Dude, I'm batman

Alright, listen up. Creepy ass statue things, don't look them in the eye and don't look away from them. Pair up or stay in groups whatever makes you happy. Don't fall asleep. Get some friggin' coffee. Don't worry about shooting them because you're just gonna waste ammo. Give me or the Police station a call. We'll come baby sit you or take you back to the police station so you can wait with everyone else.

[Dean will be prowling around the City, checking on people, knocking on doors and making sure everyone is safe. Feel free to stop him or run into him anywhere you want, just put the setting in the subject line.]

[Winchester Clan--includes Jess]

Mom, Sammy, Jess, you guys okay?

Cas, I'm figuring you don't have to blink so wanna head over to Mom's house and stare at things?

[Dean has got a flashlight duct taped to a sawed off shotgun so that he can hold it the right way and still see. There's an army duffel bag thrown over one shoulder and pushed across his back so that it's out of the way. He's definitely creeping through a house that is definitely not his or Mary's. It's Gothic, falling down, dusty, covered in cobwebs and clearly abandoned. Slices of the rooms and hallways he's walking through are revealed in splashes of yellow light from the flashlight-shotgun combo he's rigged.

He stops in one of the larger rooms, sets down the duffel bag, keeping the shotgun pointed in a general direction that's neither his feet nor the ceiling while he rummages in the bag. There's a flash of movement, the device is jiggled and it falls out of his pocket to roll across the floor. There's a ghost rushing at Dean with a scream. It slashes out at him, retreats and then comes in again. Dean fires the shotgun directly at the apparition and it disappears.]

Thanks for not makin' me find the EMF detector.

[He gets a bag of rock salt out and starts salting some doorways and windows when he's done, he picks up the bag, slings it over his shoulder and then grabs the device. He shoves that in his pocket and continues on his way.]

[Anyone running around town might see Dean. He's trying to take care of the populated areas, rescue people as necessary and disable or kill some of the harpies when he can. He's got a bandage wrapped around one forearm where a harpie dug her claws in and one of his shoulders looks a bit worse for the wear. He's got a shot gun and yes he's indulging in the occasional taunting of the harpies. Witty conversation isn't really his thing but he's awfully good at pissing people off. Harpies are, apparently, no different.]

[Voice]

Man these are some fugly chicks. [the blast of the shotgun sounds] Anyone need some help getting to a safe house, lemme know.

[Dean is mid fight and he's got a grin on his face. It's clear he's taken some of his own beatings today. He's got a knife in one hand and he's keeping his distance, lighter on his feet than most people would give him credit for. He waits, circling and watching before he darts in with the knife, dipping low to slice through the connecting tissue of the man's knee. The man stumbles, readjusting his weight and lunches at Dean, grabbing him by the hem of the plaid button down Dean is wearing open over his tee shirt. They grapple for a little while, the man leaning on Dean more than anything. He does get an elbow to the face before Dean pushes the guy off then drops back, giving him a chance to attempt to recover his balance. He's still grinning, hunched over in a defensive position before he lashes out again, nicking the man's main artery. The blood spurts out of his neck as he comes at Dean again, throwing an off balanced punch that makes Dean stumble and lands the man on the ground. He's losing blood fast as Dean leans over and wipes his knife on the guy's shirt. He pats the guy on the chest, dodging to avoid an exhausted, meaty, flailing fist then stands up and walks away.]

Dean Winchester. Bad ass since 1979

Your nightmare might be complex. It might involve a dozen different kinds of monsters. It might involve harm and murder and terror. Dean's dreams have always been simple-always straight forward. He has one job-take care of Sammy-and he fails. Sometimes Sam dies, a knife in his back. Sometimes he gives in to Ruby. Sometimes it's Gordon. Sometimes it's a reaper or a spirit or a demon or a thousand other things they hunt. Today that failure takes the shape of Lucifer in a suit of blinding white.

"I suppose I should thank you, Dean. But if you don't mind, I'd like to find my daughter now."

Grief and horror are almost overwhelming. His mind scrambles to make this right and desperation rushes over him because he knows that there is nothing that will ever make this right.

"Ruby? The bitch we kill back home? Man, I know you're supposed to be proud of your kids no matter what they do but I'm gonna jump out on a limb here and say you gotta be so damn disappointed." His smirk turns to a growl. "Now give me back Sammy or I swear to God I will call Michael down, let him jump in with a few conditions and we'll see how that battle royale goes."

Sam's answer is laughter and a smile that couldn't be more innocent if he tried. "Dean. Dean." He's shaking his head and giving Dean that smile that makes Dean sick because it's so very Sam and yet nothing left of him at all. "You never understood. You never got it. You're too human. Or at least you pretend. We both know what went on in that pit and I think it's time you got in touch with the real you."

He lays a hand on Dean's shoulder, fingers squeezing hard enough to bruise, hard enough to keep Dean from getting away. Dean can feel everything inside of him burning away, bleeding out and being replaced by something darker, by something that was only beginning to be hinted at during his stay in Hell. Dean fights. He screams. He curses and he yells all while Lucifer smiles and holds him right where he wants him; like a bug pinned down. Then he's quiet, still and Lucifer is gone.

When Dean looks up at you, the grin is the same, twisted just enough to be a bit more wolfish, a bit more predatory. In fact his entire stance screams predatory and hunter. It's all Dean. It's all behavior he has and will exhibit but Dean's not home. His eyes are pitch black and you...well you're in for a treat.

There's a cross shaped table in the center of the room. There are implements of torture on another table. Have a seat. Let him get you a drink. We're going to have fun.



[ooc: This is a continuation of Sam's nightmare here. Each thread will be treated as individual iterations of the dream. If there's something particular you'd like to try, email me or IM me. I'm open for anything. It is possible some replies will come from Sam as well.]

Everyone here bitches about this place. [He does a mocking, high pitched voice for this next part] Oh no. I got cursed. I think I'm in Hell. [And then his voice returns to typical broody Dean//Batman voice]

( Cut for possible squick talk about torture )

[Another pause]

Also, I think I've got...actual feelings for Anna. Like...bullshit hurts when they toss you out on your ass feelings.

Okay. Maybe this place is only four star.

[ooc: Dean is afflicted by the elephant in the corner curse. All he wants to talk about is Hell and liking Anna]

Equivalence is bullshit. If you believe anything is equal, anything is balanced then you've lived a friggin' sheltered apple pie life and that's fine. I've spent my entire life trying to make sure that Sam someone got to live an apple pie life but the truth is there's no such thing. We're all fucked in the end.


Christ I need some coffee.