Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kickingand) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2016-08-21 01:46 pm
kickingand) wrote in driftfleet2016-08-21 01:46 pm
Entry tags:
above the logic we are (closed)
Who: Dean [AU] & Sam of the Winchester Variety Hour
Broadcast: Nada
Action: Red Fish
When: this eeevening
note/warning: dean is a stupid and there is gore ahead.
Dean is tired of it.
Tired of wondering whether or not he's under some sort of strict mind control, waiting for something to be driven straight into his brain that might render him any number of things. But most of all, without the use of his free will, his discretion and choice, a thing he covets silently. He's not a Croat, nor a man who does anything but make his own decisions and the fear of losing that drives him towards sleeplessness and incessant worry. He's not going to end up at the whim of this thing in his brain, he's just not.
And so, finally, it just seems like the simple choice to try and get rid of it.
Maybe this has to do with Cas being gone, but Dean isn't going there in a hundred million years. He'd spoken to Cas about everything before he'd up and disappeared and that was it, his limit when it came to discussions on the matter. There was no musing on his death, or the fact that he had caused it - he had thrown his best friend to the wolves for no reason and now it sat with Dean at every second of every day and so maybe he was something more inclined to behave rashly. Who cared if this went wrong; he didn't. It was an exercise in taking matters into his own hands all over again, because why the fuck not. There was no reason not to try, not when the loss of his home was his fault.
Sam had finally left him alone, had stopped following him around, was no longer inclined to keep an eye on him and so Dean took advantage by making his way to the kitchen once more, no hesitation held in his steps. It was seconds before he was digging around for the knife that he'd meant to use before, and even when he finally had it in his grip, the only thought on Dean's mind was how best to approach this. Which way should he go diving in when he had no good look at what he was doing - maybe that didn't matter either. It wasn't like he couldn't feel the augment, just barely, located near the base of his skull. As long as he avoided his pounding jugular and instead carved below the ridge of bone that curved to form the back of his head, then maybe he'd survive this. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe exploratory surgery was what this place needed to get closer to finding a way for everyone to remove their devices.
Might as well see.
Dean stole a second or two to prod around by his spine, fingers poking in at his cervical vertebrae before working perpendicular towards the edge of his skull. It was only then that he took in a hard breath and plunged the tip of the blade into the back of his neck, trying to not navigate it in far enough to hit anything overly important so much as he was trying to dig around, carve out the augment in the process. Blood made an immediate run down over his fingers, his hand, trailing down the length of his forearm, making it particularly difficult to keep hold of the knife. But he swore he felt the blade scraping up against something and Dean dug in harder, plunging the blade at an angle, working it around desperately. It was up there on the list of painful things he'd done to himself, but it certainly wasn't the worst thing he'd ever endured... still didn't make it fun, though.
"Son of a bi--"
Which was right around when everything fucked up. All of him seemed to light up at once, the hot buzzing sensation ripping through his muscles and dropping him like a sack of potatoes. It was excruciating, all his nerve endings shouting at once and only fragments were left of the moment once he was done being zapped, Dean only feeling as if he'd gone up in smoke, his brain utterly jostled from the residual effects of being electrocuted. His grip on the blade had only tightened while he'd seized and within seconds, Dean was attempting to get back up onto his feet. A thing that might have been easier if he could see straight through the sudden, sickening wave of misery. Everything suddenly descended into a kind of hopelessness, a guilt that he swore was going to eat him alive within seconds. There was nothing left but his mistakes and Dean was alone with them.
He'd left Cas to die, and he'd do the same to himself if only he wasn't already dead. So why even struggle with it if there was nothing left. Might as well dive in all over again, the blade still held in his grasp.
Broadcast: Nada
Action: Red Fish
When: this eeevening
note/warning: dean is a stupid and there is gore ahead.
Dean is tired of it.
Tired of wondering whether or not he's under some sort of strict mind control, waiting for something to be driven straight into his brain that might render him any number of things. But most of all, without the use of his free will, his discretion and choice, a thing he covets silently. He's not a Croat, nor a man who does anything but make his own decisions and the fear of losing that drives him towards sleeplessness and incessant worry. He's not going to end up at the whim of this thing in his brain, he's just not.
And so, finally, it just seems like the simple choice to try and get rid of it.
Maybe this has to do with Cas being gone, but Dean isn't going there in a hundred million years. He'd spoken to Cas about everything before he'd up and disappeared and that was it, his limit when it came to discussions on the matter. There was no musing on his death, or the fact that he had caused it - he had thrown his best friend to the wolves for no reason and now it sat with Dean at every second of every day and so maybe he was something more inclined to behave rashly. Who cared if this went wrong; he didn't. It was an exercise in taking matters into his own hands all over again, because why the fuck not. There was no reason not to try, not when the loss of his home was his fault.
Sam had finally left him alone, had stopped following him around, was no longer inclined to keep an eye on him and so Dean took advantage by making his way to the kitchen once more, no hesitation held in his steps. It was seconds before he was digging around for the knife that he'd meant to use before, and even when he finally had it in his grip, the only thought on Dean's mind was how best to approach this. Which way should he go diving in when he had no good look at what he was doing - maybe that didn't matter either. It wasn't like he couldn't feel the augment, just barely, located near the base of his skull. As long as he avoided his pounding jugular and instead carved below the ridge of bone that curved to form the back of his head, then maybe he'd survive this. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe exploratory surgery was what this place needed to get closer to finding a way for everyone to remove their devices.
Might as well see.
Dean stole a second or two to prod around by his spine, fingers poking in at his cervical vertebrae before working perpendicular towards the edge of his skull. It was only then that he took in a hard breath and plunged the tip of the blade into the back of his neck, trying to not navigate it in far enough to hit anything overly important so much as he was trying to dig around, carve out the augment in the process. Blood made an immediate run down over his fingers, his hand, trailing down the length of his forearm, making it particularly difficult to keep hold of the knife. But he swore he felt the blade scraping up against something and Dean dug in harder, plunging the blade at an angle, working it around desperately. It was up there on the list of painful things he'd done to himself, but it certainly wasn't the worst thing he'd ever endured... still didn't make it fun, though.
"Son of a bi--"
Which was right around when everything fucked up. All of him seemed to light up at once, the hot buzzing sensation ripping through his muscles and dropping him like a sack of potatoes. It was excruciating, all his nerve endings shouting at once and only fragments were left of the moment once he was done being zapped, Dean only feeling as if he'd gone up in smoke, his brain utterly jostled from the residual effects of being electrocuted. His grip on the blade had only tightened while he'd seized and within seconds, Dean was attempting to get back up onto his feet. A thing that might have been easier if he could see straight through the sudden, sickening wave of misery. Everything suddenly descended into a kind of hopelessness, a guilt that he swore was going to eat him alive within seconds. There was nothing left but his mistakes and Dean was alone with them.
He'd left Cas to die, and he'd do the same to himself if only he wasn't already dead. So why even struggle with it if there was nothing left. Might as well dive in all over again, the blade still held in his grasp.
no subject
"Sam."
Dean tries to sound commanding, as if he can make his little brother do what he wants just because he said so. Just the way it used to work. He's sorely out of practice when it comes to bossing him around though and he sets jaw, trying to pretend that he's more annoyed than he is when all he'd truly prefer doing is falling apart. Somehow it all feels off kilter, as if everything is just on the edge of infinitely worse than it usually is, but Dean stumbles back footsteps despite his unwillingness.
"I don't have anything to go back to." Dean attempts to shout the words, because as we all know, talking louder is an effective way to pass along all the words you don't know how to actually say. But even lifting his voice doesn't go as well as he wants it to, his stupid feelings dampening the words heavily. He's not sure if talking about anything will save him, but all he wants is for Sam to get it. To know that he doesn't have any other choice in the matter, that this is the end of his line.
And he doesn't know what to do with it.
no subject
"You're alive. You keep moving. You told me that, remember? To keep going?" He shakes his head. "It's not always over just because it feels like it is. If you're here, then there's something." He moves Dean toward the room regardless, rambling. Because now that they're so far apart in so many ways, this seems long overdue. "When you — went to hell, I did this exact shit... Sometimes things seem like endless torment and you just wanna lay down and die, man. But it'll weigh less. You just have to hang on long enough to find what you need."
Come on, come sit down on the bed, let him see.
"... To be honest, I wasn't much better a few years ago. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite, but it taught me something, okay? I got better, and so can you." He says it softly, like the prior anger is whittling away. "Lay on your stomach — lay down, I need to look at this."
no subject
But trying to focus on Sam's words is rough unto itself, and yet he manages it to some degree. Even if he's bitter about the entire thing, ignoring the pain ringing loud at the back of his skull, wishing he could have gotten further if only to see what he could've done.
He wants to ask what happens when he's done here- what then, Sam? What happens then? But he doesn't say the word, instead tries to find something else to spit out, as if he even knows what to say anymore at the end of the day. It's all gone to shit, that he's sure of, but even if he has to keep going he'd rather be doing it without the threat of mind control on his heels.
"You don't get to make it sound easy." Not when he doesn't deserve easy, not when it's all his fault. He's even oblivious to the fact that he's being directed around, trying to shake his head, trying to make a point without saying the words. "Nothing I did deserves easy."
... But hoo boy, you lost him at lay down on your stomach, Sam. Dean's going to proceed to be an unhappy camper now, making with a stupid effort to squirm away. "Not happening."
no subject
Even if he's learned over time that he served penance for letting Lucifer out, it still haunts him sometimes, when those dark feelings strike up like a match again. That feeling that it was never enough. Nami had begged to differ — and he remembers her words well. But it may have not been enough. He never forgets.
"You're preaching to the choir, Dean. It's not easy, but nothing we do is. We're Winchesters." His grip tightens a bit on his arms, and though he sounds tired and stressed, he also is being a little shit - "Do you really want someone to walk in with me sitting on you, full cowgirl?"
You're going to have to figure out where your dignity is going to be lost, here.
One is worse than the other.
no subject
But it has to be said, that threatening full cowgirl is one way to get Dean's attention.
"Can you not put that picture in my head? Ever again?" It's grumbled low and fully annoyed, Dean sideyeing Sam rather aggressively. He still doesn't like this in the slightest, would much prefer sitting down to lying down, but he supposes that he asked for this in some twisted way.
Considering he'd go back and do it again in a hot minute if Sam would just fuck off for two seconds. It's tempting to even threaten it, to say that he didn't get as far as he'd planned, that he'll just do it again the next time he's reminded of some other poor sap's augment glitch. But that would give away a deeper ulterior motive and so he says nothing, eyeing the bed instead and trudging his way back to it to make his way to sitting on the edge. Because he can get away with that, right?
no subject
Let him demonstrate how weak you are by shoving you lightly to the side. Rolling his eyes to the space-heavens, he continues his relentless nudging to a man who hasn't the strength to keep resisting. Because his anxiety is going to fucking quadruple if he doesn't lay you down now.
"Only if you actually listen to me for once in your life. You wanna recite Dad's speech about neck injuries, or do you want me to do it?"
no subject
"You're really bring dad's shit into this? Really?" And sadly, it's still a rather effective means to get Dean to behave. Sort of.
no subject
He nudges Dean down if he bothers trying to get back up, wearily looking back to his communication devices. "Got some people — you're gonna have to deal with some nurses coming to check you out now, good job." He pats Dean's shoulder. "Just relax. Don't make me beg."
no subject
Even so, it's an odd reminder of just how disappointed John would be in him, a feeling he can't help but growl under his breath at, a thing he doesn't want to spend any time considering right now, especially with Sam so adamantly prodding at him.
And Dean would have been almost - but not quite - oh so willing to lay his tired ass down, but the mention of nurses has him once more trying to push his way back up, scowling at Sam something fierce.
"When did we ever bring nurses into the equation, Sam?"
no subject
He's not letting you get up out of bed, that's for friggin' sure. The moment you go wandering off, bleeding more, looking for the blade? That's when Sam's failed his job. He sighs softly, wearily, before shaking his head.
"Am I going to have to get rid of anything sharp around here, Dean...? Are you really gonna do this again — this whole self-sabotage thing? Because man — at least warn me. I'll start replacing everything with plastic knives if I got to."
no subject
So why wasn't it working.
Not that it mattered when he was being threatened with plastic knives, something he managed to find offensive, as if he was truly going off the rails. "It's not self sabotage if I had a reason for it." And that was something Dean was going to stand by, the fact that he would've gone for the gold if Sam hadn't stopped him. It made it that much harder to feel as if he shouldn't have done it in the first place, stubborn as he was to begin with.
"They didn't stick something in our head for shits and giggles, Sam. It's like a goddamn shock collar."
But all complaining aside, the fact that he was starting to feel like he'd been fried from the inside out, if not the throbbing at the back of his skull, was starting to get to him. A nap might soon be in order.
no subject
He grits his teeth.
"Your reason was friggin' stupid and reckless and if this were me, you'd probably kick me right on the ass."
You stupid hypocritical bastard.
Yeah, he's mad at your reasoning.
Are you surprised?
no subject
But he's starting to feel like death warmed over and he might be wondering if his brain is leaking out. Which was really never his intention and something that would be so much more worthwhile if Sam had just let him get a little further.
"Would you cram it with the high and mighty act if I laid down?"
Because he might be teetering over anyway.
no subject
And teetering is a good sign that Sam should help lay you down, alright?
Alright. He looks at Dean with tension in the lines of his face, tired and worried.
"I'll take care of this, alright? Just lay down."
no subject
Fine fine fine, Dean is halfway inclined to still try and shove Sam at a distance, just because he doesn't want to deal with this, but he knows he's not going to get anywhere with that either. And so he finally topples sideways and has to wiggle a bit to readjust, smashing his face into the nearest pillow with a grunt.
If one were to assume he'd make himself comfortable, that's not quite true, because his shoulders near bunch up to his ears in anticipation, waiting for Sam's doctoring to begin.