Dean Winchester (i_diedonce) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2009-03-23 22:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | dean winchester, sam winchester |
You're already here. Wait I am? [Sam]
Dean: Okay...this was so out there, 'pretty friggin weird' didn't begin to describe Dean's situation. As he could recall, first there was Lilith, then the vicious hell dogs, blood, then hell (which he was certain was the permanent part of it all), and now apparently...gas station?
"Think they need to update the brochures," he muttered, pinching himself on the arm. Just in case of course. Passing that test, he decided to explore the surrounding area for answers...after raiding the apparently empty store first. Of course. The place was every bit the gross dusty convenience store he thought it would be, which made it the most perfect place in his eyes. Noshing down water and beef jerky (snap into a slim jim!), he knew the first thing he was going to do: call Sam. He had to know if this was all real, even with a pinch-test.
The strange high pitched noise followed by the breaking windows and his need to duck and cover made him question and wonder what the hell was going on.
However, it was when he found himself in a different store sans busty asian beauties mag in hand that forced him to really think: What the HELL is going on here?! Curious, he crouched and crawled over to the nearby door, assuming that was the front entrance. Staying low to one side of the wall, he opened the door and peered at the outside.
Sam: Glass crunched underfoot as Sam's running shoes crossed the path outside the little convenience store. This is where his sorely bought tip on demon activity had led, and it looked like it was a good one. All the windows had shattered. The shadows changed as Sam moved carefully past the jagged sills, gun down along the thigh to prevent accident as he crouched down to look at the glass pieces. Too small. Shatter pattern like this was the result of something like an explosion, not a weapon assault. If more glass was inside he'd have a real conundrum on his hands.
He didn't sense anything, but he was running on two hours sleep and a fractured rib, so he could afford to be cautious. Sam moved from his crouch to the door frame, moved rapidly past it, and then chanced a look within. A mess of convenience store goods was all over the floor, along with more tiny pieces of glass. No movement. Sam stood, waiting, for what seemed like a long twenty seconds. Gun aloft, he took a cautious step within, keeping his eyes open for movement.
Dean: Had he seen who it was, Dean would never have reacted so violently. All he saw was movement and the gleam of a raised gun. Like hell he was going to die right after coming back to life. Keeping low to the ground, he tackled the intruder's legs, keeping an arm out and forward to check his arm and avoid getting the gun turned on him.
Sam: The knees are made to bend one direction, and one only. Sam crashed down into the glass hard, and only a substantial amount of training by a hardass named John Winchester prevented the gun from going off in his hand. It clattered away out the door as Sam and his attacker went over backward.
Sam, too, reacted on instinct. He pulled his knees up toward his chest to prevent an attack on his head, and kicked out with one leg in a way that made his rib scream.
Dean: When it comes to things he wanted to do right when he realized he was out of hell, getting kicked in the side was clearly not one of them. The other guy clearly knew what he was doing, but at least the gun flew away (though he would have preferred it in HIS hands). "Ow sonofabitch!" he yelled, recoiling backwards before rolling to a kneeling position, ready to lay the hurt down on..."Sammy? Is that you?" Dean was still frozen in a half wounded fighting position, just in case.
Sam: Sam started to roll up into a sitting position, wincing against the stab of pain that lanced into his side... and stared with shock at his brother. "Dean?" He looked his brother over. He'd figured Dean had gone back to the motel about twenty hours ago to catch up on some rest. He hadn't called because he didn't really want to tip him off to the demon hunt he was on until it was finished. Sam pulled a foot underneath him with difficulty and then started to rise, favoring his side. "You scared the crap out of me." In unconscious echo of a night years before, he put out a hand and pulled his brother upright. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Dean: Laughing and wincing thanks to a foot having greeted his side, he accepted Sam's hand gratefully and rolled to a sitting position. Besides the pinch test, getting kicked was the second reminder that he was indeed alive. Possibly. Why wasn't Sam so shocked to see him not dead by the way? He blinked, trying to process the lack of surprise on his face. "Could ask you the same question. God it's good to see a familiar face, man. What day is it? How long have I been gone? And more importantly," he grunted, shifting to the other non-bruised side, "can we get some pie?"
Sam: "Got a tip on some suspicious activity out here... thought I'd come take a look." The younger Winchester tipped his head a little aside to give his brother a once over. He didn't appear to like what he saw. "Uh. Tuesday? And you've been gone for about twenty-four, I was getting ready to come over there and get your ass out of bed. ...Are you okay? You look like hell."
