voice - un: nightmoves

[ruinously]

[ sorry, everyone - Dean is...very drunk. Very, very drunk. There's a lot of reasons for this, but most notably, it's a Monday and that's what matters, right? It's not like it's his birthday and no one gives a shit again, for the thirtieth? thirty-first? time...

does he even age, here? Is it even really January? Cause it was May for him when he got here, and then suddenly they've skipped months and it was Christmas and now it's January or some shit, he doesn't know. ]

Guys, is it just me or does anyone else just like...not give a shit anymore? Like this is crazy, right? Weeks and weeks of bullshit, mission after mission, same story different folks, more investigating these damn people who just parrot the same friggin' story over and over, like we're eating snakes, man, that's just--

[ a breath, steadying; ]

That's just not right. And all for what? Cause we might get to undo a regret? Cause we fucked up so monumentally in our own worlds that we gotta sign some weird sleep paralysis contract that's probably gonna backfire in our faces - cause lemme tell you from firsthand experience, deals always have a price - and feed friggin' alien orbs our goddamn souls? Or whatever the hell it is you magic people have I dunno, I'm useless there.

Man, fuck this. I'm out. I don't care anymore.

Comments

[bossily]

Because you've had too much to drink and you're going to regret this later.

[ruinously]

Am I? Add it to the friggin' pile.

[bossily]

Where are you right now? Tell me.

[ruinously]

Why, looking for a midnight ride?

[bossily]

I'm gonna pretend you didn't just ask that.

[#offended]

How could you say you don't care anymore, when we both know what it is you're fighting for? This isn't the time for you to feel sorry for yourself, Dean Winchester. I respect you too much to allow that to happen.

[ruinously]

[ what, it's a compliment. ish. ]

Aren't people arbitrarily allowed to feel sorry for themselves?

[ he's going to regret this so much in the morning. God. ]

[bossily]

Of course they are. But I'm not letting you do it alone.

[she's trying really hard not to let him do or say anything else he might regret.]

So do as you're told, and tell me where to find you.

[ruinously]

[ clara oswald, opening new kinks for dean winchester every day. ]

I'm at the inn. Second floor, third door on the right.

[bossily]

Don't do anything drastic until I get there.

[She dryly retorts, and hurries her way on over. Where she knocks on his door and waits for him to stumble his way to greet her.]

[ruinously]

[ He's a managed alcoholic so, you know -- he's probably in better shape than most. He opens the door and he doesn't look drunk -- the smile on his lips is slow and warm, the way his eyes slide from her to behind her and back again is methodical and indicative of military training. The halls are clear, it's just them. ]

C'mon in, have a drink -- and tell me, what counts as drastic in a town where we're eating barbecued snakes to survive?

[bossily]

[She moves into the room and looks him over, waiting until they're both inside and the door's shut before she moves in. She doesn't say anything at first, she just wraps her arms around him in a tight hug.]

No more drinks. Not tonight.

[Her voice is soft when she finally speaks.]

There's no one here but the two of us. Please, Dean. Tell me what's going on.

[There must be something that's made him snap like this.]

[ruinously]

[ He isn't really expecting a hug, but he must need it more than he realizes, because it makes him a little emotional, something he plays off with a shrug, hands going into his pockets. ]

It's just nuts, you know? Some of you have been here like six months. I've only been here a couple, and I'm already going cuckoo. This is crazy, right?

[bossily]

It's overwhelming sometimes.

[She can't bring herself to call it wild or crazy, because she knows that she needs to stay here in order to keep the Doctors in her life. And Dean needs to be here to save his brother. Sam means so much to him that the thought of him leaving before he's able to fix things is upsetting.

So of course there's tears forming in her eyes as she pulls out of the hug and looks up at him. Her hand presses against his cheek, like she's trying to get him to look at her so he'll see reason.]

But you can't be giving up already, Dean.

[ruinously]

[ Sam and the whole planet, averting the apocalypse, going back to Hell, it's--it's fine. He's made a mistake and he broke and it's fine. It won't happen again.

Breathe, Dean. How little you are, to make this about you, and your shitty day, and your shitty little life.

He takes a deep breath, and forces a smile. ]

I messed up. I threw myself a pity party, I'm good now. It's the power of friendship, right? We should get jackets made.

[bossily]

Dean Winchester.

[She gives him a look, fingers pressing more firmly against him.]

Stop. Stop hiding behind deflection and backpedaling and just be honest. You're not fine. You're hurting. You're afraid. You -

[She pauses, frowning as tears start to fall. Her heart breaks for him, seeing him like this.]

