entrancelogs | come on, baby

Entry tags:

come on, baby

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.”

Threaded | Flat

Calling Wonderland Hell would be a gross exaggeration of what constitutes as genuine torture and, Evelyn would argue, might stretch the bounds of what many might consider a reasonable definition of "agony." She is, however, an open-minded creature and those in residence have seen a wide variety of horrific places, so it's simple enough to wave away any inconsistencies by suggesting that Wonderland is nothing more than a middle way all its own.

That said, the hypotheticals do not prevent Evelyn from continuing her work in as steadfast and methodical a fashion as humanly possible. Arms laden with books and notepads containing her own theoretical scribblings Evelyn pushes out of the library and into the corridor with every intention of sneaking a few texts back to her rooms for further analysis.

It is in this precise moment that some colossus has decided to walk too close to the very door from which she is exiting, thus leading to an unpleasant collision that drives a corner of Sir Budge's Egyptian Heaven and Hell into her stomach and half of the manuscripts on interdimensional postulation to the floor.

"Oh, for the love of-"

Immediately stooping to gather the papers without so much as sparing the perpetrator* a second glance, she waves a hand toward the piece of parchment that managed to fall somewhat behind the booted feet in her field of vision.

"Get that for me, will you?"

*Evelyn is fully cognisant of the fact that she is the one who should have been looking where she was going, but in her defence she is a small person carrying a heavy load, and people oughtn't loiter near doors they don't intend to enter.

He shouldn't be surprised. And... he isn't, not exactly. It's been two months, which is long enough for him to trick himself, sometimes, into believing that everything is fine, that Dean's absence doesn't hang over his head like a storm cloud that rains down misery and self-loathing when he isn't paying attention. It's short enough for him to remember that his brother had missed his own birthday in Wonderland (not that birthdays matter, when you don't age).

It hasn't been a year since Dean, freshly returned as a demon, beat Sam to death by crushing in his skill with a hammer. It'll never be long enough to forget.

Almost two months, then, since Dean Winchester slipped away from Wonderland. With all his stuff gone, it wasn't sure he'd returned... though, Sam's always had a feeling. After all, it wasn't the first time the older Winchester popped out of the picture and then reappeared without his memories. Sometimes, he imagines walking into the kitchen to see Dean there, picking through the food, simultaneously questioning the who, what, where, when, why of the situation. Or, he imagines he'll walk out to check on the Impala, which he does every day, to find it inhabited by his older brother.

If he comes back, though, what'll be different? Human, demon? Dead, alive-

"Dean?"

Dean. The questions are still there, and Sam nearly convinces himself that it isn't real, but it is. He has a lot of experience in determining if things are fiction or fact, after all, and standing a short distance away is the real Dean Winchester, holding... something. Some new tool or weapon, he guesses immediately, thinking of the First Blade, which Crowley, or Cas, or both, had hidden away.

Sam keeps his distance, thinking too quickly back to that disastrous meeting last May when the day had finally come that Dean had murdered his brother.

A drinking problem? Who, him? Pff, no way, Alex has been to the bar all of two times this week, and neither one was in an attempt to cope with something unbearable. He's in his twenties, technically this is legal, and even if it weren't Wonderland has no rules for this kind of thing, which is a big one for the plus column in his book, and he can do whatever he wants. Stop judging him.

On second thought, maybe he's been spending too much time here, because when Stubble McGrowsalot here waltzes in and orders something, Alex takes a moment to pause, contemplate, and looks carefully behind each shoulder to ensure he isn't addressing anyone else.

Nope. Lucky him. Is there something about him that just screams customer service, or something? He snorts and goes back to nursing his own drink. "I'm not your freakin' bartender, dude. Get your own."

A door opens in the hall Dean's in.

Whoever's there takes their time leaving, hovering in the doorway and chit-chatting with someone before they go. After a couple minutes though, a young man steps through and shuts the door behind him. He's tall and has a mess of black hair, and wears dark robes lazily thrown over muggle clothing. He can't be much older than seventeen or eighteen, but despite this he carries himself like he's familiar with these halls. There's no surprise or shock at being present in Wonderland. It's just another day for him.

James strolls through, heading toward the stairs, but he halts when he realizes he's not alone. And when he looks up and sees who's there he stares, and the shock is too overwhelming for him to contain it.

"...Dean?" he asks. "Dean Winchester?"

Dean's been gone for several weeks now, and it doesn't occur to James until after he's blurted out the name that there's no point to it. Still, he can't help hoping he might've beaten the odds and come back with his memories this time.

He walks in like he owns the place, just like he always has, and for a moment it feels so natural that Jo doesn't quite register who or what she's seeing. She freezes where she stands, toweling out the inside of a glass mug at the opposite end of the bar from where he's seated, and she knows he hasn't really seen her yet-- something is weighing on him, whether it's this place or something else, but it's enough that it's bought her a moment to collect herself before she engages.

