entrancelogs | VALENTINE'S DAY CATCH ALL 12th-17th

VALENTINE'S DAY CATCH ALL 12th-17th

Who: Anyone and everyone who wants to participate
Where: Literally every corner of the known universe
When: Again with the questions...
Rating: BIG BIG HORRIBLE WARNING LOTS OF DEATH AND FIGHTING AND GRAPHIC EVERYTHING I think you might need an adult...
Summary:

THIS IS A CATCH ALL LOG FOR THE DURATION OF THIS SITUATION

Here's what happens. If you want interaction with HARRY OR TOM, if you want to have a short thread with someone discovering a BODY or someone who is WOUNDED or generally just want some blood and guts it happens in here.

THAT BEING SAID if you want to write a log? Do it. I'm just trying to control the madness in one place...as if that might be easier to manage. It also means the community isn't TOO flooded with bodies and boxes of chocolate so those wanting to bypass this event will have less to look at.

IF YOU ARE A VICTIM, YOU MAY POST YOUR DEATH POST IN HERE
I mean, you can if you want but also feel free to make an independent post. Up to you.

Comment in with a header including date and place for whatever situation you're doing so we can just keep track. I'll do the same.

Questions, comments, plurk or aim or pm me. x

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How this happened is anyone's guess. When people began to be murdered throughout the mansion, Sam had, expectedly, tried to do something about it. Armed with a fervent determination, the usual physical arsenal, and a lifetime of hunting monsters, the younger Winchester begins moving through the hallways the day after the first attacks, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes darting here and there for any signs of... well, an insane, brutal killer. He'd seen some gore in his life, but this was one of the worst he'd experienced in the mansion. And these people were his friends, his family-- There would be no way that he'd sit idly by as whoever it was who was slicing them up continued on his spree.

He's in the hallway when the masked man appears. Needless to say, the confrontation does not go very well for the already-weakened Sam. Post-attack, he's lying half-dead at the bottom of a flight of steps. Unconscious now for lack of blood, he has a number of gashes and slashes littering his body like strokes of red paint, and though he's breathing, it's barely anything at all. Were someone to come across him, it'd be easy to think that he is another victim, though there's no message, and he isn't, in fact, dead. Not at the moment, anyway.

Crowley's sticking tight to the walls and generally avoiding most people. He doesn't have time to get caught up in their nonsense between Blake and Jo and trying to figure out what, exactly, is causing this so that he can stop it when it's all over. He still has to go out, of course, because he has things to take care of, but he's doing his best to keep to himself. Maybe everyone will just assume he's dead and leave him alone until it's over.

That's when he comes upon the Moose. It's the very same Moose who is part of the dynamic duo that he's pretty sure are supposed to take Tom out so that Crowley can do his thing.

He sighs.

"What have you done now, Gigantor?"

Once he's confirmed that Sam is still breathing, he hoists him up like a delicate princess and proceeds towards the infirmary, thankful that he's at least got demonic strength on his side.

"You're lucky that you're my favorite Winchester right now."

He uses caution as he navigates the hallway, because the killer could still be lurking around and truth be told if he pops up, Crowley is dropping Sam and running like the wind.

It's been twenty minutes since he found Charlie's body. It took him some time to carry her, to swallow down the grief and convert it into anger, and he was half way through loading up the arsenal when a thought occured to him.

Charlie was a message, a message intended for him. If someone's out to peg his weak spots, if someone's after the people that impact him the most, that means-

"...Sam." It's out of his mouth, murmured, stunned, and he can't believe it didn't hit him immediately, didn't hit him sooner.

As soon as it does, he's slamming the door behind him and tearing down the hall toward Sam's room. He pounds, but there's no answer. He calls, bites out a frustrated curse when it goes to voice mail, and moves down the stairs like a man possessed.

Like foreshadowing, like a horror movie, he finds a trail of blood clinging to the railing, to the floors, and he knows. The doors to the stairwell bang open in a fury, and there a few yards away is Crowley, short, stubby Crowley carrying the slumped and lifeless form of his brother in a sight that would be comical except that it's fucking not.

