InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "You ripped off a cement truck?"

Dean Winchester (hellsboy) wrote in vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-03-21 00:33:00

Entry tags:

!incomplete, day 01, dean winchester, location: gas station, the doctor (ten)

Day One
Who: Dean Winchester & The Doctor
What: Day One, waking up
When: Sometime during daylight hours, not sure because of the misty muck
Where: In the forest, nearest landmark: gas station/convenience store
Rating: TBA (language)
Status: Dropped

Dean woke with a start. He sat up too fast with a shout and nearly fell back down again as his mind fuzzed in and out dizzily. He wasn't sure at first what had happened. What had startled him awake. Then he noticed the ugly gray misty foggy mess that surrounded him. It was cold. His breath plumed out in a billow from his mouth when he gasped and rubbed his temples. The last thing he could remember was lying down to sleep on the hotel bed. Hadn't even bothered to take of his boots or his jacket. Just went to sleep staring up at the ceiling as the Johnnie Walker Blue Label sloshed nauseatingly on the nightsand in time to the rocking of a train passing too closely.

Groaning, Dean looked around. "Definitely too much to drink last night," he grumbled. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up in a strange place, but it was the first time it'd been out in the forest in the middle of nowhere. Patting his pockets, he felt for his gun. Lola should've been right there beside him but his sawed off double barelled shotgun was nowhere. What the hell was going on? He could not have wandered here while sleeping. No chance. Something wasn't right and he was pretty sure there was a demon behind it.

Unsteadily he got to his feet and turned a circle, looking around to get his bearings. "Hello? What the hell is going on?!" he shouted into the tree tops. Turning again, he noticed that he wasn't alone. Someone else was there in the forest with him. "Hey, buddy. I don't know what game you're playing but you better prepare yourself for a good asskicking."

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hellsboy
2009-04-16 09:53 pm UTC (link)

Dean shrugged and made a face. "I don't know if I'd call it an arsenal..." he began and then conceded, "Okay, yeah it was an arsenal. In my line of work you gotta be armed most of the time or you get eaten or dragged into some pit leading to hell or whatever. Why do I get the impression that you don't live in the same world I do? You don't get your hands dirty very often, do you?"

He sidestepped the Doctor and hopped over a tree root that had grown up out of the ground in a loop. He was wet from the rain and a little more than annoyed by the situation he had been thrown into by whoever it was that was orchestrating all of this. He was used to running the show and getting things done. With the Doctor refusing to take it seriously that they could be in danger enough to need something to defend themselves with, he was rendered ineffectual which sucked big time. He was restless and felt like a sitting duck. Two very bad things in combination for a Winchester.

Then the Doctor was on the move again and Dean rolled his eyes, huffing a sigh into the air in a billow of mist. "A glass wall?" he asked incredulously but he followed the Doctor, stopping closer to the barrier. With one hand he reached out his fingers toward the almost invisible wall. If it weren't for the rain drizzling down the glass he might not have seen it at all. Before he touched the glass though, he let his hand drop to his side. "This is crazy. Who's messed up mind came up with this and what is the point? Friends of yours, Doctor?"

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fromgallifrey
2009-04-19 07:02 pm UTC (link)

The Doctor, for all he was worth, didn't quickly respond to Deans confirmation of being a man of weaponry. It was something that he'd tried to become numb to - persons who depended so heavily on steel and fire to defend themselves. In the Doctor's experience of late, all it really might take are a few well placed words and perhaps a banana.

"My hands are always wrapped up in something," he said off handedly, still marvelling at the wall. It couldn't truly be glass - there was no frequency coming off of it as the wind pounded against it and when the Doctor placed his palm to it, he found it to feel incorrect. "I'd say we could try banging on it; but this isn't glass; well, not in the traditional sense." His mind was reeling with the idea of chemically engineered super glass - with molecules bound up in silicon and titanium. He'd seen prison cells made of them on Prados; stacked like icecubes that never melted, their occupants subject to the humiliation of never having privacy again.

"Friends of mine don't bother with prisons, Dean," he mumbled a bit, still trying to remember the frequency for shattering superglass. He should have known better then to become so dependent on his screwdriver for such things.

"We need to find something, something to generate an ultrasonic pulse," he muttered to himself scratching at his head, "If only I could remember the frequency, my brain is all full and jumbled and scattered. I'm old and thick, you know that?" He asked the wind as it howled by and the rain as it pattered on the backs of his hands.

"Thick, absolutely thick," he scrunched his eyes and pursed his lips, staring at the glass trying to remember. "I don't even know for certain what sort of glass this is..."

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