Dean: At his news, Dean stared at Sam incredulously. "That's not possible, you saying it's been only twenty four hours?" He scratched the back of his neck, trying to process this new bit of information.
Sam: Okay. Back up. With a perplexed look at his brother and one hand held up in a 'wait' gesture, Sam went to retrieve the gun, coming back into the store carefully and beginning a slow, familiar examination of the scene before he continued the conversation. "Twenty-four hours," he repeated slowly, "since when?" He had a feeling twenty-four hours ago for him was not the same as twenty-four hours ago for Dean.
Dean: If Sam was perplexed, Dean was dazzled completely stumped. Standing up and dusting all the crap and bits of debris off his jeans, he gave him his patent 'you're kidding' look. "Since...you know, since I bit the dust! Kicked the bucket, worm food, you following me here?" He waved his arm a bit during his speech for effect.
Sam: Finally satisfied the demolished store posed no immediate threat, Sam straightened up to his considerable height, standing a little awkwardly with his head over his shoulder to stare at his brother. "What's the last thing you remember?"
Dean: "Uh..." he tapped his chin, "before or after I got here?" Wherever the hell 'here' is.
Sam: He gave his brother a look. "Before."
Dean: In turn, he blinked at Sam. "Well I, uh, heh, powered my way up from the ground and then rummaged through a nearby gas station before there was a strange noise and then all the windows blew out. I ducked and now...here I am." Dean turned over a few items on a nearby counter. "Now what's this about getting me out of bed?"
Sam: Sam's expression, if anything, went more opaque. "Before that."
Dean: The gears were obviously turning slowly as it took him a bit to realize what Sam meant. "Oh...well you were there, you don't remember?" He wasn't keen on describing the moment over again.
Sam: "You remember Lilith...?" At Dean's expression, Sam surmised he must. Sam's shoulders settled low as his thoughts turned inward, trying to understand. Dean remembered his death, and woke up in a grave, rather than a motel room in The City. This fell into line with what Sam and others had surmised about the timelines within the City and how they did and didn't work. The younger Winchester took a breath. "It's six or seven months after you--after that night, Dean. About a month ago I showed up here. This place is called The City, and it's another dimension. You were here when I got here but..." A look of doubt shadowed his face, and he amended his thought before he spoke it aloud. "It's been weird for all of us. We've got a motel room about an hour away, and right now..." Sam looked around the convenience store. "I'm working a case."
Dean: "Yeah sure I remember that bitch," he sighed, giving his little brother a weird look. This whole thing Sam was telling him didn't make an ounce of sense. Sure he believed in demons and the like, but another dimension? "Cmon Sammy, that's gotta be a load of bull, I was never here." Dean leaned over and poked him in the side. "Are you...you?"
Sam: Sam squirmed away. "Far as I know, but that doesn't mean I am. People here come from different times and different places, sometimes replacing themselves in other people's timelines." He got a look at his brother's face, and smiled wanly. "It's complicated."
Dean: Now he had the look akin to someone having just asked him to calculate an extremely complicated math problem. "I don't understand."
Sam: "Don't worry about it," Sam said, gruffly, cutting off the attempt. He had no desire to explain to his brother about why either of them were alive and why they had no way of knowing whether their own personal realities were valid. Selfishly, he knew that the more Dean knew the more suspicious he was going to get about exactly what his brother had been up to in the floating six months after his death. "Come on." He went down the aisle, glass crunching, gun on safety and in the small of his back. "The car is a half-mile down the road. You can drive. I have to explain who we're working for and it's going to take a while."
Dean: An eyebrow raised at the all too quick response, but he said nothing. If there's one thing he knew for sure, it's that when a Winchester doesn't want to talk about something, they're pretty damn stubborn about it, very much including himself. "Fine," he muttered in return, giving a wary eye to the world outside that was apparently some sort of alien dimension. Following his brother, he brightened up at his next sentence. "Oh it'll be good to see my baby again!"
Sam: The younger Winchester led the way out into the dusty sunlight. For an alien dimension, it looked an awful lot like one of the Dakotas in spring. They started walking, Sam watching the edges of the road as they moved, looking--but not expecting--some kind of strange activity that might be able to tell him how the hell something like this happened. He didn't seem to be in a hurry to start all the explaining he just mentioned.
