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soddersays2021-02-25 12:33 am
sodder) wrote in soddersays2021-02-25 12:33 am
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MARCH 2021 TEST DRIVE MEME
MARCH 2021 TEST DRIVE MEME
Welcome to MARCH's Test Drive Meme! This month's Test Drive's theme is: PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR.
All Test Drive Memes contain at least one clue to the Deerington's upcoming in-game events for the month! Keep your eyes peeled! But...not literally.
Characters may die during TDMs, but you do not need to count it towards a game-canonical death unless you want to. Consider it a freebie. All TDMs can be considered game canon as TDMs introduce minor aspects about the world of Deerington that can be revisited by characters later on in the game. You may also use TDMs for your application writing sample as well as AC.
CW: psychological horror that deals with gaslighting, losing one's grip on reality, being trapped and restrained, threat of drowning, threat of being eaten, sensory deprivation, bleach, blood, violence, haunting apparition of a child, injury by rusty implements
Don't forget to tag content whenever necessary. Have fun!
IMPORTANT INFO FOR PROSPECTIVE PLAYERS: This past month we were excited to announce that Deerington will be entering a new chapter in a few short months. This new chapter will involve a permanent setting shift that you can read about in more detail on this post. All prospective players are welcome to ask any questions they have on the linked post.
THE WALLS HAVE EARS. AND EYES.
With all of the shifting in Deerington, it's not shocking when you start to feel like something in your home or workplace has begun to shift. You can't put your finger on what it is. Your furniture is exactly where it should be. Nothing seems moved. Maybe it's just Deerington paranoia acting up. God knows Sleepers have plenty to be paranoid about. Then you start to notice little oddities. Scratch marks on the baseboards of your bedroom. If you have a bedframe with posts you might notice what looks like human bite marks have taken out chunks of the material. Only surely no one's gone around biting your bed? When you walk by windows, you start to think you see a trick of the eye and you could swear you see bars on the other side of your window. What? No. You don't have bars on your bedroom windows...
You're just seeing things. You're just seeing things. But maybe you're hearing things too. You can hear scuttling in the walls - maybe the rats from February? No, no...This is different. It sounded too big. More of a sliding shuffle than a scuttle. Maybe you look into your vents just to make sure but there's nothing to find. Nothing at all.
Then you start to look at your walls. Was that stain always there? Was it just part of the wallpaper or paint? Hmm...You don't remember there being a stain there.
You keep looking at the stain. Maybe it only takes a few days or a few hours but eventually, you start to see a face in the stain. If the stain's big enough you could swear it looks like...a person crawling. No. No! That's ...Just your imagination. Get a grip. But that stain may start to look like it has eyes, eyes looking right at you. Or the design in your wallpaper might start to look like a face is tucked among the floral patterns, eyes staring right at you.
You start to notice creeping figures out and around Deerington. While you're shopping for groceries you swear you can see a woman crawling from one aisle to the next, quick and scurrying. Were you the only one who saw that? Surely not? Maybe others have too. Then you see more women crawling across yards and you feel paralyzed with fear because they all look like that stain on your wall.
When you come back the stain has moved.
This drives many mad. You start to obsess over the stain. Maybe you even break apart your walls to see if there's really a person behind them. Maybe you start to peel the wallpaper off your walls or try to repaint everything to hide it. But the more you do, the more you sink down into paranoia. Eventually you start crawling around, trying to see if you can conjure up these creeping figures. You find yourself scratching at the baseboards and gnawing on furniture, becoming the very creeping fiend you feared.
Maybe you even eventually start to creep into people's homes, into their walls, to start the cycle of madness all over again. The only way to break free of this cycle is to catch one of the people in the walls, take their hand and pull. If you win this tug of war, you and the figure you chased in your madness into the walls will fall back into the three dimensional space of regular Deerington and you'll find the person you were chasing was just another sleeper trapped in the cycle like you. If you lose... you find yourself falling into an endless void and when you slow to a stop--
WASH AWAY THE MADNESS. PURGE THE SIN.
