Someone's in trouble somewhere tonight~
Who: "Philip", Daniel & Dean Winchester & [OPEN]**
Where: ~The Mansion~, but mainly Daniel's room & Dean's room
When: Starting Wednesday afternoon
Rating: R/NC-17 for Return of Clarence [specifically violence, torture, cannibalism and very impolite language]
Summary: The mind you have dialed is currently unavailable. PleaseRUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!
( Read more... )
Where: ~The Mansion~, but mainly Daniel's room & Dean's room
When: Starting Wednesday afternoon
Rating: R/NC-17 for Return of Clarence [specifically violence, torture, cannibalism and very impolite language]
Summary: The mind you have dialed is currently unavailable. PleaseRUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!
( Read more... )
It should be duly noted that Dean has very few friends. Even fewer close friends, and despite the loner lifestyle, not hearing from certain individuals after extended periods of time doesn't really sit well with him.
It makes him nervous.
Dean hasn't talked to Philip since Philip changed rooms. After assuming (Correctly) the cause of this sudden emigration, Dean decided to give Phil a little space from whatever traumatic things he had witnessed; things which Dean hopes to never, ever see, and he'd gladly break another mirror's nose to prevent seeing them. It's been more than a few days, though. That's a justifiable ( ... )
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When he discovers the message he smiles lopsidedly. Plays it again. Grins wide and wider until he can't hold back the maniacal chuckle that would sound so wrong to anyone who'd hear it in Philip's voice.
"Buddy," he hums and fetches an empty syringe from the closet. "I'll give you more than just a ring."
Clarence sits down on the bed and jabs the needle into his arm, proper procedure be damned. He hisses a little, not yet quite used to being able to feel rather than know when Philip's body is in pain.
He draws blood until the syringe is filled, then caps it, puts it down on the bedside table (out of view) and reaches for the communicator instead.
And now for that call.
"Dean? Dean, it's-- It's me, Philip. Are-- Are you there?"
He bites his tongue to hide the smug grin he feels rising on his face. Nailed the impression.
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"Geez, Phil, am I glad to see you."
He's relieved, yes, but not completely satisfied.
"Thought you'd gone off and kicked the bucket. Where the Hell've you been the past few days, man? What's goin' on?"
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He looks away. Pauses.
"I just had to- wanted to be alone for... a bit."
Go right ahead, give him that Oscar now, baby!
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Assuming that the reason behind the aversion was that mirror-problem that occurred in Phil's old room, this make sense.
"We all got times like that, dude," he shrugs. "You feelin' up to high society again?"
Translation: Are we cool to hang out?
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"Yeah, I--"
Hmm, no. Just a little more smile. Just-- stopstop, that's the one! Wouldn't want to be pushing it.
"I'd like that."
Wouldn't want to get anywhere near the grin he's still forcing back.
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Dean tilts his head to one side, considering Philip before nodding slowly. Whatever's happened to the poor guy must've shaken him up a helluva lot.
"Sweet," he replies, disappearing from the frame for a moment to sweep all the checkers pieces back into a box, folding up the board. "I'll, uh...I mean, I guess you can come up here, if you want. Cas is out," he adds quickly, understanding Phil's desire to stay away from the angel.
"Probably won't be back for a while. We can open a few beers, or somethin'."
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And he's still recovering from it too, cowering somewhere in the back of Clarence's mind, too weak to even protest the imminent breach of their terms.
Ah, but that's hardly important for the situation at hand, is it?
"I'll bring the beers," Clarence says with a weak smile, aiming to offer a gesture of reconciliation after Philip's... after his long and unexcused absence.
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"Yeah, sure, I'll leave the door open," he checks his watch briefly, "...for...whenever you get here. It ain't like I'm doin' anything."
He'll just tidy up a little before Philip arrives. Boring days are usually spent cleaning his guns.
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One last smile. He just has to, now that he's got the right amount down so nicely.
And then the device is turned off and the facade is dropped and Clarence laughs and laughs and--
Ah, but this is where he didn't properly turn off the device and Dean catches him in the act, is it?
No, of course it's not!
The communicator is off and Clarence's plan is on. Too easy. All too easy...
He arrives at Dean's door not much later, sixpack in hand; cool, refreshing and spiked with a little something extra.
Strolling through the door he--
He realises he should have knocked. Philip would have knocked. He almost snorts.
Right. Never mind, he'll just put a little more awkward into the rest of the act, shoulders slouching a little as he looks around for Dean.
"Dean? Hey, it's me."
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He cleans up.
The weapons go back in the duffel on the kitchen table, the bed is made (shoddily), and all the shit is shoved somewhere-or-other.
Dean is hanging out on the couch, feet on the coffee table, when Phil walks in. Turning off the television - the great thing about the mansion tv is that it has marathons of Doctor Sexy, M.D. all day long - he grins over the back of the sofa and jerks his head to one side a little.
"Pop a squat. Hope you brought some good suds."
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He decides against it and offers Dean the sixpack instead, looking around the room. He doesn't sit down yet.
"You've got some... interesting furnishings."
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Dean doesn't remember telling Philip about every aspect of his lifestyle; particularly not the room and board.
"Midwestern American motels, dude," he states matter-of-factly, accepting the sixpack and pulling one of the cans out. Cracking it open and taking a satisfying first gulp, he gets a little more comfortable on the sofa and explains.
"Live I've said. Job takes us all around. That's a hunter's home, for ya. And this-" Dean lifts the beer can with a grin. "Is Hunter's Helper."
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"Fascinating," he remarks in a tone that is half genuine interest, half mockery - just as he expects Philip's remark on the uttery unacademic lodgings to be.
He sits down and helps himself to a can. His set-up was like a lottery with two duds and four wins. Congratulations, Dean. You drew a prize!
Clarence raises the can. "Cheers!"
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This is Dean Winchester we're talking about, though, and it's less than ten minutes before he's reaching for another can, having finished the first one. Remarkable that this is one of his favorite beers. Not that he should be drinking on an empty stomach, but hey.
Beer's beer.
"So, uh," he shakes some of the foam from his fingertips, glancing back at Philip as he drinks down a third of the can. "How ya feelin' now? After the quiet-time."
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"Sorry-- Sorry again for... for not letting you know, but I- the event was... a bit too much for me and I just..."
A sip of his beer (slowly, because he neither cares for the taste nor for the possibility of having to reach for one of the four special cans). A shake of his head.
Then a smile.
"But I'm... much better now, really."
And it's all so sincere too!
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