Happy Holideans Guys

[righteously]

Who: Dean Winchester, Emma Swan & COMPLETELY OPEN
Where: Literally all over Wonderland
When: Dec 15-24
Rating: R for language, violence, adult themes
Summary: When Emma agreed to acompany Dean on his stupid suicide mission of inevitable death and idiocy, neither of them prepared for the mistletoe. Or, you know, the freaking time travel.
The Story:

The Arrival

They ran out of canned food. All of the stockpiled supplies had been growing steadily more scarce, but it’s probably the cans that finally triggered Dean’s decision to push through with the back-up plan brewing in his mind for the last several weeks. There was beef jerky- god damn, they had beef jerky by the friggin’ score, but with so many mouths to feed, it wouldn't last. There were hunters- actual game, what was left of the animals in the forest and the fish in the ocean were being picked off one by one for sustenance in much the same way that the Jabberwock was picking them off for sustenance.

Soon, there would be nothing. Soon, they wouldn't just have to worry about losing those last few precious lives to the roaming beast, but to starvation. Dehydration. Sickness.

Tom’s been stirring up talk about a second trip to the core, but morale is low. It was a stupid plan the first time around, it’s even more stupid with so many fighters taken out of the game. With so many injuries, with so few extra lives to spare and, more importantly, with the Jabberwock more strong than he’s ever been.

In the end, it’s not a difficult decision to make. Not by a long shot. Too many people are gone already, and waiting for more to go is stupid. He’s not going to do it.

Michael’s there, the Archangel, an ever present beacon of power and possibility, and though things are different now than they were back home- hell, different now than they were years ago in Wonderland’s less horrific years, there was always small part of him that protested the very notion of giving in.

That small part’s been ground to dust.

It’s a no-brainer. Dean says yes.

It’s a small piece to a bigger puzzle, a bigger and, admittedly, probably doomed plan. Cas had been able to take the Jabberwock down in the beginning. It had taken effort, a great expenditure of grace, but he'd been able to slay the beast over and over again to grant them a temporary reprieve. After it swallowed the Vorpal Shield, that bastard ground him into dust. Michael is stronger, though- a thousand times stronger, at least he would be in his true vessel. If they could get rid of it for good together, or, Christ, even just put it down temporarily, long enough to give Wonderland a chance to gather it’s strength, it might fix everything.

If it meant burning Dean out of his body, so be it. If it meant risking losing his remaining lives in the process, he was so far beyond the point of caring.

It would have to be done in secret. The fewer people who knew, the fewer people likely to stop him and the fewer to possibly get caught in the crossfire. He kept it to himself, kept it from Jo, from Sam, from Ellen, from anyone and everyone likely to put their fucking fingers in the mix and make things messy. He'd keep it from everyone if it were feasible, but it simply isn’t. He needs someone to take over in the event it doesn’t work, needs somebody to help him get to where he needs to be, and that someone is Emma.

She had tried to argue against it, tried to use logic to point out why it wasn't worth the risk, but it hadn't lasted long. He had trusted her for a reason; she understood what it meant to be a leader, to go forward and take a chance because the payoff would be beyond worth it if you could pull it off. That didn't mean she liked it. Dean was more than a friend and more than someone to take orders from: he was family now, more like family than just about anyone she'd ever known. Orphans were forced to build their own families, and if they were lucky, sometimes they made a friend like Dean who fit the bill completely, someone who could offer understanding and solidarity like no one else, someone else who knew what it felt like to lose and to grow up too fast and to make the best of what you had.

The idea of this going south and losing him, losing their leader, losing one of the best friends she’d ever had made her stomach drop and her chest feel tight. If it worked, it would be damn near a miracle, though she was hesitant to use the word. She never gave her approval, not really, but she let him know that he could trust her. Trust her to help him through it, trust her to pick up the pieces if it failed or if he didn’t make it back. Meanwhile, she’d spend as much time as she could trying to convince him to take another course, trying to figure out alternatives. She knew what taking the risk could earn them, and she wasn’t going to forcibly stop him -- she respected his decision -- but damn if she wasn’t going to try to get him to change his mind in the eleventh hour.