The silence wasn't strange; when you're with someone 24/7, a good chunk of that time has to be spent in silence, and it becomes companionable. The Winchesters didn't do much talking, when it came down to it, not unless they had something they didn't want to say. At some indeterminable spot, Sam stopped and ducked under some tree branches. The impala sat just out of sight of the road, a little dusty but the same as ever, silver trim shining in the dappled sunlight. Sam popped the trunk to store the weapon, then lifted a hand to toss Dean the keys. He was about to turn when Dean lifted his hands to catch and Sam caught sight of their ragged and filthy state. Sam stopped with his hand on the trunk and a look of realization on his features. Slow horror replaced it as he transferred his gaze to his brother's face. "Did you wake up six feet under?"
Dean: He knew he should have been quite bothered from Sam's strange behavior, but he tried his best to remind himself that his brother did have to deal with Dean being dead for months. He only had to recall how well he handled Sam dying to get even a remote idea of how he was currently feeling, nevermind the whole 'aliens' and 'dimensions' deal. His mind was instantly distracted the moment he saw the Impala in all its beauty. God how he missed that car. His hand twitched much like a child's would while willing the ice cream cone to appear in their hand, then curled as he shrugged at Sam's question, not caring if it pissed him off. "Don't remember," he said nonchalantly. "Hand over the keys."
Sam: Took a few steps closer until he was inches away from his brother. Sam looked into Dean's eyes, hazel to hazel. Sam didn't say what he saw. Maybe Dean could see what Sam had done to deal with his death. Maybe he could see the distance Sam had put between himself and his own humanity, just so that he didn't have to feel what the world did to him. Sam's eyes had pain, yes, but that wasn't the worst of it. His eyes, his face, the set of his shoulders, all of it said that Sam couldn't feel that pain anymore. He took his brother's wrist, turned his hand up, and dropped the keys into his bloody palm.
Dean: By all accounts, physically Dean was fine save for bruised hands. His spirit, however...he had been blessedly ignoring the trauma of that situation thanks to all the 'distractions' that happened today. In no way did he want to revisit just how friggin frightened he was, because he's fine, really. So he decided to think. Jumping his way into the front seat, he grinned and sighed, settling down and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel before reaching over and unlocking the other side for Sam. "Ah, it feels good to be back," he declared, sliding the keys into the ignition and turning the Impala on--
Only, nothing happened. The car would not turn on. His baby wasn't purring. It took a couple more turns for it to register before he whipped his head to his brother. "What did you do to my car?!" he demanded.
Sam: Sam looked confused too, sitting up on the passenger seat and leaning over to see if Dean was turning the key correctly. "Nothing!" he said defensively, eyes widening. "I got here just fine! Did you--" Sam broke off as motion in the trees ahead of the impala caught his eye. "Dean!" He went for the door handle to leap out, but it was too late; two more men, walking with the slow intent of the possessed and reeking of demonic energy, broke from their hiding places in the trees and were no more than fifty yards away. "It's a trap!" he hissed, urgently. And he just put the gun back in the trunk!
Dean: When in doubt, blame someone else. Somewhat fortunately for Sam, the arrival of some not so friendly looking guys quickly put the damper in that. Smacking his hand against the front of the dashboard, he hissed, "Son of a bitch!" Quickly scanning out beyond his side of the car, he saw one of the gang guys approaching quite fast. Keeping his eye on him, Dean snapped to Sam "All the guns are in the trunk aren't they?" Well this is just perfect.
Sam: "Lock box under the passenger seat. You go for the trunk." A big man with a mustache and a brilliantly yellow shirt was practically at Dean's door. Sam could feel the evil in him, the way some people could feel a thunderstorm coming. "They're demons." Sam looked right out of his window and watched the smaller man approaching his side of the door lift up a shotgun. "...You've got to be kidding me." The demon was actually going to shoot at them? Seriously? Sam saw the man's hand tighten. "Move!" Sam bellowed, diving low over the seat as the shotgun boomed and the glass shattered.