--You find yourself floating in midair in the middle of a sterile white room. You lost the tug of war with the other sleeper in the walls, or perhaps you were just walking down the street and got distracted by your reflection moving strangely in the storefront window and touching it pulled you through the glass and landed you here. Regardless of how you got here, now you are in what looks like a room that belongs in a hospital. Somehow you are also dressed in white pants and a t-shirt and there's a hospital bracelet on your wrist that has your name and blood type printed on it as well as a patient number. Beside you is another sleeper, either the one who you lost the tug of war to or a completely new one. You are able to speak to each other in this space and there is a slight echo as you do, enjoy it while it lasts.After a moment of weightlessness, your bare feet touch the ground, which feels cold like concrete but is as white as the white subway tiled walls. There also appears to not be any light source, it just comes from everywhere and you may notice you're not casting a shadow. And neither is the albino german shepard that's appeared in the room with you. It looks friendly enough and you get the sense that it wants to guide you somewhere as it turns to walk through an open door that has suddenly appeared in the room.
Follow the dog and you'll find yourselves in an all white hallway, only there's a mirrored ceiling and the yellow stains of age on the peeling white wallpaper move in ways that make you uneasy. Almost immediately, you'll notice that there is no sound, not even from the dog or your own steps, not even your own heartbeat can be heard. But oddly, you can hear your own breathing, so loud in the otherwise utterly silent space that you speak to your companion just to have a different sound, but your voice is muted as well. Charades might be the only choice of communication between you two for some time. And as you continue on in this odd liminal space, out of your peripheral vision you'll notice your reflections on the ceiling above acting oddly, walking backwards or twirling in a childlike fashion while you are walking a straight line.
Spend long enough in this never ending silent white and bright hall with nothing but your breath to remind you that you're physically occupying this space and you start to feel on the edge of your sanity. After pulling your gaze from the disorienting reflections and stains on the wall, you look for the dog, but the dog is gone and in its place far down the hall is a small child dressed in white from head to toe with very little skin showing. It feels like it's been so long since you heard a voice that when the child speaks your ears hurt, blood trickles out. Wait, that can't be right... is it because of the silence from before or is the voice just supernaturally immense?
"GET OUT."
Is all the child says before water starts slowly rising up from the floor, but take a whiff and you catch the strong chemical scent of bleach. You and your companion must rush to find an exit or another creative solution to the problem at hand before you are drowned, and there will be no holding one's breath and swimming with your eyes open if you are submerged in bleach so you must act quickly. At the end of the long hall where the child stood there is a red light, but if you run towards it, it seems to only get further away.
If you can't go forward or back, then through the walls is the only solution. It is difficult though, at all the spots on the walls that are white, they are indestructible. It's the aged, yellow stains that are perpetually moving and shifting that are the weak points. Together, you must try to corner the shifting stains to stay still long enough for you to kick and punch your way through very thick walls. The stains seem to move away from anyone experiencing strong emotions and towards those who are calm and collected, and the key is to get them to stop moving entirely.
Once you burst through the thick wall and escape drowning by bleach, you'll either find yourself back in Deerington, or...
BREAK MY CHAINS AND I'LL BREAK YOURS.