In the end, they go anyway. Gearing up is a grim affair, done in the silence and secrecy of Dean’s private quarters, tucked away in the back of the refuge. It’s the middle of the night, the civilians and refugees are sleeping. The resistance patrols are circling the small perimeter of the sanctuary they’ve carved out of sweat and blood. They slip through the cracks, through the woods, through the rubble and the dying gardens without a word or a sound. Even footsteps in the grass seem muted in this place.

The entrance hall and lobby, once a grand affair, is dirty and dingy and cracked. Dean can’t help but to sweep his eyes over it as he crosses the entranceway, doors broken in and swinging wide. They could be fixed, but why bother when the beast would simply break them down again and again?

It’s silent, deceptively so. His hands are tight on his gun as he pauses to listen, ears sharpened by Michael’s burning him dormant in the back of his mind. They’re waiting, saving it, saving his last few minutes with the angel tucked into a space too small for him while Dean steers the ship. As soon as Michael takes over, that energy will explode into something grand and heavenly, something burning bright and overpowering, but not yet.

His jaw tightens, and his eyes flick to Emma. One firm nod signals that the coast is clear, the need for words erased by time and familiarity.

She doesn’t like this any better now that they’re here, but as they cross the threshold, the deal is sealed. There’s no going back now, no chances to duck out and find another option. All they have left is to go forward, to follow through with this stupid plan she has no choice but to go along with. Dean is just as stubborn as she is, and they have a job to do. She couldn’t talk him out of this, but she can help him try to protect everyone here. Try to free Wonderland from tyranny and make it someplace everyone can live again, not just survive.

The signal is enough, and she moves forward with her gun pointed at the floor in a two-handed grip. She’s brought the replica of her father’s sword she managed to pull out of the closets all those years ago as well, sheathed at her hip, but it’s more of a good-luck charm than anything. A comfort. If she’s close enough to the Jabberwocky to use it, then it’ll already be too late. She’ll be dinner, and she’s running out of deaths.

She moves forward through the front foyer in time with Dean, their footsteps slow and deliberate, careful not to break the too-heavy silence that’s bearing down on them. Any moment, she expects that the Jabberwock will pierce it, slice through it like it’s nothing, sense them or smell them and somehow just know that it’s no longer alone. They’re on its turf now, and the beast has every advantage that comes with playing on the home field. Still, it’s not the Jabberwock that makes her stop dead in her tracks when they turn the corner.

It’s the mansion itself.

The cracked and crumbling ruin the mansion has become is gone, lush carpets and whole, unbroken mirrors in its stead. Garlands, holly, doors still on their hinges and none of it looking like its become the stomping grounds for something as ravenous as the predator that’s taken over Wonderland has proven to be. She relaxes her hold on her gun, just a hair, turning her head alone to narrow her eyes at Dean in question. What the hell is going on here?

His brow furrows as it tracks over the garland, over the wallpaper, over everything. Slowly, he looks to Emma. Meets her eye, and tightens his grip on his gun.

Whatever this is, it isn't good.

--

This is a catch-all for both Dean and Emma. They'll have their own subthreads to keep things organized!

Comments

[cursebreaking]

"Not that I've seen."

She's looked, too. Spent more time than she's willing to admit to just wondering and frustrated at the lack of hard evidence. The Queens both talk a good game and may each have the bearing that's required of a monarch, but neither one of them are really in charge. She remembers when she first arrived, thinking the Queen of Hearts ran the joint, but the fact of the matter was that beyond the mirrors, she didn't control much at all.

There was something bigger at work, something more powerful, and despite having spent six years in Wonderland, she still didn't know what it was.

"Unless we're willing to go with the theory that Wonderland itself is sentient. I'm not sure I am."

[claimyourself]

[The fact that she's told Lena all this gives that impression, and she's pleased to be included.]

I'll definitely help, as long as my powers don't get taken away again.

[selfrespecting]

Martha listens carefully as Emma explains, jotting down a few things in her journal, more to get an idea of the timeline than anything else. She already knows about how the magic faded away and the events came to an end, but Emma does bring up a good question.

"It sounds terrible," Martha admits, and she's still left to wonder how she handled all of this. She hasn't heard that many details about herself, having been a bit reluctant to ask. She shouldn't really know too much about her own timeline.

"But it is strange, isn't it? If Wonderland doesn't have the magic for anything else, then why does the jabberwocky hold strong? Is it because it's made of something other than magic?" Magic is such an uncertain concept to begin with, but they've had to accept that it's real in this place. Here's the proof that they never should have relied on it, though.

[righteously]

Up until this point, Dean's been pointedly dismissive of both Philip's conversation and the fact that he exists, alive, in the same space. When that glass of water hits the counter, the suddenness of the sound makes him startle and jerk, shooting an affronted what the hell are you doing over there before he can tuck it back. Unfortunately, it means he's looking at Philip right in the face when he asks his huffy okay I'll humor you what's going on questions, and it's a little harder to pretend he didn't hear anything when he saw lips move.

Which is clearly Philip's fault, and it gets him an annoyed, critical look on top of it all.

Really, the nerve of him running around being alive right now.

"Delorean. Idaho. Mind your own business." He answers rapidfire, then drops his eyes back to the utensil drawer.

CORK SCREW.

He snatches that bastard up and pockets it directly.

[righteously]

"Safeish," He responds darkly, constantly vigilant of how vulnerable their position is. It's not strong enough to keep the thing out, just quiet enough to not be discovered. That's important, that little fact.

He shifts back in his seat, fingers twitching, stationary for too long. In his restlessness, he starts to stack plates and cutlery. A sublminal sort of timer saying his patience is reaching the limit.

"No. Just that." He barks unhappily, brow knitting together again. "It ate the god damn vorpal shield, that's the only hope we've got."

[righteously]

If anything should convince Castiel that he's more than a tool, it's this. This broken, ignorant douchebag of a man so caught up in his own buttpain about losing the guy that he's shutting out anyone and everyone and digging a freaking hole in the ground. It's real model behavior, and if Cas could just grasp the full scope of it, that particular insecurity could be gone in minutes.

Of course, Dean isn't spelling out and Castiel isn't emotionally perceptive, so the issue goes unaddressed for the millionth time.

He glances down at his hammer, the irony not lost to him, and glances back up with a scowl.

Because he doesn't really have a logical reason to say no, even if he really, really wants to. He changes tactics instead, head cocking, scowl still in place. "Why? Why do you keep... pushing? Don't bullshit me, we both know you're not here to build the goddamn supply cellar, you don't need me to fill you in, you've got no damn reason to follow me down here except to annoy the shit out of me. Why?"

[righteously]

It doesn't go to his head. It barely even goes in his ears. Crowley chatter has been deemed the least important chatter in the whole of Wonderland, and if Dean paid any more attention to him than he does, he might actually start to get annoyed at him over the situation in the future and beat the crap out of him.

It's best this way.

"Three years from now," He answers flatly, without glancing up.

[righteously]

She is playing with his temper, but she's also right- he won't hurt her. He never would, of course. She's in the future too, just as worrid as ever, and he's done as effective a job cutting her out there as he's trying to do here. It may be more difficult here without the mutual pain of loss and the ingrained instinct of nearly everyone where he's from to obey the leader to get her to pull back. She never really caves, though, not completely, always pushes harder than anyone else, pushes where other people are afraid to push at him.

His eyes close at the hand on his cheek, jaw clenching to get a leash on his temper. He breathes out, a short and punctuated sound from his nose, and then opens his eyes again. They're still hard, but they're less explosive.

"The Jabberwock is unleashed. He destroys Wonderland and kills dozens of people. We're dying and there's no way to stop it. This is my only chance to fix it, now I need you to let me do what I've gotta do. Understand?" It's slow, it's dark and well annunciated, the sound of his temper on a leash, curbed for her benefit. The very last reserves of his patience spent to appease her.

[righteously]

Stiles' plan is not going to happen. Period. I don't care what god damn tweaks or alternatives or audibles you call, that plan is NEVER TO BE ALLOWED TO HAPPEN. Do you understand me?

[The casuality cost simply wasn't worth it. It simply wasn't. No god damn way.]

You don't know a single god damn thing about what you're talking about. There's no fixing that plan, you couldn't even try to figure out how to make it work because you weren't there. You don't. Know.

Stick your nose somewhere else, because that's a dead freaking end.

