Dean Winchester (
kickingand) wrote in
driftfleet2016-04-01 06:06 pm
into the distance a ribbon of black
Who: Dean Winchester (AU) & anyone willing to put up with him
Broadcast: fleetwide video
Action: the marsiva if anyone wants!
When: RIGHT NOW
[ There is something to be said for the few seconds before truly waking up, when everything is fuzzy and safe and nothing matters as much as it did the night before. But that moment tends to get shot in the foot pretty damn fast, especially when Dean is prone to waking up with a rush of adrenaline. Made infinitely worse by the realization that a) he does not know where he is and b) the automatic grab for the weaponry usually confined to his body results in nothing. Nada. His pistol is nowhere to be found, the blade in his jacket is missing, and no amount of grappling about solves that problem. And while he finds the comm device it only annoys him further because it's not his damn gun.
Which is right around the instant Dean shoves himself off the bed and shouts near as loud as he can manage- ] The hell is this! [ Followed with some more grumbling. ] Be better if I asked which Hell is this.. swear to God, this shit never gets any better.
[ It’s too echoey, too sterile, and the immediate need for answers is almost overpowering. He doesn’t give two shits about looking himself over, pushes aside thoughts of the last image that flashes across his mind, and instead gives one more look around the bed he woke in to try and find his weaponry because fuck this shit. Why he’s unarmed is of particular concern and a vast amount of silent panic, but he doesn’t want to stand here and leave himself open to anything either. Which implies moving, something that takes only another second to decide upon.
Not that he’s going to be going far…
No, after a brief stint of stealthy meandering, Dean manages to find himself striding down towards the medical wing because why the hell not. Where it’s near impossible to resist the urge to start rifling through just about everything he can get his hands on. Because Dean Winchester is a Class Act. And because living through the apocalypse tends to make one appreciate medical supplies, especially when you're inclined to... start shit. ]
Broadcast: fleetwide video
Action: the marsiva if anyone wants!
When: RIGHT NOW
[ There is something to be said for the few seconds before truly waking up, when everything is fuzzy and safe and nothing matters as much as it did the night before. But that moment tends to get shot in the foot pretty damn fast, especially when Dean is prone to waking up with a rush of adrenaline. Made infinitely worse by the realization that a) he does not know where he is and b) the automatic grab for the weaponry usually confined to his body results in nothing. Nada. His pistol is nowhere to be found, the blade in his jacket is missing, and no amount of grappling about solves that problem. And while he finds the comm device it only annoys him further because it's not his damn gun.
Which is right around the instant Dean shoves himself off the bed and shouts near as loud as he can manage- ] The hell is this! [ Followed with some more grumbling. ] Be better if I asked which Hell is this.. swear to God, this shit never gets any better.
[ It’s too echoey, too sterile, and the immediate need for answers is almost overpowering. He doesn’t give two shits about looking himself over, pushes aside thoughts of the last image that flashes across his mind, and instead gives one more look around the bed he woke in to try and find his weaponry because fuck this shit. Why he’s unarmed is of particular concern and a vast amount of silent panic, but he doesn’t want to stand here and leave himself open to anything either. Which implies moving, something that takes only another second to decide upon.
Not that he’s going to be going far…
No, after a brief stint of stealthy meandering, Dean manages to find himself striding down towards the medical wing because why the hell not. Where it’s near impossible to resist the urge to start rifling through just about everything he can get his hands on. Because Dean Winchester is a Class Act. And because living through the apocalypse tends to make one appreciate medical supplies, especially when you're inclined to... start shit. ]

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I don't think this is Hell if that's what you're getting at.
[ Because he doesn't. He just doesn't think it's Heaven, either. ]
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It is possible we're not identical. [Small smile.]
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[ It's true, Dean can handle a modicum of humor. Sort of. ]
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[She tilts her head and considers him for a moment.] You picked up on the part where I was telling you I'm a mutant, right? Should I be watching my back? [Things were never that bad with the other Deans, but he wasn't them and she'd rather be up front with it.]
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[ All the humor's shot from his voice in an instant because this topic is actually a serious one, and if she wants to lay it on the line, then he'll do it right back in the only way he knows how. ] For shits and giggles, I mean.
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Haven't killed anyone for over a year. [She did try once in the prison. It was a lot of things, but fun wasn't one of them.] Wouldn't mind it staying that way. [She doubts it will, but she also doubted she'd still be alive and here she is.]
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But okay, that's all cleared up then. They're both on the same page, and that's really all that matters to Dean. ]
Long as that doesn't change, then we're good.
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Same to you, Dean. [She smiles a bit, because this is the same understanding she had with the last Dean, though he was different.]
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[ It's not entirely sarcastic, it's just a little bitter. Because somehow he figures nobody else is really going to give him the to go-ahead to kill things around here just because they might become a nuisance. Old habits die hard and all that; he's just wired this way. ]
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But I think this place has something my home and maybe yours didn't have—options. Other ways of solving a problem.
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I don't want to get back home, but I would like us to be in control of where we go or if we go.
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