Dean Winchester (i_soldieron) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2011-02-13 01:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | dean winchester, river tam |
The Curse of an Interesting Life (narrative/open)
Dean had finally given in and found some place to sleep. It was out by the Park, some rundown house with a couch that didn't look to be infested with lice and vermin. It was a roof over his head and a floor under his feet. Or that had been the plan.
Unfortunately, as he was finally getting some personal time watching his favorite pair of exotic dancers bat playfully at each other with pillows, he was woken up by the world collapsing. Or in his case, the far wall being knocked in by what looked like a very large chicken leg. Even if he felt like he was still in a dream, he got to his feet, pulled his Colt, and thought of firing. Then he got a better idea, as the damn thing was trying to claw its way into the house; he got out of there.
What he saw when he got outside didn't help clear anything up. There was a cabin, he guessed, on the top of some very strong and strange looking chicken legs. Sure, he'd finally managed to get a bottle of JD that didn't taste like tea, and yes, he might have finished over half of it. But, no, that did not explain what he was looking at. He could have sworn the damn thing saw him, even if it didn't have any eyes, because it turned and stepped forward. He stepped back; it stepped forward. He took another step back. It would have gone on like this, but Dean decided dancing with a Bosch dreamfuck wasn't his idea of a good time. He fired a few shots, and possibly wounded it. He knew he hit something. Then, he ran like a damn Yorkie was after him. Hey, those things can be damn scary given the right circumstances. He didn't look back to see if it was following him.
The mighty hunter kept running until he couldn't breath, which was a little further than he expected. Then again, he noticed that the streets weren't where they were supposed to be. He hadn't been here long, but he had a way of learning places. He was pretty certain that bar was not that close to that diner. He also didn't remember that motel. He decided to give in for the night. He got himself a room, got cleaned, even took time to wash his clothes in the tub, then settled down on the bed, still slightly shaken.
Without warning, which freaked him out, the bed started to vibrate in a way Dean knew all too well. He got off the bed, which kept doing its thing, but he was too tired. He climbed into bed, and let it magic away the worries for a little while anyway.
With a night's sleep under his belt, Dean felt ready to face another day. Or he would have, only his clothes, the ones he cleaned the night before and left hanging out, were gone. He was pretty certain he would have felt someone in his room, no matter how hard he was sleeping. He peeked out the door to see if maybe the theif was out there; no such luck. He knew he coudln't walk around in a towel, but all he could think of doing was that. He sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his forehead.
"I donno if you're listening, but this isn't even close to funny. I got no car, no family, no friends. You could gimme something." Dean wasn't even sure who he was talking to. He was about to get angry, say something he probably shouldn't, even if no one was listening, when there was a knock at the door.
He grabbed his Colt, which hadn't disappeared sometime in the night, and went to the door, opening it just a little. He was starting to wish this shocked feeling would stop, but it wasn't going to stop anytime soon. Standing at his door was a woman he would have loved to get to know a little better, especially in a way that required the little amount of clothing he currently had on. She held out two bags for him.
"For me?" He took the bags, feeling stupid for asking, and a little odd for how he had to take both bags with one hand. The Colt was hidden behind his back. Before he could thank her or look inside, she walked away. Dean, of course, watched and possibly whistled softly to himself. He was a bad bad man.
He turned, nudging the door closed with his foot, and walked back to the bed to dump the bags out. Clothes and toiletries, even his favorite toothpaste. "Hell." He didn't like it; he didn't care how Gabe felt about the City - it was bugging the shit out of the City's only Winchester. Yet, he needed the stuff, so he pulled on some clothes, tucked away this and that. He'd be back to the motel, maybe.
Now that he was clean, had clothes, and felt a little more human. He stepped out of the motel to do research or get a better idea of what he was dealing with. Dean guess the best place to start was the Library...maybe after he got something to eat.