You stumble into a mostly empty and dimly lit surgical room with blood on the floor and old dinge and rust on tiles and sinks. If you came here from the white hallway slowly filling with bleach, the pungent liquid will spill into the space as you enter, but turn around to look at the hole you and your companion made and you'll see it magically stitch itself up, like a wound in flesh speed healing rather than tile and drywall reorienting itself. However, it's possible to arrive here from Deerington without going through the white hall and that's by passing an empty lot in town. You could have sworn that lot had a house or a store the other day, but instead there's a dingy storage shed that draws you in with an intoxicating scent that wafts from a jagged hole in the side. No matter where you came here from, when you walk through, one or more other sleepers can walk through holes in the other walls at the same time and each hole will stitch up behind you.It's too late to turn back once you're in and you barely have time to realize the danger you're clearly in when you are struck from behind and knocked unconscious. No matter what your body is made of or what abilities you have, you are knocked out cold... and when you awaken you are chained in the center of the room to a rusy old cair. The other sleeper or sleepers you found yourself with in this place are in the same situation facing you and on the floor in between you is a pile of old rusted keys of varying shapes and made of all different kinds of metals. The only thing these keys seem to have in common is the look of sharpness on every edge, like if you picked them up too hastily you could slice open your hand and get a tetanus infection from the rust.
The next thing you might notice is the heavy breathing of another person nearby, and when you look you see a large man in a soiled button down, jacket and khakis. He looks like a pro wrestler that went to a court hearing that then got blown up and he was the only survivor. But more striking than his size and attire is the fact that in place of a human head is just a black smoky blur with what looks like hundreds of eyes poking through the darkness, and when he turns, his face is nothing but a gaping circular maw with rows and rows of jagged teeth that spin like a food processor. The man doesn't speak, the only sound that seems to come from that horrifying void that is his head is haunting and hard to describe. It gazes at its prisoners with its infinite eyes for a moment, washes blood from its hands in one of the sinks along the wall and then lumbers over to the only exit while sharpening a butcher's knife.
It is rather clear what his intentions are. But why leave a pile of keys and not kill and eat you now? Who cares what game he's playing, what test you're undergoing? Time to figure out how to get free and obviously the keys are important. The chairs can be moved, tilted over and pushed, but they are heavy and you'll have to work together to get the right leverage to start picking up keys and testing them on each other's locks which are placed by your hands bound behind your backs. Your hands are so tightly bound that you have to use the keys blindly on the other person's lock, and don't forget that those keys are sharp and hard to hold too. One of you will get free first, but then the haunting sound and the thump of his feet can be heard in the next room. Do you leave your companion to the monster or risk it and try the other keys?
Whatever your choice, the door to get out is locked and unbreakable, but there's a vent high above it that you can get through alone with great difficulty, but will be much easier and faster with the help of your fellow sleeper. The moment you are inside and moving through the vents, the hulking man with the void head will let out an ear shattering screech and chase you from below, the butcher knife and other stabbing objects will slice through the bottom of the vent and you'll have to dodge and weave until you see the light at the end. Kick the exit vent open and you'll crawl out onto grass outside any building in town.
Character Arrival
You can read how all characters arrive in Deerington here.There is not a collective "all these characters showed up at the exact same moment" occurrence in Deerington. Since characters fall asleep, die, or pass out at various times throughout all their worlds, it wouldn't make too much sense if they arrived in-game all at the exact same time. There should be some discrepancy between character arrival, whether by a couple minutes, hours, or even days up to a week.
The players are entirely in control of how/when they want to play their characters arriving in Deerington. For TDMs, you can play it like your character has just arrived and that can be maintained as your game canon, or you can wait until game events for that moment. Or you don't need to acknowledge it at all. The flexibility for character allows a bit more of an organic feel to the character arrival situation, so please play it to whatever feels right for you.
If you are interested in having an "arrival" introduction for one of your TDM prompts, you are more than welcome to explore that option.
OU, The Walls, because who doesn't like a double bubble
For a moment Sam thinks he's been grabbed by a monster or teleported away from his final dive at the last minute. It flashes through his head like slow motion pictures. The gate opening. The surge of Lucifer behind his eyes. The blinding sunlight off the car and that stupid army man in the door well. The blood on Dean's face-
The grip on him now is like a damn vice, as tight as the grip he'd had on his brother just before- when he was about to do something so completely unforgivable. His body but not him, he has to believe that. He has to. His body now that's full to the brim and burning with demon blood to contain and deliver the devil far and away. Forever.