[goesdown]

"Oh, three years from now. Is that how long it's going to take for you to start taking me seriously?" It's an honest wonder, because it seems that no matter what Crowley does, Dean's determined to think the worst in his actions and while he'll agree that trusting him blindly is beyond stupid, sometimes a sneeze is just a sneeze.

He pauses then and lets the pieces click into place. Oh.

"You're ghost of Christmas yet to come?"

Pardon him as he sounds entirely unimpressed, but how cliche.

[righteously]

[A thousand years ago, he'd have any number of quips about men not taking their wedding rings off when they're angling for home base, but for right now, all he can manage is a sort of frown. He told Tom not to waste too much time getting cozy as Husband of the Future Year.

So she knows. One more thing he doesn't have to worry about dancing around- not that he was doing much dancing at all, to be honest, but whatever. One less thing to deal with.]

Nice deducting. Word of advice- careful on the bridesmaid dress picks in the future. Whoever talked you into those green sparking nightmares deserves to get shot.

[It's muttered darkly, absently, into the lip of a beer that he brings to his mouth again. He drinks deeply.

Still not over it.]

[builditstrong]

Kid nods. He can sense Dean is running out of time and patience. Better to start moving now, while Dean can still tolerate his presence. Kid sets his empty coffee mug on the stack and gathers it all up.

"Then th' Sword 'tis. Findin' th' Duchess won' be easy, though. An' gettin' th' Sword from 'er'll be even worse."

There's the chance, the very slim chance, that maybe they can find another weakness to exploit. The Jabberwock works on Wonderland rules, which means something like the Calamity Cannon just won't cut it. But if there are other versions and timelines of worlds out there, then maybe there's another Wonderland somewhere.

And if nothing else...there's that time machine idea. Really, you'd think that if Wonderland was going to send people into the past to try and save the future, Wonderland would send them to a time when getting the sword was slightly easier. If Wonderland can't do it, then maybe someone else can. Maybe Kid can. If he could somehow get his hands on schematics of the Bastion, find out how it worked...

First things first.

"Th' Vorpal Shield only means 's indestructible in yer time. Maybe they's a way to kill it more permanent-like now, even wi'out th' sword. Figger we should still take a look at that scar firs'. Like I said, findin' th' Duchess won' be easy."

He starts carrying the plates to one of the bins for dirty dishes, too distracted by thoughts and ideas to wonder if Dean is going to flee now that his back is turned.

[freewill]

Questioning him is apparently easier for Dean than accepting help, and Castiel lets out a small grunt of frustration and looks away. This is equivalent to speaking completely different languages, considering how little progress they've made. Though that's all because Dean's chosen not to, because he's deadset on not speaking to anyone.

Castiel's aware now that it's not just him, having spoken to Blake about it. Though the reasoning is different in Blake's case, it's proof enough that Dean's erected walls around him and isn't going to take them down for anyone or anything.

Still, Castiel answers the question, and he does so honestly.

"That should be obvious," he says, drawing closer, though he keeps his hands to himself. He entreats Dean with his eyes alone, searching for any sign of the man who changed his life so profoundly. "Because I'm your friend."

[righteously]

He snorts. "What, you actually think I take you seriously then? Please. You were an even bigger bitch then than you are now, until you bit it."

It might not necessarily be true, that last part, but it sure as hell doesn't stop him from saying it and Crowley can't prove otherwise. He shoots Crowley a flat look that screams he ain't even kidding, just for the sheer satisfaction.

"Way to connect the dots, Cumberbatch."

[righteously]

Sound familiar, Castiel? Refusing to accept help, convinced Castiel can do nothing. You're just a ghost, Cas, he's a time traveler. Maybe that's a stretch, but at any rate, when Dean's set on shutting down progress, he really, really manages it.



It's not Castiel's fault. He knows he's being deliberately cruel to the one person that matters the most, and he knows Cas has no understanding as to why. He knows he's hurting the angel's feelings- if you'd asked him before this trip what he'd do with a free week with Cas back, he'd have had so many different answers than what he's actually doing. And when Cas looks at him with those big blue eyes, searches through him like he used to do so many years ago, there's no muffling the guilt.

His lips twitch.

