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
"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.