Miles Matheson [Revolution] (butiwaswrong) wrote in ridgewayresort, @ 2011-08-27 11:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | castiel harvelle-winchester, dean winchester, jo harvelle-winchester |
Who: Cas, Dean, Jo
What: Reactions to the barren wasteland that is the resort
Where: Harvelle-Winchester home
When: Saturday morning
Warnings: Flashbacks. Trauma. Violence. Language.
He'd woken up alone, which wasn't terribly unusual. Disconcerting, disappointing, but not out of the ordinary; it was the overwhelming silence that sent the red flags up in his mind and had the hairs at the back of his neck on end. He rolled out of bed, crouched low on the floor, and scanned the perimeter fro the low angle and vantage point.
His hand moved up, thrust under his pillow, but his gun wasn't there. He growled, then jerked open the drawer of the bedside table. He put his back to the bed as he checked the gun. He made his way to the window, slow and steady, dressed in nothing but a pair of low slung boxers. He didn't take the time to get dressed; for all he knew, he didn't have time to waste.
He used the barrel of the gun to pull the shades back, and the scene beyond was bleak and barren. Nothing moved, not so much as a tumbleweed. Dean put his back to the wall, his breathing hard and fast. Eyes squeezed shut, he focused to control his breaths. Opening his eyes once his chest wasn't heaving quite so noticeably, he took in the modern conveniences of the room. Alarm clock displaying the passing time with bright red digits, cell phone on the table beside the clock and the lamp Jo sometimes used to read at night. Television, radio...
He took in a deep breath. The scene outside was a stark contrast to the world inside. Dean felt his mind wavering, but he knew the truth. The barren wasteland wasn't real, it was another of Peterson's games, like the dreams. It was all a game to him, the sick bastard. He liked messing with people, but this was just cruel.
Dean inched toward his phone, his PDA. He pushed a few buttons to activate the resort network. Chitaqua hadn't had electricity, cell phones were useless, lacking power. He wasn't camped out in Chitaqua, Sam wasn't trapped inside himself while Lucifer rode him around like a one trick pony. It wasn't real. He knew it wasn't real.
He kept his back to the wall, his attention divided between the message and the world outside his window. He sent a couple of messages on the network that shouldn't be. He knew it wasn't real, couldn't be real.
Sammy was maybe still sleeping in his bedroom downstairs. The cabins at Chitaqua hadn't had multiple levels. Sam was fine. Dean was fine. Chitaqua was long gone, it wasn't real anymore...
Footsteps outside his door commanded his attention, and he drew his gun forward, trained on the door, ready to shoot anything that tried to get in.