"No, you're not." He responds blankly, tearing his eyes away. It's just for a second, though, and then they're back, pinning Cas with them firmly. "You were a hell of a lot more than that, and you don't even understand the things we went through. And then I watched you die, so honestly? I just can't look at your face right now. I have fifty people to think about, I have a whole future's worth of people depending on me, and if I take a minute- if I screw up for a minute and I get caught up in having you back- and Blake, and Kid, but especially you? I'm not gonna be able to stop. And I just can't let that happen. I just can't. Please, please don't make me start warding you outta here."

[freewill]

It's familiar, but not enough that Castiel's made note of it yet. Either way, what he does know is that he doesn't like this one bit. If someone were to explain that he made Dean feel this way at one point, maybe he'd think twice about it in the future.

None of that is actually being communicated, but he has made a small crack in Dean's wall, at least enough to get an honest explanation out of him. It's an improvement from pure anger and dismissal, and so Castiel will take what he can get, even if he isn't completely satisfied by it.

Still, this makes more sense than everything else Dean's been saying. If Dean is struggling to not be distracted, to not get caught up on what the past has to offer, then that's something Castiel can at least understand, spoken in a language he knows.

He's not happy with it, which shows in the way his mouth twists downward. He's just going to make one last attempt, and then he'll leave Dean be.

"I can help you expand this place without you having to look at my face," he offers, half-hearted.

[righteously]

Let them burst. Let the dam build up in Sam, fill him with all the incredulous things he wants to say, all the frustration he carries, all the pain and the fear of what's to come. Let it stack boxes of his disappointment in Dean, in what Dean's become, in what Dean let happened. It was supposed to be a second chance, it was supposed to be a place they could be happy. Content with the knowledge that they'd live some kind of life here with family, and one day they'd break through and manage to go go home, but they'd do it in such a way that they could remember it, remember nights with eight hours of sleep. Remember months- years?- worth of turkey dinners for Thanksgiving and Ellen and Jo, remember seeing their dad for a few fleeting weeks and the benefits that came with it.

It was supposed to be some kind of... reward, or some kind of... something to make up for the crappy years before it, it was supposed to be good and different from what they went through at home.

Let the dam fill and burst and let him beat the shit out of Dean, and Dean would be all the happier for it.

Deep in him, Dean's own aggression starts to rise, battles through the apathy for the first time in days thanks to Sam's goading. His head rises and turns again, jaw clenching. It fades as a younger man fills Sam's shoes, and his head ducks again, muscle still thumping uncomfortably. His tongue works against his teeth behind his lips.

With slow, thoughtful movements, he shoves himself off of the bar stool. Stands up right, shoulders back, and stares Sam straight in the face. "I know. I know you're scared, I know you're frustrated, Sam, because we've had this conversation. We've had it about a thousand goddamn times through years you don't remember because you haven't had them yet. I've got you back where I'm from, where shit is hopeless. A you that knows what's going on, because we fought it. Together. We've been through hell and high water, and we've hit this thing at every god damn angle we know how, so excuse me if I think it's a little stupid that you- a you that doesn't know anything- is gonna stand there and preach at me about hope and fighting. Five years from now, you're just as screwed and hopeless as the rest of us, so spare me the speeches."

He bites it out hard, a vicious satisfaction in his gut that he hates himself for. Because Sam's scared, and it's supposed to be his job to douse that fear. It's supposed to be his job to make his brother feel safe, to make him safe, to make him feel strong, but Christ, he's tried. He's tried so damn hard over the last few years to do that, he just...

He's tired.

He passes a hand over his mouth and looks down, away, just for a second. Then back again. "I've been trying to help you. I've done everything I can possibly friggin' do to help you. Now, it's up to you to figure it out. You've got a god damn roadmap of what not to do, Sam, I just don't know what else to tell you."

[goesdown]

Crowley nearly rises to the bate. His lip actually starts to curl before he takes a deep breath. This is a rare opportunity to speak with a Dean who seems much more indifferent than usual.

"Bullshit. You wouldn't have asked me if you didn't think I might give you a good answer." He moves closer. "What did I do that you thought I would want to help you?"

Dean can't possibly be stupid enough to make another demon deal. He does know that much.

[righteously]

He can't help it. The offer is so genuine, so sincere, and so comical that a huff of a laugh jerks it's way out of his chest. Not a proper laugh by any means, just a disbelieving breath and a shake of his head. So freaking Cas, a thing he hasn't experienced in so god damn long he wasn't prepared for it.

