Someone's in trouble somewhere tonight~

Apr 14, 2011 09:06

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... )

daniel [amnesia], elaine belloc, philip [penumbra], dean winchester, santana lopez, tim/masky

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[Failure of a Video Transmission] dashboardlite April 14 2011, 07:23:36 UTC
For reasons better left pigeon-holed as "instinct", Dean's had that worrying feeling as of late. It's the same unfortunate sensation he gets whenever something supernatural is around in his own world: prickling on the back of his neck, that sharp, unearthly smell. Maybe it's just an unusual case of heightened tension, but he highly doubts it. Not when his "Everything is about to go to shit" senses are tingling.

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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dashboardlite April 14 2011, 23:51:18 UTC
"Hey, no worries," Dean claps Philip companionably on the shoulder. "Happens to the best of us. No, uh...no need to explain."

Mostly because Dean really does not want to picture himself and Phil doing the mattress mambo. Ever. Some things just need to stay behind the looking glass, where they belong. