(Rowena),Baron Samedi,LittleWings(Jack),claire novak*,Cookiedough(Buffy),Sinful Demon(dude!Ruby) lots of folks I've talked to for a bit.And there is always room for more.
1)Taken and faithful.I don't multi LI, try to make me stray and I will godmod the RP with me putting my knife through your eye, then salt and burn you. (delete and block) Simple as that.
2) I have no problem crossing the verses,working with OC's, no issues with Wincest (see#1 if you're expecting that from me you'll have to keep it at hurt/comfort),hell, I've RP'd with Marvin the Martian through an alien invasion. I don't care if you're a great writer or not. Just respect me. Godmodding. JUST SAY NO
3)I am very, very patient.I don't get right back with replies too fast either. We are creating something together and that requires time and energy.So, I'll try to keep up with you, or slow down and wait.
4) Do NOT expect me to write like this "Deans chiseled jaw line clenched in anger and his emerald eyes flashed" I'm frigging Dean. I don't describe myself.If that's how you write, no problem. I simply can't go all in like that.
5) Storylines. I am pretty liberal, but if I cannot get my head around what you are outlining, I'm gonna say so. It's not a criticism of you, your creativity or your character.If it fits,I sits.
6) My "default Dean" is Season Six. This doesn't mean I can't play an AU Dean,demon!Dean,Mark of Cain, teen!dean,but when you talk to me,stream or anything, I'm responding from just plain old Dean. Like the way this little inquiring minds want to know horsesh*t is.
The slight shaking sensation caused by dean has Sam eyes reopening and he listens to the despair in his brother voice. Sam eyes scanned over to where his old looking duffle bag laying at. Where his old phone buried in between things with a voicemail that he never deleted. That voicemail the reason he keeps telling Lucifer no and to take a hike. That voicemail the reason Sam trying to do some good in a messed up world that he caused. That voicemail reminds him of how much he lost. That voicemail is the reason he starting to have doubts due to the painful words coming from his brother as they sit in the middle of the room figuring out what went wrong. In that moment his wet eyes stare at his brother. The one he looked up to since he was four years old and tried copy from. The brother he wanted be when he got older. The one who protected him through nightmares because of a hunt or a thunderstorm. The one who gave away the last of the cereal because he didn't want the spaghetti. The one who always tried reassure him when things went to hell or chaos broke out around them.
Sam voice breaks as he tries respond back to his brother questions "i..I'm the reason all this happened" he can feel the fresh tears trailing down his bruised face. "I d...didn't want to. I w...was g...going come back and work things out with you. But you sent me that voicemail" his eyes trails over to his duffle bag again in hopes dean got the message and finds the phone. Sam thinks that his older brother must have forgotten about the voicemail he sent that night. "I knew there was no turning back. I thought of dying that night after killing lilith. I didn't know she was the key to letting Lucifer out" Sam eyes return to facing his older brother who watching him with emotions etched on his own face. Sam knows what he has to tell his brother next is going to break his heart or maybe find a way to stop it.
"I..I'm lucifer" he has to stop for a brief moment as his lips tremble with more shame and emotions of what has to be said. "vessel. I'm Lucifer vesssl" he reveals to his brother. Sam hands covers his face so not to see the mix of emotions playing on dean face after telling him what been haunting him at night. That the reason why Sam has extreme violent outbursts after small amount of sleep is because of the devil. Taunting him and saying that he can give him anything for agreeing to let him in. "I can't be here" he tries getting up but fails miserably at the effort "I can't be the the cause of your death." Sam grabs a hold of dean shirt collar so get him to understand "He going try kill you. So to make me say those three words. I...I c..can't, I can't" Sam eyes close and his fingers let go of his brother shirt. He feels defeated at the moment like everything is falling apart around him even more. "I c..can't, I c..can't" he repeats over and over again while rocking back and forth on the floor.
If this were a movie, the opening shot would be of a soaring New York skyline with a slow pan down to the streets. A lingering shot of life at the street level, busy, busy, busy little humans, walking self important strides with self important thoughts speaking self important words into mobile phones. Trucks and taxis, limos and low riders, all weaving their way, rushing through one thing just so they can get to the next. Human voices in a hum over the street with a subliminal onomatope chant as millions become one. People eating, spitting, cops and homeless, the chic and the damned all a mass of Everyman wandering the street level. Blissfully oblivious to just about everything that doesn’t affect their own precious hides.
The camera view sinks below the street level, grimy sewers, twisting pipes and finally the subway tunnels running like a rabbits warren under New York streets. The POV shifts to the tracks, as though the camera is mounted on the front of a train. It begins to move, then speed with the concrete walls blurring and the sudden flash of a station, here and gone. We move faster than any train. Suddenly in an eye blinking sharp right turn, we BURST through a wall and slow , floating, through a tunnel with no track but merely the well of one.
The lights are different here, not the hard ,blue mercury or bleaching halogen orange of modern life, oh no. Down this crack walled tunnel the light is muted, and yellow, flickering like gas flames. The span of the passageway was brightly tiled once, hard ceramic with mosaic station signs. Wrought iron rails, arches, staircases designed for a century gone by. Now it stands frozen and degenerating, like Betty Davis in “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?”. We must move slowly through these tunnels, do you not see the shiny coin glows in the shadows, those eyes watching us. Some are green, others silver, mostly red and yellow.
There is a muted susurration further along in the dark, and a demarcation of light. Our goal, and as we move closer to it, can you not feel it? The unease. It presses against your stomach, churning it slowly. Out of the corner of your eye you catch a glimpse of something written on the walls, a glyph of graffiti, or sigil. They simmer with a darkling shadow, the opposite of the garish glow of fluorescent paint under blacklight. When you look at them, they are not there for you to see, but you can feel them pressing on your mind, your soul, a fingertip pushed into the tender pink gray flesh of your frontal lobe. Pressing. Pressing. Moving along. The graffiti on the walls that cannot be seen are the powerful wards that protect this place, the shining eyes, the things that will eat your guts while you scream should you prove faithless. Are you?
We cross the transept, the pressure recedes, and we are accepted by the unseen guardians of this place. Hmm? What place? Oh, my apologies. Welcome to The Arcade. The neutral ground, the marketplace, the underground outlet for all your supernatural needs. Or wants.
Looking up there is a high vault of a ceiling, the stained glass in blues and yellows faded by time. It is not a dank, dark place. Human hubris paints monsters as loving the dark, relegating them to the middens of earthly society. Monsters are driven to the dark by human predation, humanity which has no sense of its rightful place…oh, my apologies… I didn’t mean to preach. Where were we?
With all the tumult in heaven and hell and all the mystic places in between, titanic struggles, rifts and all sorts of majestic bullsh*t drama between arrogant angels, and demons and two stupid mud monkeys that should have been eaten long ago, there is no safe place for the little guy.
The Arcade serves as this place. It is Switzerland. It is Milwaukee in the 1930’s. It is Eripus in 223BC. It is neutral. The only rule :keep your sh*t outside. Once you leave the wards, however, you’re fair game.
Everything and anything can be found for sale. Oh yes, the usual of course, missing waifs, demon henchmen, holy oil, hands of glory, djinn venom-soaked bath salts (the drug, not the toiletry). Services are also rendered. Need a hex, we have witches galore. Coyote Reapers can shuttle you to Purgatory for a killing spree. Services of the Seelie or Unseelie Court. Bring your firstborn as a fee, they’ll be happy to help! The Angel Grace parlors are not to be missed, of course. Minor celestials, heavens flunkies, selling their grace like heroin dealers do. They get to feel more human, and if you partake, oh...what a rush! Café’s that serve only the freshest blood and sweetbreads, not just human either. Human is as common as ground beef honestly. You’re really not that much of a delicacy. The usual slave markets ,casinos, bars, temples, massage parlors line the tunnel ways.
What’s that? Who runs this place? I am so glad you asked. Human albino twins, identical, can’t tell the gender really or age. One is insane, the other demon possessed. Hard to tell the difference. They go by “Frick” and “Frack”. Don’t let the frivolity of their handles fool you. They like dressing in cream colored leather. Just not from cows. The Patrol, a combination of all sorts of beings, humans included…why they even have a former hunter or two on the payroll, keeps good order. If it’s information you’re wanting, seek out the Sphinx, if you can meet her price. For all things “livestock” the overseer would be Simma.
Well, this concludes our tour. I will leave you here. I’m sorry, I have an appointment elsewhere. You can find your own way out, can’t you. Ta!
Why wasn’t he waking? Nyssa arched a brow and slid from the chair. Knees falling to the cold tile floor. She felt the chill even through her jeans. Nyssa might have even felt bad for him if he hadn’t threatened to kill her and then broke into her office. Again, she sent the message but he wasn’t budging. A heavy sigh escaped. Echoing in the silence so loudly it might as well have been a drum. It was highly unusual for that not to work, he had to be in a nightmare.
One that seemed very real. Tricking his mind into thinking he was already awake. A shiver ran through her. She knew how those nightmares felt. Having had them most of her life. Even though when she woke the only memory, she had of it was that she had in fact had a nightmare, and it felt real. While her mind couldn’t recall the details her body still felt them. The emotions still ran high in her when her eyes opened. Curling around her. Fear and anger being the most prominent.
She studied his features as he lay there bound and on the floor. So handsome. Such a waste. Why was he so familiar? That question once again plagued her. It wasn’t just a sense of déjà vu. Nyssa felt it deep inside. In her bones, in her very soul. It was screaming at her like a child for her to pay attention. Look at me! Look at me! And she was looking but it made no sense. Why would she know a man like him? Someone that wanted to kill her. Certainly, she would have remembered that. Leaning just a bit closer she looked him over. Hoping it would trigger something in her memory. Should she be afraid of him because of his threats and behavior? Strangely enough, she wasn’t. Nyssa actually felt weirdly calm around him. Safe even. Despite the words he had thrown at her. It was so very puzzling.
Her full lips curved into a frown as nothing came forward. He thought she as something else. Would it make a difference if he knew the truth or would he just try to kill her anyway? For being… For being different. Different than him. Not a human. His name did sound familiar also. Nyssa thought maybe one of her friends mentioned it once, but who? “Argh!” She let out a frustrated growl and was about to lean back again when she noticed he was crying. Damn it. He might be an asshole but she hated seeing anyone cry. She couldn’t leave him in there. Not knowing exactly what dreams like that could do to someone. And what if it was more? What if something was in there hurting him? Better question, why did she care and why did that thought make her panic?
Hesitantly she placed a hand on his shoulder. She closed her eyes. This time projecting an image of herself in his mind. Not quite in his dream. Just on the verge of his subconscious. “Wake up.” She sent once more. This time, it worked. Nyssa jerked her hand away and nearly fell over backwards at his sudden waking. Yeah, he’d been in a pretty bad place. Finding her balance again she looked at him with a mix of pity and confusion. He looked so vulnerable and not just because he was tied up. Why did it feel like her heart was breaking for him? She shouldn’t care. His words slapped her in the face and made no sense.
“What?” She blinked. Brilliant blues staring at him in utter dismay. “Feed? I already had dinner. Thanks. Made up for the breakfast I didn’t get to eat.” She sighed. “Wait. Wait a minute.” She held her hands up and rose to her feet. Looking down at him in sudden realization. “You think I’m going to eat you?” Nyssa almost laughed at the absurdity of it but the look on her face kept the laughter at bay. “You’re serious.” She stated simply. “I don’t know what you think I am but I don’t eat people.” Nyssa wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting.” Okay so she’d thought about licking him a few times before he switched gears on her, but not in that way.
What really caught her attention though was the fact that he said he had dreamt of her. “Six years ago?” Her voice softened. Suddenly hear head began to hurt. She was trying to remember and something was blocking her. But still she persisted. Despite the agonizing screeching in her head. “I… I do know that I woke up in a hospital and almost a year of my memory just wasn’t there. It was like a blur and every time I’ve tried to remember since I get these awful headaches. Like something is stopping me somehow.”
Her legs began to tremble and she nearly tripped moving backwards to find the chair; before she actually did fall over. Nyssa lifted her gaze again to look at him. She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not. They were just words after all. Although it likely reflected in her eyes, face and body language. She guessed he knew how to read those things as well as she did. Reaching into the desk she took out a pair of scissors and moved closer to him. Before he could react, she cut the ropes, freeing his arms and legs. She handed him a box of Kleenex and a bottle of water from the mini fridge beside her. “You can kill me if you like, but I’m not whatever it is you think I am. Though, I’m not human. That much is true. I’m not going to hurt you unless you try to hurt me first.”
Nyssa took a couple of steps back. Her mind telling her this was stupid but her heart told her it would be okay. She still didn’t get it, but she had to try. The feeling was too strong and she needed answers. As much as he probably did. When he didn’t move right away, she reached into the file cabinet he’d been digging in and pulled out the charts of every patient who had experiences with the dream monster. She set them on the table beside him.
“I’m guessing that’s what you were looking for.” And then it came to her. Where she’d heard his name before. Evanthe. “You’re a hunter. Right?” Rhetorical question. She already knew the answer. “A friend mentioned you once before. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it when we first met. But that is not where I know you from.” Nyssa inhaled a deep breath and gestured to the files. “I’ve been after this thing a long time but I can only reach him in the dream world. It’s never physically presented itself to me that I know of. Though it could be anyone, anything. Like me it seems to have the ability to look however it wants in the dream world.
She studied him carefully. Trying to gauge how he might react to all of this. It was a lot. Cutting him free was probably a shock on its own, and then showing him kindness with the tissue and water. Admitting she wasn’t human. That was a huge risk for her. And then, showing him the files. “Like I said. I’m not human.” She gave him a slow smirk. “I guess you could say I’m an alien. I was born on a planet called Somnium. My kind, we’re called dream weavers because we can enter the dreams of others and manipulate the environment.” She shook her head slowly, turning away as it suddenly became difficult to speak. “I don’t remember much. All I know is what was in the note left with me at the orphanage in Finland. I was just a baby but I got to read it when I was eighteen.” Why was she telling him all of this and why did it feel like she already had?
“I’m not sure why you dreamt of me. Maybe it was just that? You might have seen me around and remembered my face. I really don’t…” Her words cut off as another blinding headache sent her to her knees again. Images broke through. Faint and a bit fuzzy. Like looking at an old photo or movie on film. “Can you help me?” Nyssa heard herself asking, but it wasn’t out loud. Only in her mind. A movie just for her. “What’s your name?” It was his voice now. More images began to spring forward and it was all she could see. Blinding her to the current world around them. If he was going to kill her, that would be the perfect time. But she couldn’t stop it from happening. He smiled, but only in her head. Said his name after she told him hers. It flooded her. Overwhelmed her. She fell again. This time blacking out on the tile floor inches from where she had him tied up a moment ago.
“So... does that count as a win?” Shaenna asked unsure of what just happened. Sure, she could pop organs and crush hearts all day long, well, not all day. She'd need a few time outs for ice cream, of course, oh, and a restock of blood to fuel her power. She couldn't use her own blood in long drawn out fights, there was only so long she could draw out her own life force and transform it into devastating power of awesomeness before she started to get a little woozy. Still, it didn't mean that she was useless once her own blood had reached its limit, oh no no no. She could draw the blood in from her victims, through the smallest of wounds inflicted upon their delicate little bodies, she could summon it all, bleed them dry and transform it either to instantly retaliate or to store for later use. She could bleed anything that housed blood, but non-humans were trickier, namely, the side effects. Like demon blood, it really bumped up her power, but it was difficult to maintain control, plus she became a beacon for all the demonic entities and the risk of possession shot up tenfold. Oh, it was so difficult, at times, being so fantabulously awesome!
“Well, they're dead and you're not...” Spooky summarized thoughtfully. “Plus you got that pendant thing,” He added moving his self closer to his ward.
“Oh right! High fives all round!” The mage cheered. “But, what is it?”
“Well, that we can figure out once we get back to solid ground,” Spooky answered simply. “Oh, and you better use that... in case you need it later.” The spectral gestured towards the blood flow at their feet.
Shaenna nodded, her hand extending once more while she focused on the life energy that was busy redecorating the terrain. Slowly at first the fluid moved, changed direction, then raised into the air. As it picked up speed the blood transformed into a crimson mist and shot forth into her body, her pores absorbing the energy offered. That would give her a boost against the next nasty or douche bag that came her way!
