gameofmana | i've been up and down in prison

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i've been up and down in prison

Who: Dean Winchester & YOUUU
What: waking up at Home and being confused out of his mind
Where: Home!
When: morning sometime
Other: talk of Hell & not overly graphic mentions of torture. also, prose or brackets are welcome!

Dean doesn't have a clue as to where he is. Granted, he doesn't have a clue as to what's going on altogether, but that would be said no matter where it was he was waking up. Because the thing is, he isn't supposed to be here. A thing that likely everyone said upon waking up here, but Dean isn't supposed to be anywhere but Hell. It's a thing he can't comprehend as he wakes up with a start and looks around to find himself not on the rack. The lack of shrill screams in the distance, the dank nonexistent smells wrecking havoc through his brain, making it impossible to do anything but shudder with anticipation of what tool was going to be used today to pry body parts from his soul, over and over and over--

Giving his head a shake, the place he is now is so opposite of what he's endure for the past years that it's nearly startling. It's beyond startling actually, and Dean doesn't know what to do about it when all he can think is he doesn't deserve it. This place is practically happy and somehow blossoms with an easiness that he can't comprehend, his stomach twisting with confusion and ultimately a sheer disorientation that he's struggling his way through. He hardly knows how to move let alone how to think his way through this and he tries to find his voice to shout for the existence of anyone else here. But it clams up in his throat, refusing to puff out from between his lips and instead makes him want to curl up that much more. It's terrifying and soft all at once and he's rejecting it aggressively, trying to butt himself up against the nearest wall and hide, wondering if this is a new breed of torture. Let him see something happy for two seconds before he's dragged back to the reality that is Hell, brutally laughed in the face by Alistair before the torture continues. A psychological thing, maybe.

He doesn't know.

But eventually, he begins to move.

Slowly, he pushes himself out of the bed, taking one cautious step at at time, moving forward and ducking around corners, peering around the edges of the spacious room and trying to adjust to everything he's seeing. Which unto itself is still just weird - if anything, he should've woken up in a dank motel room. His grave maybe. And some part of his mind wonders if he's been shot up to Heaven finally, in some sort of weird Brazil-esque filing error, but that's just ridiculous.

He's supposed to be in Hell. So what the fuck is going on.

Continuing to move, Dean soon finds himself on the stairway leading downwards, though he glances up for a moment and stares, before deciding that down is best way for now. It isn't as if any of this is truly ominous apart from the fact that he doesn't know why he's here altogether but he has to keep moving, try to figure out what's going on, understand this as best as he can before he finds himself getting tugged straight back to the one place he's actually supposed to be.

"The fuck is this-"

Rough words are finally pulled from his throat, scratchy and hard and he steps even further down, slow going as he tries to take it all in. He just wants to know where he is and why, maybe even find someone here. Or maybe he just wants to be alone for a minute, relish in the lack of pain and death fleeing across his vision, the wholeness of his body and the feeling of his limbs stretching out. It's all odd sensations after too long on the rack, at the hands of demons, souls at the hands of him, and he grit his teeth for a moment, squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to think before he keeps going, pushing himself forward, and finally gives a shout, sounding distant to his own ears.

"-- Anyone here?"

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Archery is a lot different than using a gun, Sam has found. So he practices with his bow every day, out in the wilds between Home and Domina, reusing his arrows so he's not letting any go to waste. He's gotten the hang of it enough to go hunting successfully, taking out small monsters and gathering up money or items dropped. Meat to cook, hide and claws and eyes and everything that could possibly be used or serve some sort of purpose.

He often takes Avandrel with him to go hunting, her being a hunter herself. She's got her own weapons, experience, and for some reason a want to make sure Sam stays safe. Wants to watch his back. He thinks it probably has something to do with him being maybe the first human ever to actually be polite and civil with the elf, even in the face of her initial wariness. He's not real sure, and he hasn't really told her (or anyone else) that much about himself. His skills, and his reason for those skills in the case of Avandrel and Tsukishima, but that's about it. Tsukishima also knows Sam's father was military.

It's been, what, a month since he'd woken up here? And he still hasn't mentioned Dean or the last thing Sam remembers to anyone. (Well he had shown the sketch he'd done up of Dean's face to a couple people in Domina, just to find out if they'd seen him, but beyond that...)

Even though the memory of what he's still convinced must have been his death often wakes him up at night, startles him awake. At this point his seventeen-year-old roommate seems to have gotten used to it. Maybe he's used to nightmares himself, who knows? Riku doesn't share a lot, just as Sam doesn't share a lot.

