come on, baby

[lovestheimpala]

Who: Dean Winchester ( & whoever wants a slice of this pie)
Where: Outside. Hallways. Bar.
When: Feb. 20th
Rating: PG13 at least.
Summary: Dean discovers a different dimension.
The Story:

i. outside

It’s less than a blink of an eye. A split second where he’s not fully paying attention to life around him. That’s all it takes for it to vanish and leave him standing alone. He blinks. Once. Twice. Just to make sure that his brain isn’t flipping out on him. Again.

He’s pretty sure he’s not hallucinating, though. The handle of the Scythe still in his hands feels too solid. His grip tightens around it until splinters dig into his palms. No, this is definitely real.

For a second, he wonders if this is Death’s deal- But no. No, that doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t add up. He wasn’t gonna kill Sam. He wouldn’t have been strong enough to do that and even if he had… why would Death send him packing with his Scythe? If this was his doing, Dean was pretty freaking sure he’d want his toy back first. So this had to be something different. Something that derailed them and snagged either just him, or all three of them, and dumped them somewhere else.

Where though? Only one way to find out.

With the Scythe lifted high, Dean sets out to figure out where he is, and if he was the only one that Stargated out of that restaurant.

ii. hallways

“What the hell….?”

It’s not so much the actual grandeur of the place that has him just barely gaping when he first walks into the mansion, but rather that he can’t wrap his brain around why he would end up here. It can’t be a good thing. Last time he got zapped into a place that was all gold and art, and fancy like this… it was the angelic dicks wanting him to sit pretty until Michael wanted him to bend over. This place doesn’t quite reek of their arrogance, but the unsettling feeling that something pulled him out of his life to screw him over can’t be shaken.

So he walks around as quietly as he can, hoping that he can get a better feel of the place before he runs into anyone. He’s damn good at stealth when he needs to be, but it’s not always easy to sneak in shadows and stay hidden when you’re carrying around a weapon the size of a small human.

iii. bar

He’s tired. That’s an understatement.

It had been a shitty-as-all-hell week even before he got beamed up. So much crap dumped on him all in such a few days (some of it even by his own hands) and Dean hadn’t had a moment to stop and let it sink in. And this BS happened. Desperate to get a moment to let all of this… Dean needs a drink. Simple as that, and he dumps the scythe into one of the empty rooms so he isn’t walking around looking like he’s here to freaking reap people. From that it’s a bee line to the bar. Thank God this place has a bar.

He walks in with his head down, not stopping until he can park his ass on one of the stools. He needs there to be no more than just the bottom of his glass tonight. “Gimme a shot. And a beer.”

Comments

[lovestheimpala]

That's just the thing that makes this game so necessary. Dean can't be sure that he can turn his back to Crowley without worrying (too much) about a proverbial knife in it, or if it's the guy that he can't take his eyes off of for a single second because there's always a hidden agenda.

And on the other hand... it's only fair to warn him. Because they are friends, sometimes, somehow, and at this point, Dean can't promise he won't snap on his closest allies.

"Good," he says, patting the King of Hell on the back like he's a kid. Then he snorts. "You wish, dickwad." He's smiling, though, when he pulls away. It might be colder than his usual ones, but it's as genuine as they get these days. "S'good to see you're around." Only halfway sarcastic, even. "I mean, you're stuck, too. Right= This place isn't on your turf or anything?"

[goesdown]

He relaxes as the tension lifts. They've always had a tumultuous relationship, but he's glad that it's more good than bad these days.

"It's not on my turf, but I'm not exactly trying to leave, either. I've been here for almost three years." What goes unspoken is that he's built a semblance of a life here and while he's still invested in his life on Earth and in Hell, he knows that when he leaves, he'll go back to where he came from. This is a detour for him, but it's become a largely positive one.

"I'm glad you're back. Moose has been a mess without you." Crowley and Sam shared a drink over Dean's last departure, actually, but Crowley's not going to admit that, either.

[lovestheimpala]

"Three years?" There's a wave of disbelief at first, but then he thinks about it and it's not that unheard of to have realms where time passes differently, right? That's kinda the norm, actually, so he can accept that Crowley, even if he saw him not too long ago, has been here- Shit. What if he's stuck here for three years?

"Getting comfy, huh?"

He'd ask about Sam, but that's a bitch of a topic right now. Not the first one he wants to dive into.

[goesdown]

"Something like that." He's built up an oddly stable life here. It's more human than his real human life had ever been and maybe it's all the human blood he's pumped into his veins, but he is comfortable here.

"Wonderland has its own set of problems, but nothing's tried to eat me in a while, so I consider it a win." He shrugs and then starts to smirk. "At least, nothing carnivorous."

[lovestheimpala]

"Oh yeah? What's next? You're gonna tell me that you've got yourself a pretty little gimp and a white picket sex dungeon. Little hellhound pups running around?"

Because if he knows Crowley even a little bit... then that smile means he's gone a bit sappy around the edges. Again

[goesdown]

"Well, I can hardly ask the pretty little gimp to pop out children for me, now can I?" He'll have to tell Blake about this later, of course, mostly because he knows it will rankle him hilariously.

"Being a gimp really is a full time affair."

[lovestheimpala]

He lets out a laugh that doesn't really reach as deep inside as it should. "Oh man, I want to see that just to see the royal screw-up you'd be as a dad."

He toys with his drink before draining what's left. "So, what's there to do for fun around here? Unless you wanna share that gimp?" He doesn't mean that.

[goesdown]

Crowley looks like he's been slapped. It's probably because of his actual son who he thankfully hasn't seen in a while. He knows he's a bad father. That's really never been up for question.

"I don't share well, but I suppose we can welcome you into our bed together."

[not here]

[oversight]

[ Just this face...... and these keywords. ]

[lovestheimpala]

"Come on, Crowley. You know I'm just pulling your leg."

He tries to sound like he feels bad about making Crowley look like that-- they are mostly friends after all-- but it's a hard feeling to dig up and an even harder one to fake. Especially in front of someone who knows/i> what it it's like to feel a little dead on the inside.

[goesdown]

"Yes, you were very funny." He smacks Dean's leg. "You're always very funny, Dean."

Of course he can see through Dean, but Dean can see through him a little better these days, too. Where Crowley can see Dean's lack of emotion, he knows that Dean can probably see his lack of a lack.

[lovestheimpala]

He can. Not the first time he's seen humanity stirring behind those eyes. Except this time he wishes he wasn't sitting here, next to the King of Hell, feeling like he's the monster of the two.

"I'm sorry."

[goesdown]

Crowley snorts. "You're not."

Of course, it's sweet of Dean to feel like he shouldn't have said it, but Crowley doubts he really feels all that bad about hurting Crowley. People rarely do.

"But that's okay. I've got a thick skin, as you know."