Turning his fingers away from the yank, he snarls and jerks through the crumbling drywall and bloody paper and he sees... well, he sees his brother. Healed and hackled and looking feral in a way he hasn't seen since Dean got back from Hell.
That's how he looks. Like Hell.
Which is where Sam should be right now.
Oh. So this is the box after all, isn't it. He did it. So then where's Lucifer?]
Dean-
[Did we do it? Did we win? Why are you here and what happened?
Unless, the thought strikes him immediately, this isn't really Dean at all.]
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he can't do this, but he can't let go, either, and God knows he tries. He tries to untangle their fingers, fling this beast back to where it belongs, but something keeps their hands connected, keeps Dean pulling.
The noise that escapes his lips is strangled, frustrated, animalistic - he's braced against the wall, dragging Sam through the cracks and rubble. A grimace twists through the weariness on his face, teeth clenched so hard with the strain of it that something in the back of his head worries they may crack.
Sam comes through and he's able to let go, breathing heavily, eyes wild as he lays eyes on his brother, and immediately he's reaching inside his jacket for the colt, because he's gonna put a fucking bullet in your brain, Lucifer-- ]
Shut your mouth, you son of a bitch.
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This isn't Dean at all, this is just a vision. Or a demon. Or Lucifer himself playing games now that they're trapped here together in his prison for the rest of eternity.
Stop, hold on.
[But then, maybe more painfully,]
Do we have to do this?
[Or just shoot him, what does it matter. What will it bring, more pain? Like he hasn't experienced enough you're going to torture him with Dean and a bullet wound? What's the point. And, actually, the more he speaks the more that anger rises. The anger that's kept Sam Winchester fueled all his life. The anger that roars in his ears and sets his teeth on edge. There's no reasoning with Lucifer, he knows this.. He knows this and yet- he just can't help himself. Angry as he is, he's also exhausted.
Exhausted and knowing that this is only just the beginning.]
You're mad, I get it. But I'm not sorry and I'd do it again in a heartbeat so hurt me all you want but at least have the decency to show yourself and stop hiding behind my brother's face.
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[ He answers the question aggressively, angrily, not elaborating or pontificating about why. That's Lucifer's job - spinning bullshit bedtime stories and twisting minds, to manipulate and deceive. Dean's job is to get a bullet in his head or die trying and--
Well. Dean did die trying..and somehow, he's got another shot. He sure as hell isn't about to ask questions as to the how and why, but he damn sure won't miss now that he's got the opportunity again. He sacrificed his friends, his own damn life (not that that particular immolation was worth much, but still), everything for this moment, he can't let Lucifer stop him with pretty words and woven lies. He can't hesitate. He has to do this, even as Dean watches Sam's lips move as he speaks, his brothers voice coming out, spewing Lucifer's words. It's tainted, everything about Sam is rotten and stained now, from the way his hair falls in his face to the tips of his scuffed shoes. The fact he isn't wearing white doesn't deter Dean - it's just an illusion to mess with his mind, and he can't let his focus waiver. He can't falter.
The colt is half pulled out, the metal of the gun cold and solid in his hand when Lucifer says that.
Stop hiding behind my brother's face.
That doesn't make a lick of sense and for one brief, brief moment, Dean hesitates.
But it's Lucifer, and he's known to be deceptive, so Dean pushes back, shoves Sam away from him and holds the colt up and takes aim, pulling back the hammer. ]
I don't know what the hell you're talking about.
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It doesn't make any sense. At all.
No, no, he isn't gonna fall for it. Just like that- His confusion subsides to anger again. Anger and a touch of smug because yes, he really did beat The Devil at his own game. In a manner of speaking. In the only way that really matters.]
Cut the crap, Lucifer. I know it's you. I won. Your plan failed and I won.
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[ Dean's anger is mounting with every passing moment, as is his sheer confusion. The things coming out of Lucifer's mouth don't make any sense, and the only thing Dean can make heads or tails of is that maybe it's to stall.
But there's something that keeps him from pulling the trigger, that keeps him from putting a bullet in Lucifer's skull. Dean can't pinpoint it, but a feeling deep in that fractured, shattered psyche of his is telling him something about this is off.
He shakes his head. No. This is -- ridiculous. ]
What plan, I'm not Lucifer, you're Lucifer!
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Yeah right. So- So what, you really expect me to believe that? I took Lucifer-- you-- into the box. That's where this is! I've had enough of your lies. Get out of my brother and show yourself!
[Which is big talk from a guy with the colt trained on him but literally what has he got to lose. Nothing. He's lost everything, already and god damn if it comes to it, Sam is happy to go fist to fist. He feels like he could stand a chance, here. Like he could rip Lucifer apart. He's mad enough to try.]
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Dean straightens his aim from where it had lapsed, just a little, resting his finger on the trigger of the colt, and aims right for Sam's head. He has had enough - no more small talk, no more bullshit, no more confusion.
And yet.
He can't quite pull the trigger. Not yet. ]
Stop messing around, Lucifer - this isn't some 'he said, she said' BS. You're going down, now.
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I'm not Lucifer.
[Hope raises a thin thread that maybe, maybe... no.. no, there's no way. This is a trick. This is a trick, and he slams it back down inside himself as quick as it surfaced.]
You are- you! [A great sigh of exasperation. Sam flaps his arms a little but not enough to warrant an immediate execution.]
You think you're being funny but you're being really childish. Just admit that I won and it's over.
[Jerk, he mutters under his breath, losing what little patience he has left]
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He says it anyway, it just slips out, the argument spilling forth, the dam broken. ]
Well, I'm not Lucifer.
[ Dean knows he isn't, but if this isn't Lucifer...
What the hell, man. He rolls his eyes and makes a noise of frustration, and gestures with the colt in Sam's...general direction. ]
What, are we ten? What the hell is going on here?
cw brief suicidal ideation
Well he thought he'd be spending the rest of forever under Lucifer's thumb in agony. This isn't that. Yet.. Right?
Maybe Lucifer is just playing the long game. Wants some entertainment. Maybe this Dean is Sam's memory of Dean. All his anger and fury. All his brother's resentment and pain from betrayal wrapped in a feral killer and wrapped again in a phantom from Sam's own heart.
The Dean that Sam deserves.
So Sam, very slowly, raises his hands in surrender.]
I don't know. It's me, Dean.
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It's me, Dean.
No. This is another trick, isn't it? One of Lucifer's deceptions, one of his twisted mind games. It has to be. He swallows thickly, forcing the lump back down and steeling his heart. He can't...he can't let himself get emotional. Sam is gone, Sam didn't make it.
...Did he?
He decides to pull a trick of his own, pulling from his brief experience with his past self. ]
Alright. You say you're Sam - tell me something that only the two of us would know.
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Trick question. If I were Lucifer I'd have access to all of Sam's memories. And you know that because you're standing right there in front of me.
[It's a growl. Sam isn't armed except for the blood in his veins but he doesn't think that will do anything against Lucifer. Not now. Not like this.]
Prove to me you're Dean.
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You're smart, he'll give you that. It was a trick question.
Dean wets his lips, running his tongue idly over his teeth as he keeps the distance between them, rubbing his brow with calloused fingertips. An ache is developing, sharp and sudden. ]
You're afraid of clowns 'cause I left you at Plucky Pennywhistle's Magic Menagerie when you were a kid. It was funny.
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Okay, um. Well, you're afraid of flying for literally no good reason.
[Since we're flaying open out stupid irrational fears over here thanks asshole. But if we're talking details here's something else.]
And your necklace? Cas borrowed it, do you remember why?
[But, he reminds himself, none of this matters. If they're all operating on the information in Sam's memories then of course Dean would know.]