He's still holding out hope that his brother will show up, but at the same time the thought worries him because this could still potentially be some sort of afterlife. And if Sam's dead, Dean needs to go on living. He needs to find that yellow-eyed bastard demon and take him out. For Mom. For Jess. For Dad. For good.

Hope doesn't prepare him for the sight of Dean or the sound of his voice on the stairwell as Sam's coming back from practicing with the bow. He drops the thing, drops the arrows, and he feels his heart jump to his throat. No, he wasn't prepared for this in the slightest, seeing Dean's face again, and he has to look up to do so, because Sam's on lower steps and Dean is higher up, and as long as it's been since he's seen his brother, it's been even longer since he's had to look up in order to do it.

He hasn't so much missed Dean's voice because he hears it in his nightmares constantly, yelling his name, trying to reassure him that he's okay, that everything's okay, they'll fix him up and it's not even that bad-- Scratch that, yeah, he's still missed his voice, and just about everything else about him. Even the annoying things. Because he's his big brother.

And now... he's here.

Is it really him? Is it really Dean? Short and bossy, annoying, protective, untidy, unhealthy-food-loving, mullet-rock-listening, serial-flirter Dean?

"Dean?"

Oh. Well. Lookit that.

Dean's face just about descends into something that's akin to desperation at the sudden appearance of his little brother, just seemingly there. It's not so much a smack to the face as it is a punch to the gut, direct and abundantly more painful than he knows what to do with, the shock of it so sudden and severe he almost wants to drop then and there. It's not a bad thing, not even a little bit, but it feels like forever since he's seen him, since he even knew what to do with seeing him, and the relief of it is like some kind of twisted up dam breaking inside of himself. Dean wants to do nothing more than clamor himself closer and tell himself it's okay, that they're both okay, it's fine, don't do this, don't react, don't feel.

Because not feeling is so much easier than anything else and Dean's gotten good at it down in Hell. Bracing himself against the constant terrors, Dean's had a lot of practice building himself up and numbing himself out, feeling nothing while he was meant to be feeling everything. There's some strange thing he's done to himself, turned inside out in an effort to keep from breaking every single day, and just like now in the face of his little brother who looks so... unsurprisingly surprised to see him, all Dean wants to do is be the brave big brother he always is. The one who knows what he's doing and can face the world with ease and bravado, keep Sam tucked safely into his shadow and protect him against the world.

Even though he proved to do a pretty piss poor job of that.

"Hey, Sammy."

It's the first thing he manages, like it's just that easy to speak up, as if it hasn't been months in between the last time he saw Sam and now, and just the words alone make him feel like he's splintering in a million different directions. He keeps trying to scoop himself back up and the smile he gives is fractured at best, it's a goddamn lie and it's stupid and he tells himself for the hundredth time that if he doesn't buck up that Sam's gonna ask him some stupid question about Hell. Mostly because he can't tell the difference between Sam's shock to see him at all, and Sam's potential shock to see that he's back from Hell. Dean doesn't know it yet, doesn't know that they're split from time and reality and just keeps guessing that Sam's going to out with the questions and the 'are you okay's' and 'what was it like' in two seconds and he can't do it yet.

He can't.

And so he takes a step downwards, bracing himself for the onslaught and gritting his teeth against it, willing himself to stand taller and straighter and without bending over with the weight of his own failures. Because he didn't just fuck up down there, he fucked up big time, and there's nothing he can do to take any of that back. Sam'll find out just by looking at him that he broke and Dean's waiting for it, the wash of guilt to run over him like a wave.

But another step he goes, heading down towards Sam like it's supposed to be easy.

"You got any idea what's goin' on here, because I think I missed out on the visitor's guide."

Sammy. Yeah, it's been a while since he's heard that outside of his nightmares. It's incredibly more comforting in this context.

Dean's expression, the tone of his voice, and his way of immediately trying to put on his game face, slip into his "brave and unbreakable" persona when he realizes this is his little brother, all makes perfect sense to Sam. For him, the last time they saw each other, Sam had died in his arms. He can only imagine how awful that must have been for him. Isn't surprised in the slightest that Dean would immediately try to hide, at least in front of Sam, just how awful it had been for him. And he has a million and one questions for his brother, absolutely. Just not the ones that Dean is expecting. The word "Hell" doesn't even enter into the equation.