You have not only the weight of your entire world on your shoulders, but heaven and hell too. You love your brother more than anything, even yourself. But that doesn't stop you from being afraid of what's to come when you undo your regret.

[Hell for all eternity is a terrifying thought.]

I said before that you don't have to do it alone. And I meant it. I'm here.

[ruinously]

Sorry, sorry, I don't-- don't do that, don't cry, I'm sorry.

[ God don't do that, ugh he's such garbage. Guilt, an uncomfortable feeling, twists up his guts and squeezes his heart. It makes him feel a little sick - not in the nauseated, empty your stomach because of liquor way, but in that uncomfortable way that seeps into your bloodstream, tattoos your veins - the kind of sick that lingers, because you know you've fucked up, and you don't deserve the kindness that caring people exhibit. ]

You don't have to do it alone, either. I dunno what your regret is, but if you can listen to my pathetic crap, you can be damn sure I've got your back.

[bossily]

They're only tears. They can't hurt you.

[Or her, for that matter. But still, he seems uncomfortable by her crying, so she reaches up to wipe them away. It's better that he doesn't feel worse right now. Not with everything else going on.]

You're not really gonna leave, are you?

[ruinously]

No-- you know what, ignore what I said. [ Dean reaches to stop her, take her wrist, watch her tears fall.

It's a lie, what she says - tears can hurt, they can hurt more than words. But he's also learning some lessons tonight, maybe this is one of them. ]

If you need to cry, that's okay. Don't let me tell you what to do, how to feel.

[ He takes a breath, finally gathers her in close, if she'll let him. Cry on his shoulder, if she wants. He won't tell her not to. ]

No. I just -- I was having a moment. I got upset.

[bossily]

Why?

[She's so much smaller than he is that it's easy for him to gather her up. her arms wrap right back around him and she lets the last few tears fall. Her heart aches for him, and it's worse knowing there's nothing she can really do to help him. There's nothing anyone here can do, and if he decides to give up on things here it's his choice to leave.]

What's happened, why are you so upset?

[ruinously]

[ He takes a few breaths to calm the frantic staccato of his heart, though it doesn't slow much. Probably the alcohol, not his fried nerves. He won't leave, he can't, not with so much hanging in the balance. ]

It's...stupid. Really, it is.

[bossily]

Tell me.

[When she pulls back to look up at him, her expression is pleading.]

[ruinously]

[ Dammit. He can't resist that -- in a lot of ways, she reminds him of Sam. Sam could always bring out the things people didn't want to talk about, the hidden parts of themselves. Sammy was the one who talked to grieving widows, to siblings who'd lost parents, to the survivors. That puppy look, it always worked.

And it works now. ]

It's...it's my birthday, I think. Just...if my math is right, going off when Christmas was, and the days since.

I told you it was stupid.

[ His birthdays were strange affairs; it was Sam who got party hats and cake, it was Dean who was taken to shooting ranges when he was six, handed sawed offs. His seventeenth, he had to banish a pair of lesbian nuns by himself. His twenty-first, his dad didn't even bother buying him a beer, because he'd been handed booze since before he hit double digits. ]

[bossily]

[At first she wonders if this is all because he isn't getting to celebrate his birthday. Which does make her take pause and look momentarily confused. But then she remembers the sort of man Dean is. How brave and kind and self-sacrificing he is.

And then she remembers her birthday. It came and went without anyone knowing. And that had been for the best back then, but it still had been a lonely feeling.]

Did you not tell anyone because you didn't feel it was worth celebrating? Or because you weren't sure there was any point in keeping track any longer?

[For people like them, if you're doomed to leave the Ximilia and return back to a less than ideal fate, what point is there keeping track of things like birthdays?]

[ruinously]

I guess a little bit of both. My last birthday, my brother and I were working a job trying to stop a douchebag magician from killing people to be immortal.

[ He lifts a shoulder, scuffs his foot. ]

I don't think Sammy even remembered. We were pretty busy. Birthdays with us are complicated.

[bossily]

Let me be the first to tell you that you're worth celebrating, Dean. Even if things are complicated.

[She pulls back so she can offer him a genuine smile, taking hold of his hand so she can lead him further into his room. They can have a seat on his bed.]

Though I'd be a huge hypocrite if I told you that you had to celebrate your birthday. Mine came and passed three days after I came back to the Ximilia after being sent home to die. So it felt...like it wasn't a big deal in the big picture.

[which is to say that she understands him and where he's coming from.]