Because he said it burns how in God's presence. Try this, tell me something I don't know. Because I'm pretty sure what's going on here and nothing either of us say will matter because you aren't real. Either you're Lucifer or he made you out of my memories to screw with me and I've had it, man. I'm done!
You know what, screw this, I'm leaving.
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What the hell, what the HELL. What even is this conversation?
Admittedly, Dean hasn't had many conversations with Lucifer, but he does know that Lucifer doesn't...pitch hissy fits like this. That is not something that the actual Devil does.
It is, however, something that Sam Winchester does, and that...
That just breaks something inside of him; one of the last threads he has holding his shit together frays and snaps, leaving only one or two left to tether him to some semblance of fucking sanity. Dean has been riding a razors edge for years, barely sane, morphing himself into something cold, ruthless, and cunning in order to stay even...remotely functional.
But this...this is just...the final straw that breaks his heart.
He grip on the colt loosens, and he drops his arm, suddenly looking and feeling, deep in his bones, about a hundred years old. Weariness settles in, and that little sliver of hope that he's buried for so long slips through without permission.
Dean opens his mouth, works his jaw, eyes bright, too shiny in the dim light of the shithole cabin he woke up in. It's dark outside, moonlight shining through the hole in the roof, splashing gently over dusty and broken furniture, over his expression, over the weariness and hurt and pain and exhaustion.
God, he is so tired.
His voice is small, and the single word he speaks cracks midway through-- ]
...Sammy...?
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[It stops him dead, half turned to leave, ignoring the gun, the thunder in his blood, the seething fury.
You're weak, Sam Winchester. You're weak and you always will be.
He should ignore Dean all together. Ignore that little noise, that fragile, broken note in his name.
But he can't. He can't and half the fight drops out of his sails because yes. It's him. Sam turns back and tips head just barely, expression pained. This vision of his brother is a glass tank. Brutal and ruthless, but he's also fragile and transparent. They don't have to be together long for Sam to tell there's something very, very wrong.]
Yeah, that's what I'm trying to tell you.
[Obviously it's him. Obviously, who the hell else- god this is the worst game. Actually the worst, because he's playing right into it. Wherever Lucifer is he must be giddy with excitement.
But you know what? Double screw it. Why go through all this illusion if Sam's memory of Dean has been conjured to torture him. He'd be doing it by now, wouldn't he?
Lucifer, though... Lucifer has patience. He can play the long game. And yet-]
I'm not Lucifer, it's me.
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[ He's a little dazed, the realization dawning on him, enveloping him, his brain furiously working to catch up with the situation, with Sam walking away and stopping, saying it's me, Dean, because it is, it is Sam, it's him and it isn't Lucifer and he doesn't...doesn't understand how or why, unless--
unless.
Unless it's Zachariah shitting all over him again, throwing him where he doesn't belong, again, wrecking his whole damn life just to prove a damn point that Dean either doesn't listen to, or learn from. ]
Wait a minute. What year are you from?
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And standing here like this, speaking like this, on the back foot where nothing makes sense and everything hurts- for a moment... just a moment... it's like he isn't in Hell. Like they're alive and back home and this is just some horrible, awful case that's swallowed them whole.
Anger and suspicion are still vibrating up Sam's spine but his fists have uncurled. He's standing up straighter. He looks clean (he isn't), and clear (mostly), and strong (very).
What year.. What do you mean what year? He thinks, the question loud in his expression before his voice ever follows.]
2010.. Spring. Don't you remember?
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He takes a step back and bumps into a chair, broken and dusty, the cabin he arrived in is really, truly abandoned and condemned. The whole thing could cave in on his head at any minute and truthfully, he may very well welcome it.
Dean frowns, and gives a quick shake of his head. ]
No. I wasn't with you. Didn't he tell you...? [ His voice trails off, because it's clear his past self didn't mention this particular voyage. He isn't surprised, it's not something Sam probably wanted or needed to hear. Maybe he doesn't now, but Dean figures he should know.