This is the third time she's seen Dean come to Wonderland, and seeing him never gets any easier. In fact, exactly the opposite.

"What," she begins tersely, a careful smile pulling at one side of her mouth, "Not even so much as a 'hello'? I get that this place makes you want to hit the bottle, but come on. What's a girl gotta do to get a little attention around here?"

Crowley had hoped that Dean would be back, but he hadn't expected such a fast reappearance. There's no telling what Dean will remember, but Crowley's got the upper hand at being from the same world. He knows Dean and not just Dead-through-Wonderland.

He slides onto the stool next to Dean as if they'd planned to meet. "Well, look what the cat dragged in."

Ah, his bestie is back. Who knows if this will be the Dean who ties him up and tortures him or shares a friendly drink? Either way, it's Dean. Besides, if Dean does kidnap, at least Crowley has the advantage of having someone around who will notice and care this time. He's also moderately sure that Sam would stop him. Probably. Maybe.

His eyes dart to the door.

As soon as word had gotten to her from around the mansion that Dean was back, she pretty much could only see it for herself. It wasn't every day that someone came back, especially so soon after they'd left. Especially when it was someone that she'd been somewhat close to while they'd been here. It was always hard when they came back, when they don't remember you or anything that had happened. The good and the bad. Starting over after almost 2 years. Awesome.

So, once she's finished up with checking in on Jane and the coffee shop, she makes her way towards the first of her few potential stops around here. Most newbies tend to either hit up the bar or the library in their first night and if she knew Dean as well as she liked to think she at least used to, the bar seemed to be a good guess.

When she spots him, she wastes no time in slipping into the empty stool next to him and ordering herself a drink. She'd become something of an expert in dealing with people coming back considering Jane, Bruce, and Tony... But, everyone was different. Especially when they weren't from home and didn't already at least have an idea of who she was. So, she was gonna do what she could to play it a little smoother and slower.

"Is your head trying to explode on you yet?"

Yeah, about that weapon? It really is the sort of thing that stands out--especially when he happens to be in the sights of a keeper of creepy-weird-mystical dark objects back in her own world. Cami takes a second look, because she can't exactly come up with a good reason why someone would be carrying something like that around the halls. Bad ones, sure. Malicious ones, which makes her all the more prone to call out to the figure she can't quite see well enough to recognize just yet.

"Hey, you!" That's right, Cami. Be the absolutely ordinary human who calls out to the potential psycho-killer walking down the hall with a really big nasty looking blade. It doesn't stop her from marching down the hall, or speaking loudly enough to hopefully draw the attention nearby.

"Just where are you planning on going with that thing?"

She's new enough that this place is still a fair mystery to her, still something to be conscious and careful of, especially after the strange changes that had occurred not too long ago. So her steps are always quiet, it's as easy as breathing anymore to be soundless.

The problem with two slinkers when there's a corner is that neither is expecting the other. She turns the corner early enough that she's not about to run into that corn-chopping tool Dean has in his hands, but it's certainly close enough to come directly into his line of sight.

As soon as she sees him she comes to an immediate halt, she might even be taking a step back before she's turning on her heel and disappears right back around that corner.

Nope. No. They told her Dean was gone. Nobody had told her that he was wandering around the hallways acting like a flanneled version of Death. And she's searching for the first open door she can find to slip into and slam shut behind her.

Respectability be damned, if John's gonna be forced to live in this place, he's gonna smoke wherever he wants. It's not so kosher in this day and age (or his day and age, at least- as far as he's concerned it's 2006 and everyone else is from the past or future) to smoke indoors or in public places, but until he starts seeing NO SMOKING in the halls, he'll do what he damn well pleases.

He's not so much of an asshole that he'll smoke in the kitchen, though, which is why he's leaning outside the door puffing on the last few burning embers of his Marlboro. Through the haze, John catches a little movement out of the corner of his eye and squints. He hadn't heard anyone coming up, so either he's slipping in his old age (not totally impossible) or whatever it is is being shifty on purpose (par for the course).

"Hey," he calls, moving toward the figure, "you lookin' for something?"

"Are you lost?"

Belle peered up at the man, having caught the last of his question, not really directed at anyone, but indication enough that this was a bit new to him. She smiled at him kindly, remembering the help she received at her arrival. Despite the chaos and sometimes frightening aspects of Wonderland, it seemed easier to bear when everyone came together to help one another.

And Belle has always been willing to aid someone if they needed it.

"New here?"

Threaded | Flat

option 2; the only decent pie is shepherd's pie

outside *A*

iii.

2!

Bar!

the bar

3!

2!

2

deux

outside A