The hall is a blur, he doesn't remember moving, he's just there instantly, gripping Crowley by the shoulder and fumbling to relieve him of the burden that is Sam's enormous weight.

"Sam- what did you do?" He snarls at Crowley, glancing up from his fervent searching of the younger's face only long enough to bite out the accusation.

Oh, great. This is exactly what Crowley needs. A snarling idiot Winchester in his face. As if there isn't enough going wrong right now. He doesn't let go of Sam, though, because really which of them is going to have an easier time carrying an eight foot tall man here?

"I didn't do anything! I found him like this." The exasperation and annoyance ring clear in his voice. "He's still alive, but if you'd like to fix that then by all means keep shaking him while he bleeds out."

There are a great many people he's willing to sugarcoat his words for here, but Dean's not one of them--certainly not when he's getting yelled at and attacked for actually being helpful. Honestly, if he ever finds Dean in this state, he's got half a mind to just leave him there to die.

"Do you want to help me get him to the infirmary or did you want to hurl a few more accusations at me first?"

He's got nothing to feel sorry for here and Dean's acting like a petulant child. Crowley has no reason not to treat him like one.

The list of people who had been attacked was getting longer, casualties and injuries alike. Jo herself had been added to the list in recent hours, but she knew she should count herself lucky for coming away with nothing more than a few bruises and a broken arms.

She'd seen some of the bodies. Heard about the rest. She'd seen what happened to Charlie, heard about how Sam had been injured, how Martha's body had been broken open and her death made a mockery of.

She had seen a lot of things since she'd signed up for the hunter life, but somehow, this was so much worse. This wasn't a ghost or a demon or some trick of Wonderland's magic. Tom had told her exactly what it was, and not for the first time, she felt her stomach twist itself into knots at the very idea of how truly awful human beings could be.

She made her way to Sam's bed in the clinic after her arm was set, pinned against her chest in a sling and still so much better than what could have been. Rather than sit at the end of the bed itself, she turned a chair to face him with her good hand and took a seat, giving him a quick once-over and feeling her stomach lurch.

He was one of the strongest people she knew. This wasn't right.

"Hey," she said softly.

Sam hasn't had a very good month. He'd been melted down by the Angels--told no one, naturally, had quietly asked Evelyn to do the same--and now this. He'd fought with a murderer who had seemed human, for all intents and purposes, and who had overpowered him anyway. Because he hadn't been able to beat the guy he'd almost been killed, and more importantly, other people had gotten hurt.

Like Jo, apparently, who enters. He tries to offer a smile, but it's distant, fleeting, and all he feels is massive disappointment in himself.

"Hey." He clears his throat, trying not to move more than is necessary, all aches and pains and regret. Sam glances over the blonde opposite him, at her arm and her expression, and... well, it doesn't improve the morale.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly, brow pinched.

She nods a little, giving him a tight smile that's noticeably forced.

"Just a broken arm. It'll heal," she tells him, matter-of-fact, but she knows that's not exactly what he meant. It was more than that. Was she okay? No. Given the situation, she was anything but. Knowing what she did -- however unhelpful that information may have been -- and not being able to talk to Tom about it openly had been an unwelcome weight on her shoulders.

She wishes she could say that this was just some monster, something she could hunt down and shoot and then they would be done with this, but Harry was human, human like the rest of them and somehow still a terrifying force, strong and fast and with no inhibitions.

People were getting hurt. People were dying, and it was because she hadn't managed to do her job properly since this whole thing started.

Disappointment, apparently, is something that's weighing heavily on the both of them.

"I'm more worried about you, Sam."

It'll heal, sure, but that doesn't make any of this easier. They've all been through Hell this week, and some people were ripped apart in some psycho's form of art, or whatever he was doing it for. He eyes Jo, silently grateful that nothing worse had happened to her.

"I'm fine." It's automatic, mechanized, and he tries not to think about his displaced ribs, or the bruises coloring his body and face. "It's better than being dead, I guess."