Dean: "Got it," he nodded, eyes suddenly widening at the sight of one of them carrying weapons of their own. Reflexively, he ducked, just narrowly avoiding Sam's legs as he wrenched his door open, slamming it into the yellow-shirted man right outside before hurrying back in and snatching the keys. Loud cursing could be heard as he rushed to the trunk, basically saying just WHAT he was going to do to them for screwing up his car and just WHERE he was going to send them. Getting the trunk open after a few angry tries, he reached for his old standby of the sawed off .22, only that didn't work out so well, he mused for a moment as it turned out the really big guy wasn't knocked out. This was easily evidenced by Dean getting yanked away from the trunk and a fist flying at his face.
Sam: Sam fell into the back seat, tumbling down hard onto the floor of the impala. He was waiting for another load of buckshot while he was scrabbling under the floor of the seat, all the while thinking in a panicked silence, They're shooting at us? Demons? Why the hell do demons bother with guns? Sam's hand closed over a smooth, cool container just as a rain of glass shattered over his head. Dean was going to be pissed about his back seat window... The man with the gun pulled it out of the window frame and leaned in, probably with the intent to unlock it, or maybe just to grab Sam and haul him out through the shards. He got a face full of holy water instead, and he fell back, howling, dropping the gun so he could hold his hands to his face, which smoked and burned.
Dean: Oh those bastards really were going to pay now. That would have to wait as he was busy trying not to, oh what was it, DIE here. He took a few good wallops to the face and side before returning the favor, kneeing the guy in the chest and forcing him up before kicking him as hard as he could in the chest. Granted, the demon-guy had much more mass on him but the kicking was enough to set him off balance as he staggered back, giving Dean the chance to roll onto kneeling position and try to reach for any weapon in the trunk...try being the operative word here. Next thing he knew, he was being tackled to the ground. "Sam, a little help here if you don't mind?!" he yelled.
Sam: Sam was too busy to reply. It was hard to concentrate as his arm ground into the shards of glass on the back seat and he levered himself up and out the back door of the car, headfirst. He got a mouthful of pine needles and dirt for his trouble, but he was out and rolling. Sam pulled his chin up and spat, with only enough vision to see three pairs of feet through the back wheels of the impala--and then two bodies as Dean hit the ground, skidding back under the weight of one of the demons. The world seemed to move slowly as Sam got his feet under him, using the door to help.
Dean was still on the ground, struggling with his attacker. The second demon was moving in to finish the job while his companion held the hunter down, and Sam made a choice without thinking. He reached his hand and his abilities out, grasped, and pulled. The effort sent a shock through his mind, but he grit his teeth and used energy he didn't even know he had to haul the demon toward him and out of the body it was in. Sam, injured from his fight with the marine and exhausted still from the antics of an undead, didn't have the power to banish the demon. It took everything he had to divest it of its body. Black smoke poured into the sky and was gone. The possessed man started to choke and gasp, falling back against the open trunk of the impala and then down to the ground.
Sam fell back against the impala, the dark behind his eyes exploding with white stars.
Dean: Were he not distracted by the big fists aiming to turn his face into ground beef, he would have been able to see what Sam was doing. It was a fortunate thing he hadn't; no doubt questions and a massive amount of arguing would ensue. Assuming the two of them survive this 'little' venture. With the bastard's hands aiming for his throat, Dean quickly reacted, grabbing and twisting his wrists before smacking his head against the other's. It was enough to surprise and disorient the guy, Dean kicking him as hard as possible in the chest which sent the demon-man reeling to the side and away. For the second time he jumped up, this time successfully reaching into the trunk and pulling out a shotgun loaded with-what else-salt. Aiming, he fired a round right into the guy's chest, yelling, "That's for my windows you son of a bitch!"
Sam: In the ringing gunsmoke-tinged silence following Dean's shotgun blast, the two brothers stood leaning against the trunk of the abused impala. Sam's vision came back, giving him a cheerful headache, but thank God, not a migraine. When the first thing he saw was the retreating back of a still-smoking adversary, Sam was too tired to bother following. There were two bodies at their feet, one moving and one still, and neither any more or any less than a human.
Dean: He intended on following the the demon, but stopped when the pain in his sides flared, making him wince and pause, deciding that he could just shoot the demon another day. Limping over and leaning against the trunk next to Sam, he settled the barrel against his shoulder before slapping his brother's back as hard as possible. "Just like old times, eh Sammy?" he joked before groaning at the effort.
Sam: "Ha, ha," Sam said, through the pain. "Hurt then too." He wrapped his arm around his abused ribs. "Let's go."