entrancelogs | Happy Holideans Guys

Entry tags:

Happy Holideans Guys

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!

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His tongue moves behind his lips, slides over his teeth as he struggles to control his temper. He can handle them individually, Jo and Cas and Sam, but the three of them at once... He's got shit to accomplish, and three squaking baby ducks going why why why what what what dean dean dean is the last goddamn thing he needs. There isn't time for it. Not the explanations, not the concerns, not the mothering, none of it.

Spitefully, he shoves the gun into its holster.

He points seriously.

"Twenty minutes. That's it, and then I'm gone," he warns darkly. Anything else is no deal, and he'll leave this hallway one way or another, with or without Kid's consent.

Kid smiles quite pleasantly behind his bandanna. He had a feeling that would work.

"'Nuff time fer waffles." And bacon and potatoes and coffee and whatever else Kid can shove down his friend's throat. He slings his hammer over his shoulder and gestures for Dean to follow. The diner's right around the corner, after all.

If he's at all pleased by the prospect of food, you can't tell from his incredibly sour face. Coming from a man that's lived on canned food and rations for the last couple of years, it's a testament to just how fucked up this particular time traveler is.

He follows anyway, footsteps thudding and unhappy the entire way.

It's bizarre.

The diner is exactly as he remembers, and he feels out of place. Feels like he doesn't belong. The booths are neat and the walls are intact, it smells like food and the chatter is polite and conversational. It's so fucking.... domestic, it's so safe, that it's giving the world a dreamlike quality.

If he weren't already on edge, he sure as hell is now. He settles into the booth, but his thigh holster protests at the intrusion. He takes his gun out and sets it heavily onto the table to keep it from pressing into his thigh, seemingly without a second thought. Eyes dart around suspiciously, unhappily, like he's waiting for something to burst through the walls.

Kid knows almost exactly what Dean is feeling. He knows being twitchy and expecting the ground to fall away beneath your feet at every moment. He knows the completely unreal sensation of seeing something normal after so long away from normal you can barely remember what it's like. He knows the incongruous pain of domesticity when at the same time some part of you knows you should be happy at the feeling.

All of this means he has an idea of how to handle Dean. Though he can't help but think that Zia would be so much better at it.

He heads to a booth that's out of the way, as far from other patrons as he can. He makes sure Dean is sitting down and conspicuously has placed his gun on the table before he darts off to get food. He keeps one eye on Dean from across the room as he gets whoever's on duty to load the biggest plate they can find. He watches the way Dean looks around like he expects the worst.

Yeah, he knows this so well.

He returns two minutes later with a waffle, scrambled eggs, home fries, bacon and an entire pot of coffee. All of it gets set in front of Dean.

"Eat up," he says as he slide into the seat across from him. "We in your past, remember. Jabberwock's still dead fer now; ain't showin' up jus' yet."

Rather than being appreciative of the time and effort Kid's taking to make things accomodating for him, he pins Kid with a baleful glare at his words. For now- but Dean has no idea how long he'll be here. He has no idea when he'll be ripped back to the future, ripped back to that timeline and he'll have fucking squandered every opportunity he had to fix it all.

Because he could fix it all.

He needs to fix it all.

He could save everyone, he needs to save everyone, he can do it if he just handles this perfectly then maybe it'll all be different. His family will be alive again. Kid will be alive again, and Cas, and Blake.

And he's eating fucking waffles. He's eating them while back home, people are hungry and dying.

Slowly, movements carefully controlled, he picks up his fork and stabs it into the waffles.

"You got no idea what you're talkin' about," he mutters darkly, and shovels an enormous forkfull into his mouth.

God, it's good. He chews, swallows, and he's shoving another fork full into his mouth before he can help it. And another, and another, wolfing it down like a starving dog afraid of getting it taken away.

"Yeah, I know." He says it simply, without any trace of sarcasm. It's not like he understands how time travel works. Maybe the Jabberwock is alive and just hasn't shown up yet, or maybe it's about to appear. He's not even really sure what the Jabberwock really is--just that it's a monster and it might as well be made of teeth.

"Point is, ya got twenty minutes t'be safe, so." He nods, leaving it at that. Dean seems much more keen on his food now than on the conversation, which is exactly how Kid wants it. He has hundreds of questions he wants to ask, but every single one of them can wait. He settles for just sipping a coffee.

It continues like that for some time. Dean's silent apart from the scrape of fork on porcelaine, the clicking and chewing that comes with eating, like a man fresh out of prison he scarfs food down in ridiculous quantities in complete silence. It's some kind of damn miracle that he chokes, it's a wonder if he even tastes it at all, but he's not going to confirm or deny either way. He just knows it's the most he's eaten, the best he's eaten in years.

He clears every single plate in front of him, shoves them back only when the last bite's finished, and turns his attention to his coffee as soon as it's done. Fresh coffee, good coffee. Jesus. He closes his eyes while he drinks it slowly, savoring the flavor and the feeling of being really and truly satisfied.

When he opens his eyes, it's to give Kid a calculating, critical look.

Like there's a catch, or like there's something on his face, or like he's some kind of puzzle to figure out.

He holds his cup there, hovering in midair halfway to his mouth, elbows on the table, and there's a long silence before he finally speaks.

"You've got questions." He acknowledges. It's as much of a thank you as Kid is going to get- a few answers.

Kid is already calculating Dean might be able to carry back to the future with him. Some of that freeze dried stuff, some instant coffee, load all of that in a bag or something...the trick would be knowing when. He imagines that Dean is already thinking about the same, though, so he doesn't bring it up.

He raises his eyebrows just slightly at Dean's offer, a bit surprised. This Dean is already ten times more closed off than the...current one. Kid wonders if maybe something happens between them sometime in the future; if Dean is upset with him, or if this is just the weight of loss.

"Well...t'start with, I wanna know, didja come back intentional like? Or was it random, like an' event?"

If it's an event, it would explain why the Red Queen didn't appear this time around to warn everyone--considering this event is five years into everyone's future.

Dean's more or less on the same page as Kid, though he's not thinking what can he carry. He's thinking what can he store, hoarde, stockpile it all so as to provide for everyone he possibly can. The luxuries don't cross his mind, things like instant coffee and good creamer. He's been thinking more survival-dense, more canned food and bottled water than that.

It's also true that maybe, maybe if Kid had suffered any other fate, if he had survived to fight on, Dean might not be so reluctant to talk to him. As it stands, his version of Kid is dead, and talking to his ghost is as hard as it is a betrayal to the man's memory.

"Random." He responds, shifting back and crossing his arms over his chest. "We had no control over it."

If Kid is expecting elaboration, he's questioning the wrong guy. He answers the question efficiently and flatly.

Kid almost wonders if maybe they can just build a time machine; send items to the future like you were sending mail. Or take it a step further and just bring all the future people back here to stay, where they'll at least be more safe.

It's also not lost on him that the current Dean is technically still missing. If he even exists anymore.

He nods at the answer. He wasn't expecting anything more eloquent than that; honestly, he likes things succinct.

"Who's left in th' future in th' way 'f the folk what originated here? Like th' Queens, that strange cat, th' rest of 'em. They still around, or...?"

A time machine. Well, wouldn't that be peachy. You'd have to deal with all the duplicates butting heads, four versions of every person counting mirrors- more if you consider Dean's multiple faced friends- Tom and the like. Still, it ain't that easy, and he knows it.

"None of them. They're all gone. Abandoned, or erased. Nobody's sure. Wonderland's magic's all but extinct, and with it went the mirrors, the vendors. Anyone and everyone. It's just us, we're alone."

It's a dumb idea, but it sticks in Kid's head. The Bastion was built to go back in time if need be, and that...that didn't work as intended, or at least that's the sense he gets. But what if you could build it to go forward and then come back? Or something like that.

It's worth looking into. Kid always did like building things.

The news that anyone who could have been helpful in defeating the Jabberwock makes him slump in his seat just a bit. If they're gone, maybe that means the sword is gone with them. He's not going to voice this to Dean, though.

"Jabberwock's a part 'f that magic, near as I can figger. Wonder why it didn't disappear wi' th' rest 'f 'em."

Just means it's even more important to get their hands on the sword now, before that happens. No wonder Dean is so frantic.

"How're folk survivin' 'f it can't even be stopped 'r slowed?"

"By the skin of our teeth," He responds frankly, arms crossing a little more tightly. It's a miracle, every single day they scrape by. Every single day they go without losing a life, fourth or fifth or otherwise. Every day they have enough food to eat is a blessing, every day it's quiet is a godsend. "The resistance hideout's still invisible, and it's remote- enough to keep us off radar. We run patrols, we stage diversions- anything to keep it's attention elsewhere. If it gets bored, it starts coming the forests. There's know telling how long we've got before it figures out where we're holed up."

As for why it's still alive when Wonderland's lost every scrap of other living magic it can hold? Well, there's no good answer, and frankly? Dean doesn't care. Knowing the reasoning behind it doesn't change the facts, and the facts are they've got to get that sword before it's lost- or stops existing, if that's the case.

"Tha's heartenin'. 'tleast they's one safe zone, still."

The problem then is food and water and supplies. And also the chance that one day the Jabberwock will find the hideout. It's only a matter of time, really.

And what happens when everyone is dead and eaten? When there's nothing left for the Jabberwock to eat? Would it die too, or would it find a way to leave Wonderland entirely and start eating other worlds? It's sounding more and more like Wonderland itself really did send all these people back, to try and change things. Wonderland being destroyed is devastating enough, but the idea of that thing being unleashed on the rest of the universe.

"So th' sword." He leans forward on the table. "It ain't got any other weaknesses? Jus' that?"

"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."

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.

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.

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Happy Holideans Guys

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