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

[freewill]

Dean should be used to this by now, and the emphasized reaction almost seems staged, except that Castiel knows that this version of Dean isn't the kind for dramatics, not the way that he used to be. He's to the point, so rough around the edges that he would scrape anyone who gets to close.

No, the truth -- which is much harder to swallow than anything else -- is that Dean is no longer used to it. He hasn't had Castiel do this to him for two years now.

That sarcasm is familiar, though, and Castiel lets out an impatient sigh. "Clearly." The moron is implied in this case. "What's your plan? To hide in here and avoid the rest of us?" It's a bit pointed, but Castiel feels he has the right to get short with Dean after not being able to track him down for five days.

[righteously]

Dean's had years to fall out of being accustomed to the sudden space invasion, but that's only half of the issue. The other half is the vibe Cas puts out when he does it, so sharp and unexpected it shocks him like an electric fence. He's moving on, though, refusing to acknowledge it or think about it.

He also doesn't acknowledge the moron hiding in Cas's statement- instead, he chooses to focus on the latter half. He turns, hammer gripped tightly, a sharp and angry glare in his eyes. How dare Cas even imply he's hiding, being a coward, when his mission is as important as this? "My plan has jack squat to do with any of you and whether or not you're hovering around. I couldn't care less about 'the rest of you'. My plan is to build a storage facility to hold supplies that my people need in the future, where they're starving to death. But no, you're right, I should stop. Take a vacation, have some coffee with you, catch up on the gossip. They'll probably be fine."

When he feels like his point's been made, he decisively turns back to the beam and begins to hammer another nail.

[freewill]

Now he's gotten Dean's attention, at least.

Castiel listens to the mini-rant with barely any change in his expression, though some annoyance filters in toward the end. He's still not used to Dean treating him like he's not worth anything, as if he doesn't even count somehow, but Castiel fights to not let irrational anger overtake him.

All things considered, it's a good plan. Dean's traveled through time enough that he should have the hang of it by now, and so it's no surprise that he's gotten to work on something like this.

"I didn't ask you to stop, or to have coffee." Why would he? Dean's usually the one forcing unneeded food on him, not the other way around.

Instead of remaining up close and personal, Castiel moves away, passing it off as inspecting the rest of the bunker that Dean's dug out. He speaks to the wall when he says, "I saw what happened to me."

[righteously]

He brings the hammer back, intent to start smacking away, but then freezes. I saw what happened to me. The hammer wavers.

"So did I." He responds darkly, and then smacks into the wood with ferocity. Bang, bang, bang, bang. Another nail in.

Don't mistake that, it's not an I want to talk about it or an it's okay to bring this subject up. No, it's an I saw you get ripped apart and killed so how about you don't make me have to relive that you selfish prick.

Nobody ever said he was reasonable.

[freewill]

Dean saw it?

Castiel hadn't been certain. Dean hadn't been a part of the recording. All he'd seen was himself, Allison, and Derek, each of them being torn apart or devoured in different ways. But these images are hardly exhaustive, and so it's completely possible that Dean had been in watching distance.

And that only adds to the trauma, of course, because it's hardly the first time Dean's watched him die, but this time it had been permanent. This time, finally, he hadn't come back.

"Dean, for the moment, I'm here." He raises his voice to speak over the hammering.

That's what he doesn't understand. Shouldn't Dean want to speak to him while he has this rare chance? It may hurt, but isn't hurting part of living...?

[righteously]

Dean wasn't part of the recording because he wasn't nearly close enough to do anything. He'd seen it go down, he'd been just close enough to see Castiel's eyes as he was torn apart, but a hundred thousand miles away. Too far. He'd seen Allison go, he'd seen Derek go. He'd seen it all, his family, his angel, gone in the ticking of seconds and the pounding of heartbeats, a scream on his lips ripping out of his throat and his tearing muscles apart as muscles were torn apart before him.

"No, you're not!" He snarls finally, snaps, throws the hammer down beside him, teeth on edge. "You think you are, but you're not. You've got no goddamn clue what you're talking about, you don't even know how stupid and selfish you sound right now, you self centered, oblivious son of a bitch! Don't presume to think you know jack squat about what I should or shouldn't be grateful for, what I should be feeling when you haven't been through it like he has. You don't know me, you don't know him, you don't know us, so do us both a favor and flap the hell off."

[freewill]

It's already been established that this Dean is prone to outbursts. Granted, the present Dean can also lose his temper if the right buttons are pressed, but it's in a different way. This future Dean is downright cruel with the things he has to say, and while Castiel isn't one to be damaged too much by words, that's not necessarily the case when it's coming from someone he holds in such high regard.

He listens to the entire tirade with his jaw clenched, refusing to break eye contact this time out of pure pride. Maybe he doesn't understand. Maybe Dean's right, because when it comes down to it he has no concept of what Dean's been through in the past five years.

But a true friend wouldn't simply leave it at that. A true friend would stay here even while being verbally thrashed, and so that's what Castiel's going to do.

"I can help," he says a few painfully long moments after Dean fell quiet. Castiel finally shifts his gaze to look around him. "With this. With your plan."

[righteously]

Truth be told, it's not a matter of pushing buttons anymore. Cas is a button in and of himself, and his existence is like a hand repeatedly slapping it. It's almost a testament to how well he's got a hold of himself that he doesn't flip his shit every second Cas is in the same room as him. Doesn't march him back against a wall, punch him in the face, and violently press their lips together. How dare you leave, you son of a bitch, you were supposed to-

No, it takes a lot more self control than Cas might realize to keep it together for even the short amount of time he manages it.

Cas, of course, doesn't back down. He never has, it's one of his most frustrating and his most endearing qualities, and Dean's glare doesn't waver.

"I don't need your help." It's not necessarily true- if they want to avoid their future, they need every person to be extremely aware of everything that's going to happen. His jaw works, twitching and thumping, and he tears his eyes away to snatch that hammer back up off the ground. "You wanna get involved, go talk to Tom. He's the people person. There are about a dozen people from where I'm from that can give you just as much gossip about it all as I can. Why don't you go talk to them?"

[freewill]

It's true, Castiel doesn't have a full understanding of how much his mere presence drives Dean up the wall, nor does he know the full scope of why it's so painful. He has the basics, though, and while that might be enough to keep someone else away, it doesn't work that way with him.

He realizes that he's one big sore spot, but he still wants to help. He doesn't know this Dean, not really, and so his instincts have him falling back on the very baseline of their relationship, which is that he's here to help Dean.

They've gone back and forth on that a lot, with Dean forcing him to realize that he's more than just a trick up the Winchesters' sleeve. But it's easy to fall back on that in this moment.

"I've already spoken to Tom," he says with a sigh. "I know what we have to do, I've cataloged most of the ghosts, I have that under control." Castiel glances down to the hammer in Dean's hand. "But I think I might be able to put this place together more quickly than that hammer of yours."

I'm not a hammer, as you say. But right now that's all he can be.

[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?"

[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]

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]

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.

[freewill]

When Castiel hears that laugh, he's expecting Dean to finally relent, to let him in and let him help. It won't be the same, Castiel won't be the person who Dean's spent two years grieving, but at least it would be something.

But it doesn't play out that way. Dean's face falls, and as soon as Castiel sees that he knows he's lost his last chance.

He could keep pushing, of course, but what would the point be? He'd only be causing Dean more harm, and doing that knowingly, and that's not something he's willing to risk right now. Dean's made himself perfectly clear, and Castiel's out of viable options.

Castiel stands there, listening to the persistent banging of that hammer for at least ten seconds.

He doesn't say anything, just does as Dean's says and leaves with a flap of his wings.