ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛᴇᴏᴜs ᴍᴀɴ ( ᴊᴇɴɴɪғᴇʀ ᴀɴᴋʟᴇs ) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
righteously) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2013-12-14 10:35 pm
righteously) wrote in entrancelogs2013-12-14 10:35 pm
Entry tags:
- dangan ronpa: chihiro fujisaki,
- good omens: aziraphale,
- homestuck: john egbert,
- ouat: emma swan,
- ouat: henry mills,
- penumbra: philip,
- supernatural: adam milligan,
- supernatural: castiel,
- supernatural: crowley,
- supernatural: dean winchester,
- supernatural: ellen harvelle,
- supernatural: meg masters,
- teen wolf: allison argent,
- teen wolf: derek hale,
- the caster chronicles: lena duchannes,
- the dark knight rises: john blake,
- warehouse 13: h.g. wells
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!
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:
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!
no subject
[Don't you fucking tell him what is real and what isn't. He knows his body, he knows his mind, he knows what he feels and loves Jo more than anything but he can't deny the Queen of Hearts. Don't you dare, Dean, don't you fucking dare. His anger radiates through the text. They've known each other too long, become too close for this now.
It's been two and a half years of a scary, unknown pull in his bones and unexplained shifts in his character. Of people instinctively mistrusting him simply because he's alive when he shouldn't be. Because he can carry the weight of their failure. Because his eyes shine gold a little too bright and he locks on to mission a little too single minded. A little too relentless. Two and a half years of constantly having to prove himself. Defend himself. Reintegrate into the team.
He knows it has to do with Harry. He knows that part of him has to do with his change after resurrection, and he spent months obsessing and evaluating, spending days in silence picking apart every single little detail. Every possibility until he's deconstructed himself to atoms only to find at he was objectively better off for the change. He knows he's different. He knows it's disappointing to everyone, and he has a loyalty to the woman whom has saved him twice now, but he has to do the best he can. It would have been so easy to go off the rails like Stiles had. To lose himself to some foreign bizarro version like Annie. To give in and crumple under the weight of it all. But he hadn't. He'd grown and learned to shoulder the pain with everyone else. Some random fucked up kid from nowhere, having nothing, abandoned by everyone he'd ever known suddenly growing the courage and stamina to become a soldier. A soldier in Dean's own image with everything to lose. The first two and a half years he'd worked tirelessly to catch up. To learn to fight and shoot and survive, but it was the shift that pushed him further. That unified his mind and tethered his very existence to the world he was trying to save. He was a part of Wonderland, now. Even if there was a way to leave the world he would have to stay. He couldn't exist without it's magic.
He was so close to the life he wanted and it fell through his fingers like water through a sieve. But everything he does, every action, every calculated risk, every manipulation of luck and opportunity has been for Jo. For their life together. To lay on the god damn dock drinking stupid cocktails with umbrellas stuck in the top.
If Dean doesn't want him talking to her then fine but he could at least inquire on his behalf. It was common fucking courtesy. These were holes that could be filled. Questions that could be answered and god fuck shit, it was killing him. Maybe she could give him peace, or sooth Stiles and Annie. Maybe she would have something up her sleeve. She's saved him twice, why would she sabotage him now?
He'd have to appeal to Emma.
Tom reads the message and fires off a quick response before pocketing the communicator, shaking his head to whatever question Jo is asking. What's going on. What did Dean say.
"Nothing. Just to be careful."
But he's angry and the tick in his jaw proves it. If Dean answers he won't reply. Not until after he and Isaac make their broadcast.
At which point he simply sends three brief sentences.]
Broadcast is up. Isaac appealed to natives before I could stop him. I'll let you know if anything bites.
[He's pissed but still in the game. He's still here. He's still fighting. He's not been lost. And come morning he'd have shoved it back down to the usual roar.]