Peter Vincent thinks people see what they want to (smokingmagician) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2013-12-14 22:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | isabel evans, peter vincent |
Who: Peter Vincent, Isabel Evans, some dream characters
What: Isabel accidentally lands in one of Peter’s nightmares.
Where: Dreeeeeamland!
When: Saturday night, December 14, 2013
Warnings: Peter’s foul mouth, blood, dream-logic and nightmare imagery
Status: Closed, Ongoing!
(cut text lyrics are from The Calendar, by Panic! at the Disco)
He’s waiting for the others to come home, Charley and Amy and the others. He wants a drink, but the fridge and all the kitchen cabinets in the new house are still empty, except for the blood bags. He frowns, shuts the doors on the neat stacks of plastic packages; those are for later. Jerry’s there, sitting at the breakfast table. Peter watches him slide out of the seat and prowl forward, and the vampire towers over him, like did when Peter was little. Peter is eight again, he couldn’t quite reach the top cabinets, needed to drag a chair over or stand on the counter. He can hide there, and Jerry won’t find him, if he could just reach.
Too late, Jerry’s behind him already, claps his cold hands on Peter’s small shoulders in some horrifyingly fatherly gesture. Where’s his dad? Or Mum? They’d save him. Jerry commands Peter to come with him, and steers him over to the dining room. Peter balks and his sire’s claws dig in a little harder. Not his sire, not yet, he’s still human. In the dining room, there’s a long table, and seated around it are people Peter recognizes. Jerry tells him they’re here for dinner. Cas sits at the head of the table. Ginger is there, and Marguerite, and Allison Argent. A few, he doesn’t even know their names, but he knows their faces. He knows how they all taste. Everyone is turned to stare at him, faces neutral and cold, ignoring the blood dripping from their eyes. He’s so thirsty…
A flimsy party hat is settled onto his head, clawed fingertips adjusting the elastic string under his chin. Jerry hangs his chin over Peter’s shoulder, strong arms wrapped around him tight. There’s a cold face pressed against his neck, and a chilly whisper in his ear, saying happy birthday and calling him big guy. But it’s not his birthday, it’s New Years; he rips off the party hat. He can hear Charley and Amy setting off fireworks on the roof. That’s why they weren’t home earlier, they’d gone to get firecrackers. The others, they’ll see the fireworks and come see, like a distress flare. Rescue’s coming, he just has to not die until then.
Rescue better hurry though, and he hopes they can still find them in the basement. Because that’s where they are now, him and Cas and Jerry in the dug out basement of Jerry’s Vegas lair. The other dinner guests, Peter’s other victims, are crawling up out of the dirt and out of the walls, but Peter’s attention is on Cas. The angel is on his knees before Peter, and he’s covered in blood, and Peter can see his own teeth marks in his friend’s flesh.
A surge of want makes his mouth water. Peter can recall the consistency of his blood, that little tang of something else, something dangerous and burning pure. It’s like nothing else he’s ever tasted. His gums itch and fill with too many teeth; he catches his own tongue on a razor edge, his own blood filling his mouth until it dribbles down his chin and neck and soaks into his shirt. Cas is still watching him, face cold, his eyes glazed over with blood that blocks out the blue.
Peter snarls, face twisting with bloodlust, and he launches himself at Castiel. Cas catches him by the throat in one strong hand, throws him up and over and slams him down on the floor, on his back. The others all clamp their hands tight on his arms and legs, holding him down. There’s no need now; his mouth is still full of shark teeth, but the bloodlust is gone, horror at himself taking it’s place. He can remember wanting the blood, savouring it. They hold him down anyways, and it’s because they’re the vampires now, because of him, because he did this to them. They hold him down and they tear at his flesh with their teeth and their claws. He watches Ginger delicately rip open his wrist with one fang and catch the blood on her tongue. He struggles, but it’s no good - they’re too strong, too many, too hungry.
Cas leans over him, still holding him by the throat so the others can eat, but he’s no vampire. He’s clean now, his newfound angelic essence burning silver like moonlight. Peter can feel his skin smoking; moonlight is just reflected sunlight after all. Peter tries to call his name, but Cas’s hand is too tight. Castiel says something then, about heaven not wanting Peter, and it’s not like that wouldn’t have been obvious but it still feels like a being struck with a hammer, and Peter can hear Jerry’s breathy chuckle in the background somewhere. He opens his mouth to scream, but it’s drowned out, he’s drowning, his mouth is full of blood that he doesn’t want to swallow. Drinking the blood makes you a monster too and he can’t make it stop.