And that's exactly the kind of thing he was talking about- just little responses, little... things like that scream I'm Alive at him so loud, it pounds through his ears and makes his hands shake. It's the kindof thing he can't afford.

So he drops eyes eyes away again and turns. Lifts his hammer back up to the strut.

"Just go," he mutters, and resumes whacking.

[righteously]

Cookies.

The anger dies on his lips, not because he's so jonesing for a cookie, but because the offer is so... random, so off the wall that he completely wasn't expecting it.

Christmas cookies.

He stares at John for a long, long moment.

He came back from the god damn future to prevent a god damn apocalypse and he's spend every ounce of energy he has today screaming at the faceless construct of a person, the world is doomed, Cas is dead, Blake is going to sleep with a fucking demon, Tom lost his soul, Sam's screwed, Wonderland is going to die, everything is falling apart, and this kid looks up at him with his stupid eyes and asks him so sincerely if he wants a Christmas cookie and Dean for the life of him cannot fathom it.

"...You know, in the future, you don't really talk. You should, I don't know, consider looking into that or something." He responds in disbelief, shaking his head. "...What kind of cookie."

[righteously]

Dean may be prodding tender wounds, but he's in such a state that he's beyond the capacity to care. Adam could explode right now, could tear the forrest down limb from limb, and Dean would watch him do it with an absent sort of interest and his arms folded across his chest. The bottom line is, while they have something of a relationship in the future, it's lacking the silver lining Dean applies to people. It's lacking that ceremonious, sparkly cloud of family he's been known to grace people with, and it's been lacking all the passion and love that goes along with it. Where he's from, Adam doesn't give much of a shit, and Dean intentionally tries not to give a shit about anything at all, and they build a working, functioning relationship out of it. It's hard to define, not quite friendship, not quite brotherhood, not quite... anything, it simply is, and that's exactly how Dean treats it now.

"Some time, yeah." He agrees absently, tilting his head. Not really all that interested in backing up his claim with specifics or proof; Adam can believe him or think he's full of shit, and it's no real skin off his back either way. "Doesn't mean I'm here to Fairy Godfather you through all your bullshit personal problems. I've got a whirlwind of other more important crap to deal with that don't got a single damn thing to do with whether you take the red pill or the blue pill, kid. I just figured I'd give you a little food for thought while you freeze your jewels off ogling a snapshot of the shades-of-gray asshole you end up being."

[righteously]

The thing is, they did kill it. Back at the start, the angels were strong enough to smite it over and over again, and buy them some amount of relief. It just kept coming back, though, and things just kept getting worse. The more they fought it, the more it managed to swallow, the more tough it became. He doesn't bother pointing that out, though, because it doesn't matter. Kid'll figure it out soon enough, and probably through some source other than him.

In the meantime, he spies his window of opportunity. When Kid's up and carrying the dishes away, Dean's scooping his gun off the table and heading in the opposite direction without a word.

He appreciates the breakfast, sure. He appreciates the thought.

But he never wanted it in the first place, and he said right from the start that he had a job to do. It's time he go do it.

[righteously]

"I asked you because I was desperate. We all were. I didn't do anything. Wonderland's falling apart, and everybody's so many levels of screwed, not even you find it erotic anymore." Asshole.

He shoves the last of the books in his duffel and zips it closed. Turns to shoot Crowley a look. "You keep poking around, you're gonna get answers that chap your ass. Don't blame me when it turns around and bites you."

[goesdown]

Crowley bristles. He's pretty sure that telling someone they don't want to know something is the surest way to make them want to know it and he's no exception.

"Like what?"

Maybe he'd resisted the other bait, but he rises to this one without much resistance. What's the worst that will happen? Dean's hardly an honest man. He's no Castiel, but he's told his share of lies and Crowley can easily dismiss anything he doesn't like as such.

[righteously]

"Like you and a dozen other people kicking the bucket." He responds flatly, and makes to brush past Crowley without a second thought. Deliver news of impending doom and then strolling right on out? Yep, that's definitely the plan.

"Sure hope your weirdo self-sacrificial love affair was worth it." Gets muttered darkly as he passes.