He gropes behind him, takes hold of the chair and swings it around backwards to sit. ]
I'm from 2014. Told Michael no, and things got...pretty damn bad, Sam. I'm not gonna lie.
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[What in the Dickensian shit are you talking about. Sam watches his brother move and sit on a chair that looks like it may crumble at any moment. It's only then that he notices the state of decay all around them. Crumbled and rotten.
Just like you, Sammy, he hears in the back of his head. In Lucifer's voice. In Dean's. In his own.
Shaking it from his head, he takes a breath.]
It doesn't matter.
Dean, you never had to say yes. Michael took Adam instead. Our brother? But It's okay. It's okay, we won. I took Lucifer to the pit, that's- that's what this is. That's where we are.
[He knows with complete certainty that this is Hell. This is his forever.]
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[ He runs a hand through his hair, weary, tired. He aches, head to toe, in and out. This is so...convoluted and fucked up. It's making his head spin. Barely anything makes sense. ]
I said no to Michael, and you...you said yes, to Lucifer. The Croatoan virus was released - that's their endgame. That's how they're gonna wipe us out. You remember that?
[ He knows you will. You were immune, after all. ]
We aren't in the pit. I know the pit. This ain't it. [ Dean pulls a face, looking up at Sam, brow furrowed. ] And -- dude, Adam's dead, did you get hit over the head?
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The pendulum swings back the other way and his expression changes to anger. You're not Lucifer. You're Michael, aren't you.
Then doubt sets back in and he wonders.. God there's too much. there's too much how is he supposed to know?!
Sam looks for another chair but doesn't see one and shifts his weight onto his front foot to take a small step forward. Play the game, Sam. Play the game.]
Dean...
[Small, hesitant, so many emotions in one small word as he tries to stack a explanation in his throat.]
Michael raised him. When you wouldn't say yes he found another way. I went to fight Lucifer and-
[No, back up.]
We got the horsemen's rings. All of them. We opened Lucifer's cage and I took him and Michael in with me.
[A beat, chest welling with such explosive anger he could detonate but it implodes in on itself and the burn swells before crashing into a depth of finality he's never dared to feel before.]
.. and then I woke up here. This is it, man. This is the end.
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How could Michael have found another way for his past self, but not for him? It's clear that's where this Sam is from - the same time as his mini me, and something rolls in his stomach, another realization that is as heartbreaking as his own reality.
Sam goes to hell. Sam is convinced that's where he is, and that-- ]
No. [ A word that's honestly applicable to several things that Sam just said. He shakes his head, fists clenching. His head throbs, and the room tilts around him, reality tipping on its axis before settling as Dean pushes himself back to standing, wagging a finger in Sam's direction. ]
No.
[ That's bullshit, that's bullshit, all of it, and Dean can feel his rage threatening to burst. Oh, he's gonna kill his past self if he ever sees him again. How could you let Sammy go to hell, when you could have done the right thing, when you could have saved him, and just said yes. It's always 'find another way', because God knows Dean wouldn't ever sacrifice himself for anyone other than his brother.
It's always Sammy who pays the price for Dean's recklessness, isn't it. ]
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But this is the end of it. It's the end because Sam made it the end. And if they know what's good for them (they don't, obviously) they'll leave it at that.
Somewhere out there Dean is free. Dean went back to Lisa because Sam forced him to promise he would. Because Sam Made him swear not to try to save him this time.
His dying wish.
And Dean has no choice but to obey. This one small sacrifice to save the world. Who is he in the grand scheme of things. Why is he more important that every life on Earth? How could he be arrogant enough to even consider it.
Sam chews the inside of his bottom lip, scolded like a dog but holds his ground. It's too late. It is what it is. This phantom Dean knows that and yet he acts like this is all new.
Man, Lucifer is really having fun with this one. Or is is Michael now. Or something else. His head is starting to ache.]
I'm sorry, man. It's done. It was this.. or the apocalypse. What was I supposed to do?
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