The questions can come later anyway. Because once Dean makes a motion to move forward, Sam's unexpected paralysis at seeing him finally breaks, and he's rushing forward. He wraps his brother in a hug there on the stairs, not asking for permission or even giving warning of an impending mushy moment or telling him to suck it up and deal with it, Dean, if you make a joke about this I'm pushing you down the stairs. It would be an empty threat anyway, of course, it always is. Lifelong brother threats of 'if you do that one more time, I'm gonna kill you.' But Sam doesn't feel like making one now because it would hit too close to heart. They might both be dead already. And yet that prospect doesn't bother him as much as it should, now that they're both here.

Wondering about Dean constantly had been like a black cloud following him wherever he went. There was not a single thing in this fantasy paradise of a world that he could truly enjoy when he hadn't known for sure what this all meant for Dean, Sam showing up here, having in all likelihood died.

He's aware that Dean has asked him a question, that he's just as confused as Sam had been upon waking up here. Which also makes complete sense, but leaves him wondering just how Dean had died to end up here. If he did die. If that's what this place was about. Truthfully none of the others he had talked to about their last moments before arriving had seemed to indicate that any of them had died.

Suddenly he feels inadequate for not having much in the way of answers for Dean. He's been here a month and he still doesn't know anything about why or how he got here. Or who brought him here. It's terrible hunting work, Dean has a right to be disappointed in him when he finds out. Which will be any moment, because at some point the hugging will have to stop and Sam will have to answer.

Edited 2016-09-16 23:15 (UTC)

Dean knows well enough that Sam can see through the farce. He's had too many years of training, perfecting the art of seeing through his fake grins and play acting not to know when Dean's trying his hardest not to be all the things he's feeling. And he's gotten pretty damn good at it over the years, but right now he's frayed and everything's riding just beneath the surface. On edge and brittle enough that he's not quick enough to get there before Sam can see too much and Dean just wants to be the kind of tough that means he doesn't have to feel any of it. That it doesn't even have to be a thing that upsets him, just years he can brush aside as if they were never there to begin with. Because he can do that, right? He can pretend just that well, make them all go away so he doesn't have to endure what he keeps telling himself didn't hurt as bad as it did.

Or Sam can slam him into a hug that near knocks him to the ground, that works too.

Dean makes a soft 'oof' of breath as Sam collides into his arms, not even remotely prepared to be giving out hugs like this. But Sam is just there and Dean just gives, not because he has to but because he wants to. Even if hugs are an exceptionally foreign thing right now and he feels off kilter, like he doesn't know how to respond the right way. He spent years causing far too many souls far too much pain and he's not even sure he deserves this, a thing that nearly makes him shrink inside, his shoulders curling inward against it, almost trying to repel backwards. But Sam deserves a hug- he can manage a hug, he can do this. It's not as if it's an impossible thing, it's just a fucking hug, and Dean finally squeezes back, pulls Sam in close and claps a hand to his back, hard and resounding, trying to offer what comfort he can give.

In all honesty, he's not really clear on how long he's even been gone. He knows how long he was there, oh he knows, but after that everything gets a little murky. And really, the only thing he can assume is that Sam just showed up here as well, that they met in the same place at the same time in the only way that they can do. It's the only thing that makes sense and yet still doesn't because why would they be here in the first place?

Especially when whatever dragged him out of Hell, had no reason to go about shoving Sam into another life he wasn't supposed to lead. Sam should be back home, living the life Dean tried so hard to give back to him. Unless Sam was the one that did this in an attempt to bring him back- Dean doesn't know, and he wants answers more than he knows how to say them, instead just keeping his chin tight against Sam's shoulder like the hug's some kind of liferaft in the middle of the sea.

But eventually he's still gotta pull back, try to save himself some face and set his jaw like a man who knows what he's doing. Even though he hasn't got a clue, wouldn't know where to start even if someone gave him the directions.

"You got something to do with this?"

It's the first thing he can truly think to ask and it's not an accusation, nor does it sound like one. He was the one who sold his soul after all, he can't exactly point fingers at trying to save Sam from peril, and he tips his head a bit, trying to look Sam in the face like he can read the hidden messages behind whatever answers he has to give.

Sam feels decidedly settled once the hug ends, comforted if only for a moment. Dean's still asking questions. Which is fine, Sam will give him whatever answers he has, except what he asks doesn't make sense. Does he mean did he bring Dean here? How could he have when he's pretty sure he's supposed to be dead. And Dean should know that. He'd been right there when the knife had slid into Sam's back.

