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Tweak says, "...but you drink like a prince"

Dean Winchester hugs baby trees (withgunsdrawn) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2010-11-05 03:42:00

Entry tags:

azazel, dean winchester, john winchester, mary winchester, sam winchester

Who? Winchesters & Azazel
What? DEPERILIZATION of Mary Winchester. Possibly a mild smackdown on Az.
Where? Some weird doorless/windowless building the creepy demon found.
When? DARKTIME.
Rating? I WOULD SAY PRETTY HIGH.

Dean parked the Impala almost a block away from the address Sam had given him. The engine was loud - he didn’t want Azazel to get suspicious, if he was in there. If they had any kind of advantage, he wasn’t going to be the one to cause it to be blown out the window. He could see the building from here, though, even though it was dark it was lit enough by the orange streetlights for him to see there was no sign of his brother or his father - he’d gotten here first.

There was a tremor in his hands that didn’t seem to want to go away, the kind that made him nervous for more than the reasons that were causing the shaking to begin with - how was he supposed to be any use like this? He was glad no one was here with him to see this, to see him falling apart like this. He clenched his hands into fists in his lap, letting his head fall back, and then forward to rest on the steering wheel, trying to breathe through the ice in his lungs, trying to banish the cold sweat on his skin.

He pulled himself out of the car, if not together, and moved to the trunk. It took a few tries to get it unlocked, keys slipping and missing the hole and he swore under his breath in a voice that sounded like it was stretched thin, like it was going to break and disappear. Finally getting it open, he started rummaging around inside - he had a couple of axes in there, and he pulled them out, busied himself checking them for damage, for dulled edges, anything that would keep them from getting in to Mom in time...

...she could be dying right now.

The axe fell out of his hand, into the trunk, and he ran both hands across his face, leaned against the car and tried to pull himself together. He couldn’t do this if he was freaking out, he’d just end up getting someone hurt, getting Mom killed ~~if she was even alive now~~. He didn’t want to wait any longer, but he couldn’t go in by himself, and he just, he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do (and he knew exactly what he wanted to do, knew exactly what would calm him down or at least amp everything other than the panic up so that he wouldn’t even notice it, blood on his hands again but he couldn’t do that here, not now not yet, soon).

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withgunsdrawn
2010-11-08 03:01 am UTC (link)

...As usual, it didn’t seem to enter into their minds that maybe it didn’t have to be that complicated. Using Sam as bait was a horrible idea. If it sounded like a plan, they called it a plan, and he was supposed to just tag along and do as he was told, but this time he wasn’t going to, striding ahead of both of them with his jaw clenched tight and his head down, eyes moving to make sure he wasn’t about to be ambushed or something, and his grip on the axe in his hand shifted to something more ready to chop down a wall with.

He didn’t need to be told to make sure Sam got out of there okay - that was probably the part that chafed the most, because it reminded him of every other job they’d done together, every time his father had left them behind for a job they weren’t good enough (or old enough) to help with. Look after Sammy, which had been twisted around and turned into If you can’t save him, you’ll have to kill him, and ruined everything.

That had been the start of their downfall, hadn’t it? If Dad had never said that, things would have been fine - because it didn’t matter what Dad said, he was never going to be able to hurt Sam.

The impact of the blade of his axe with the outside of the building was satisfying ~~but not quite what he wanted, it didn’t sound right and there was no blood, it wasn’t quite~~ - and it looked like they’d be able to get through it, thankfully. He hadn’t even though about what if it’s brick, until the first splinters of wood were falling around him and he felt like he could breathe again, because they were going to get in and they were going to get her out of there and then everything was going to be fine, damnit, because he wasn’t going to let it be anything else.

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spendsitonammo
2010-11-08 03:15 am UTC (link)

John wanted nothing more then to kick both of their asses currently, but they had more pressing matters ahead. Mary needed to be rescued and that was first priority and should have been the only thing on his mind. Both of his boys were defying him, he didn't know if he could reign them in the way he used too ever again either. It was a little depressing really. He watched Sam give him that look, and his own expression darkened.

If only you were a teenager again I'd- His thought process stopped short. He'd do what? Ruin them all over again like he had in the past? Instead of internally fighting himself he followed them toward the building and stood back to make sure nothing went wrong. He would always have their back no matter how things were going in the family. That's what they were. That was how family operated.

Just because they fought didn't mean much, besides lately that was all John, Sam, and Dean did. Fight and bicker. Deep, deep down they were still connected, and John didn't want to lose that again. He pulled one of his guns out of his jacket and watched Dean's back. Just incase Yellow Eyes had a few surprises waiting for them.

He double checked his weapon, and then looked back over his shoulder watching Dean chip away at the wood for a second. It could have been the last time they were all standing there together. John knew that. Yellow Eyes was what tore his family apart the first round, if it happened a second time he didn't know if he could deal with it.