Which had happened so very recently, though, as he forgets briefly, no one knows that.

"It's better than being dead," she echoes, something she's had her own fair share of experience with. She's never been through a Wonderland death -- never succumbed to any of the mansion's events, though there had been close calls. Her death had been on the outside. It had been permanent.

"Can I get you anything? Can I--"

She cuts herself off, sighing.

"Sam. I'm sorry. I feel like I should have been there."

"... Right." He's lost track of how many times he's been dead, whether it be here, or in Wonderland. Well, his mansion death toll is only one, but combined with everything else... he's been to Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory, and isn't really looking to revisit any of them. Not that Earth has been particularly fun, either.

Depressing.

"Don't be sorry," he says right away, though not sharply. "Jo, it had nothing to do with you, there's not way you could possibly have known to be there. Honestly? I should've been more careful. I thought I'd be able to handle it."

Really, he should've been with Dean, but he'd been avoiding the guy since he'd come back from home again.

"I just feel like somehow, I should have known. We're hunters. We're family."

But she knows. She knows it's unreasonable to think that there was anything she could have done, that any of this was on her, that she could have done anything more than be vigilant-- except that she had been warned.

She had known that something was coming. Just not exactly when or how it would play out.

"I just hate that so many people are--" Getting hurt? No. Dying. People died when they were on the job in the real world, too, but that was usually before they arrived on the scene. Once they got there, they put a stop to it. Here, the killer was still loose.

She exhales before looking over at him.

"I think I know what this is. During Christmas -- Tom warned me. He didn't tell me much. But the pieces fit together."

"There's no way you would've." He repeats, because he firmly believes this, and if he can't do anything else, he's going to make sure that Jo doesn't blame herself for something that was his own fault. It's their way, he knows, all of them, to blame themselves for unrelated tragedies that happen to people they're close to.

"I know." And they'll fix it, says his resolved glower. They'll take out whoever's been doing this, whoever hurt all of those people. Sam heaves a sigh, shifting slightly and trying not to wince while doing so.

"Wait, he-- What'd he say?" This is news, and he straightens up suddenly, this time not bothering to mask the grimace of pain. This is important. "I know there was a lot going on then, but if he said something about it..."

Could they have stopped it?

"He didn't tell me enough," Jo says quickly, as if in her own defense. "But he kept saying that something was coming. Something from his world, and it was human. He said the guy would go after him but he didn't mention--"

She cuts herself off and frowns hard, clenching her teeth and steeling herself. Everyone else. He hadn't mentioned everyone else.

"I didn't know how big it would be. All he told me was not to get in this guy's way, not to go after him." She snorts lightly. "Like I'd listen to that. I'd have gone after him a lot sooner if Crowley hadn't put me on lockdown."

Jo told him what happened the night before.

She'd said Sam was attacked by Harry. That he was hurt, in the clinic, but alive. He doesn't sleep for the rest of the night and finds himself standing at the clinic door with two cups of coffee very early the next day.

Tom can't say he knows Sam ALL that well, even though they're essentially part of the same social group, but he knows him well enough- likes him well enough to want to come and see him.

That, and the fact Tom holds himself personally responsible for the mess. And if Sam can offer any details on what he saw...

"Hey.." He offers quietly and approaches, not quite sure if Sam is awake or not.

Sam had just sort of woken up from his pained stupor when Tom walked in. Honestly, he's surprised to see the guy, and almost mistakes him for Dean, if only because he's been trying to avoid his brother after recent unpleasant memories came back. Still, he can tell that it's Tom quickly, and settles in a bit, offering the other guy a fleeting half-smile.

"Hey," he regards Tom back with a slight nod, moving to try and sit up a bit more. It's painful, but he's had worse, and he's not one for complaining. Looking the other man over, Sam can see that he seems fine, hasn't been sliced up like some of the other survivors. That's a relief, at least.

"How're you?" Sam asks, just to check.

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VALENTINE'S DAY CATCH ALL 12th-17th

2/13 - Sam, the Victim

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That night, in the clinic.

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2/14 - morning

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