"How would I have...?" He trails off, his confusion clear in the slant of his eyebrows, concerned frown on his lips. "Uh. Let's get off of the stairs first. There's some empty rooms on the top floor, we can talk there." Mostly because he doesn't want anyone else to know about his 'we might all be dead' theory, and standing and talking here meant anyone in the tree could overhear them if they wished. It would be safe to explain to Dean behind a closed door though, and then maybe his brother could tell him how he died. There was a conversation to look forward to. "Then I can show you around."

He turns to pick up his bow and the quiver of arrows he'd dropped on the lower stairs, slinging the latter across his back. He gives a nod to Dean, gestures upward with the bow in his hand for his brother to start climbing back up the way he'd been coming down.

"Should be one flight up. I'm staying right now in the room I woke up in a few weeks ago, on this floor, but I've got a roommate. Just the guy who also woke up there. I'll move my stuff out of there later though and we can choose an empty room to bunk in."

There's no question in there, just assumed. Like they never question whether to get one room or two at the motels. Sure two would cost more, but it was also about watching each other's backs and staying together. About being family. And in a way probably also just about it being the way they'd grown up.

If Sam looks confused then Dean looks just as, and his head tips a bit, as if he's not sure where Sam is going with this. Even more so when the topic veers dramatically to them moving somewhere else, though his expression clears quickly enough, figuring that Sam's on target with that one. Though it implies that there are people around here that might be inclined to listen to them speaking, and that Sam knows there are people around here that might be inclined to listen to them speak.

Which could possibly mean a whole bunch of other things but Dean hasn't gotten there yet, can't wrap his mind around it - Sam can show him around? How long had he been here anyway, Dean must have assumed wrong about them waking up at the exact same time.

Apparently Sam's got more than enough time on him if he knows his way around and... has a bow and arrow to boot. What the fuck.

"What are you, Robin Hood now?"

Just because he doesn't have a clue what's going on doesn't mean he can't give the occasional jibe, looking utterly baffled as he finally turns to start heading up the stairs. All Dean knows is... well, absolutely nothing and Sam's acting like it's no big deal like this is nothing, and Dean can't wrap his head around it because now Sam's saying he's been staying in a room which means he's been here even longer and dammit, Dean's so out of his league here with his cluelessness that he can't stand it.

He hates when he doesn't know what's going on, when he feels like he's been left out of the loop. It doesn't help that he's already disoriented, confused and nervous and bent out of shape in five ways to Sunday and he grimaces a bit as he makes his way up to the first floor, his words finally bubbling over into a frustrated question.

"Dammit, Sam- how long have you even been here?"

Oh. Right. He was supposed to be getting to the room first. He swears again under his breath and marches up the stairs, now two at a time, trying to get to the room for the dam breaks inside his mind that just makes everything rush out before he can even think to stop it.

Honestly, Sam should have expected that comment, and there's a short derisive snort of laughter in response. Not quite Robin Hood. Unless one were to count the monsters he took down as "the rich" and everyone at Home "the poor." Then, yeah, pretty much.

"Maybe."

Better than being the leader of Hell's army or whatever it was exactly that the Yellow-Eyed Demon had wanted from him. Who even knows if he was telling the truth. Demons weren't exactly well known for that, or for revealing their plans. At least not the ones Sam's met so far.

Dean's agitation at not having answers is quite clear, and it annoys Sam a little because, seriously? He can't wait forty seconds? Maybe it's more defensiveness than annoyance. He still feels guilty he doesn't actually have all the answers. He has the one to that question, though. He answers, forging ahead as Dean starts taking the stairs like he's a big second grader or something, two at a time. Sam wants to tell him to slow down and be careful, but he grabs for different words.

"A few weeks. I said that already. Did you wake up in one of the rooms? Because that's how it happened when I arrived. Not even a wound on me or a sore back."

He's getting ahead of himself. But it's just as well, they're on the right floor now thanks to Dean's rush to get here.

"Check that room," he says, pointing. The majority of them should be empty, so odds are it will be and they can go in.

It's not that Sam actively mistrusts anyone here. It's more that the place is filled with teenagers he feels he needs to keep any harmful or potentially traumatic information from. Telling them they died probably falls into that category. Although whether that's true or not isn't a certainty yet. Still probably better for them to have as stress-free of a time as they can here. Sam's sort of made that his mission, partly just to have something to focus on so his thoughts don't run wild or his nightmares turn into day ones.

SLAMS INTO THIS

YES GOOD

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hope this is alright, figured you might be getting tired of rehashing bewildered Dean scenes aha

AHH YAY no it's great!! i 100% approve

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