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_takeasadsong
2010-11-08 04:43 am UTC (link)

Mary had grown up a hunter but she'd never really been hurt, at least not the way she could guess John had been from the scars that had appeared along with the years (blink and your husband is twenty years older than you, she'd thought half bitter and half awed at the chance to think it at all, blink and there's skin puckering on his side and a line on his calf) not the way she tried not to think about Sam and Dean being hurt. She'd always hunted under her parents' watchful eyes, had been expertly trained by someone who had generations of experience behind them. There had been no trial and error, she'd been given hunts that matched her skill level and, for a hunter, she'd emerged relatively unscathed until the night of her death. That meant broken bones and sprains, pulled muscles, abrasions, and shallow cuts as opposed to guts hanging out, massive blood loss, the loss of a limb, a crippling injury. Still, she'd been confident of her ability to stand up to pain and fear and hopelessness, had thought her former life would inoculate her against panic like the weak strains of a vaccine against disease.

She'd been partially right: she hadn't lost herself in the past few days. She hadn't stopped looking for a way out, hadn't given in or begged, hadn't forgotten her husband or children, her worry for them, just because she was being hurt. But she would never again be so blithely confident, so stupid, as to say 'I'm not hurt' if she couldn't see blood. She'd learned that the anticipation of pain was almost (but not quite) as bad as the moments when Azazel would come back and she'd feel a crushing in her chest or a sawing on her nerves, senseless and terrible, until (for those few moments) she'd forgotten everything but that pain. If, while it was happening, you'd asked her name, the names of her children, in that moment she couldn't have said, everything about herself lost in what was happening in the nerves and other more subtle intricacies of her body. That was far more terrifying than an injury after all, a leg could be severed, a bone broken, but you were still whole, still yourself. The kind of sanitized,bloodless pain Azazel was using was different, it went after your mind and that was what it would eventually break.

Aside from some minor bruises and contusions she wasn't outwardly injured. She'd done most of the damage to her hands herself actually, yanking the bed apart to make a weapon, hacking at the walls with the springs from the mattress. It hadn't done any good of course, Azazel had knocked aside the slat she'd wielded like a club and the walls had stood up ably to the springs. Still, she knew if she hadn't at least tried, if she didn't keep trying, she would give in after all.

So when the ax-blows on the wall began she dragged herself to her feet, pushing off against the wall opposite to where the strikes were coming from and steadied herself. Have to face it standing, she thought, curling her hands into fists. Then, slowly, it occurred to her that Azazel had no reason to hack at the walls (unless he was playing a game wanting her to think she was being rescued only to pull the rug out from under her, but if that was it, it wasn't as if there was anything she could do about it anyway...) and that she could hear noises of exertion as the wood began to crumble in front of her.

She took a careful step forward and, making her voice steady out of sheer force of will, called out “Who's there?”

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ex_demonbloo908
2010-11-08 05:25 am UTC (link)

The thud of Sam's axe hitting the wall joined Dean's own, doubling their efforts at tearing into the closed off building. Taking advantage of his largely built figure, Sam swung at the wall hard and quick, desperate to tear away each and every bit of plaster and wood that separated himself and his mother. Even though things were very much tense between the Winchester men lately, Sam had to give his brother and father credit where it was due: they still knew how to work together, even without having to come up with an actual game plan before striding into the fight. Dad knew to keep guard; scan the perimeter, make sure nothing was coming at them from behind, above, or even right in front of them. Dean knew to work hard and fast, too; attacking the wall with the same level of ferocity as Sam, knowing that there wasn't a single moment to waste. They may not have particularly liked each other a terribly large amount right now, but they were still a team and they knew damn well how to act like one.

It seemed like Sam and Dean were finally making a little progress at tearing through the wall - a hole was finally beginning to break into sight - when Sam heard it. Not it - her. His muscles tensed, axe pausing mid-swing. Who's there?

"Sam," he immediately started. Sam shot Dean a pointed look, putting a hand out to indicate that he needed to stop swinging for a second. At that, Sam pressed in closer to the wall. He tried to peer through the hole that they'd created, but it wasn't big enough for Sam to see through yet. There was just black - bits and pieces of wall still blocking off the way to the other side, probably. That didn't mean that they hadn't done enough damage for Sam to hear and speak through the wall though, so he pushed his ear to the surface and immediately began to speak in a hurried tone. "It's Sam," he repeated, a little more loudly. "I'm here with Dad and Dean." His heart tugged in his chest anxiously, every bit of his being demanding that Sam ask if she was okay. Was she hurt? What had Azazel done to her? Was he in there with her? No, Sam realized. He couldn't have been, he wouldn't have let her speak, let alone approach the wall...unless he was trying to screw with them? It wouldn't have been the first time. Maybe he was really talking to Azazel right now. Sam didn't know. Fortunately, Dad was still standing behind them with his gun trained upward, ready for anything unpleasant that might break out of that wall. Sam trusted that he knew to keep it that way too, even in spite of the voice that they were facing now. They'd just have to keep working and hope that it really was Mary Winchester on the other side of that wall.

Sam hadn't prayed in a long time. Once Uriel and Zachariah had touched down to show the world what angels really were like, Sam had stopped. Discovering that he had spent his entire life praying to a bunch of douchebags with wings had been the end of the line for him. No more prayers, no more questions of guidance from God - nothing. But now...

If there really is someone out there looking out for the little guys like me down here, Sam thought in a panic, please. Let this be her. Let her be safe.

"Get away from the wall," he said sharply. "We're breaking through." Then, with a strong sense of determination glinting in his eyes, Sam dragged his axe over his shoulder and swung at the wall even harder.

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