With little else to do within the cavern, the pair retraced their steps back out of the cave itself that led to the base of the mountain. Now for the long trek back towards the town.
“We could make snow angels!” The mage remarked suddenly whilst traipsing along some friggin road. Shae couldn't drive, hell, her attention span wouldn't allow it, so, everything was public transport or hitch hiking. How she loathed those modes of transport! Public transport had her confined within a metal structure whilst boredom threatened the lives of all within the near vicinity. Further a field brought forth its own problems as she didn't possess a passport. How would one over a hundred years old get one anyway? And, imagine the photo horror of it all! Of course, she could simply erase their minds, but that got tedious dammit!
Spooky practically growled at the mere mention of angels. “We don't do snow angels, Shae,” He remarked in a severe grumble.
Shae gave this some serious thought. “Well, we could give them horns after!”
“Demons don't have horns, Shae, well, not all of them,” Spooky pointed out. She believed him to be nothing more than a ghost, how embarrassing would it be to slip up over something so silly and trivial!
“I know that, but trying to carve their ugly mugs into snow. Well, that's going to be a bit difficult... but not impossible,” Shae responded, her musings causing words to drift off towards the end. Her spirit companion knew that would keep her mentally entertained for at least the next five minutes.
Dean was the difficult pawn. There were times, when the two of them would achieve a satisfactory communication. Then, there were times, when one disagreement would follow the other, reaching unimaginable dead ends. Either way, the outcome would be the same; Sam being the peacemaker, the one to keep the spirits as calm as possible. What happened when the all so peaceful Winchester was out of the picture, though? What happened, when the deal depended on their patience and only? Their tolerance. Only time would tell…
“Mhmm… I will let you be with your c*ckroaches-friends. Such a brilliant friendship. I'd be heartless if I ruined it." Disdain filled each of her words -sarcasm, mockery-. But then, her gaze remained fixed on him -no move missed, not a single expression ignored-.
He was right to believe she wasn't there for a friendly visit. He was right to believe she wished for something in particular. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you I just missed you, right?" A question that didn't even ask for an answer. A question that didn't even require a word in return.
"Well, considering that you and your oh so beloved giant of a brother owe me a thousand of favors, I thought it's about time you started repaying." Casualty accompanied each of her words. Indifference, nonchalance. To her mind -to every sane person's mind- she was right after all. Whose fault had it been that Lucifer had approached her in the first place? Whose fault had it been that they'd fought a war against the Darkness? Whose fault had it been that she'd been killed off twice? Theirs and just theirs.
Sam is so out of it at this point that he barely tastes the soup that his brother heated up for him followed by a gooey gelaton substance. The voices in his head have subsided for now but will return again. The soup and the gooey substance has managed to silence the growling in his stomach for now and give his body some needed energy. He can hear a voice, like it far away speaking to him which has managed to help bring him back to reality. Eyes scan the area for any sign of danger before it lands back at his brother who trying reassure him that every thing going to be fine. The back of his mind thinking this is all a trick from Lucifer in order for him give up and say those three words that will never come. He killed countless innocent people that have tried harm him so deliver him to Lucifer and countless times he would weep over them. He even had kill a young child who was trying lead him into a trap. The memory of harming and burying that child haunts him every day.
Eventually eyes no longer able stay wide open close and Sam falls into an uneasy restless slumber on the small bed. Nightmares soon begin plague him of all the people who he killed and the taunts they were saying as they attacked him. His body slightly jumping while sleeping and mumbles of words escaping from his mouth "please, I'm sorry. I did not mean to do it" he fall back silent until Lucifer makes an appearance and that when Sam looses it. "NO, NO, GET AWAY FROM HIM" he yelled jumping off the bed so to to find a weapon. So to protect himself and his brother. Sam nearly trips on what ever is in the way of his search "LEAVE ME ALONE" hands covering his ears again as he drops to the floor on his knees "I'm sorry, please, I didn't want to hurt you" at this point Sam thinks he confronting one of his victims but in actuality Lucifer making it think he hurt dean. He hears a voice and a slight pleading in that someone voice manages to snap him out of it. As Lucifer fades away like a radio has been turned off.
Glancing down Sam notices slight blood on his own hands and realizes he must have scratched at his own skin with his untrimmed nails. Hazel eyes glances across at his older brother noticing his appearance changed to how he rememerbed him "D...dean, that really you" he whispered as tears are spilling down his face freely now. Slowly, he extends a hand touching his brother face so make sure it really him "did you come to kill me like you promised. The night I left with ruby" his eyes closed so to wait for whatever his brother has in mind so end it once and for all. Sam had enough of running, that what he been doing most of his life and he just tired of it all. While alone out there every night Sam would listen to the voicemail then cry himself to sleep knowing he betrayed the only family he has left. A brother who always been there for him through thick and thin. Always had his back like he had his back. Sadly, life and choices tends to screw things up and consequences leads to results no one saw coming. Sam always tried do the right thing but good intentions leads to poor decisions.
Of course he was both listening but mentally elsewhere. Unlike a human, he could pay attention, consuming information while allowing his thoughts to dive down other avenues. In a moment, he intended to respond to Dean’s question. Just not…immediately. A loud whistle gave the angel a start, dragging him from his split thoughts and fully into the present. Surrounded by dingy paint and a semi-lived in atmosphere. How long the Hunter had set up shop in that hotel room, he didn’t know. Hadn’t asked. Castiel did not always inquire into the mundane facets of the Winchester brothers lives. He had more important matters to occupy his thoughts with. Not so much a matter that he didn’t care…but as a commander, he knew how to prioritize. Even if the back of his mind, those sort of questions bounced around.
Turning, the angel afforded his human companion an irritated stare. Tiers pressing together in mild annoyance. “That was unnecessary.” Was the short reprimand. A second later, though, he was over it.
“I’m not certain. Only one of the artifacts has come under the radar of my soldiers. It is…remarkably disappointing how it had slipped through our hands so long ago.” Again, there was a shifting of time and space in his deep cerulean gaze. Looking back into a past Dean wouldn’t even begin to dream of. Back to a time in history when angels openly visited humans, walked among them. Played their role as messengers and miracle workers, or assisted the fall of cities and civilizations. During that era he had been far younger than he was at present. Youth, indeed. His role in humanity was not on the same front, yet he had been there. Had walked the Earth, doing the will of God or his superiors, one never knew who was the source of the orders.
In his mind there were flashes of a desert landscape. Tiny grains of hot sand glittering beneath a harsh burning sun. Above a sky so blue, it nearly put his eyes shame. Then the image of a temple came to mind. One that didn’t exist today. Constructed in ancient Jerusalem, white shining walls ornately complimented with gold. Catching the sun’s rays in a holy dazzle. Sheer power emanated from the edifice. He could remember. It was the First Temple. And it had been built under the command of King Solomon…by demons.
“How could it escape us….” He mused for a moment. An image of the ring surfaced in memory. The seal. The mighty seal that would force any demon to obey the ring bearer. Even then he had questioned how a mortal should be permitted to wield such power, but he had been young. And such questions had been forbidden from being spoken. In youth it had troubled and confused him. That night in the hotel room, those ancient feelings resurfaced. Fingertips rose to rub against the side of his temple. All of the artifacts, after that time, should have been returned to Heaven. That seal, and another ring Solomon had crafted to control the elements, had disappeared. Just then, Cass remembered he wasn’t alone in the room. Reeling himself back to the present from his venture down the lanes of historical memory. Recovering himself, then angel wet his lips. Knowing that Dean was likely growing impatient.
After all, he had woken him in the middle of the night, disturbing what little rest he could steal. And bombarded him with vagueness. “How familiar are you with Solomon’s Seal? Not the symbol, the actual seal. It is a ring.”
Hunters use the symbol for various purposes. Dean no doubt was familiar with it, to that extent. However, it wasn’t the symbol that was of import. The ring itself had resurfaced. Not a fake manufactured replica. The actual seal, crafted by angels. Giving man a power they ought not possess. If there was one thing Castiel had observed during his eternal life, it was that power always corrupted man. The notion of the seal coming to anyone’s possession was understandably alarming. Yet, if he could get his hands on it…he would have the upper hand against Crowley and Hell. And that was an appealing notion.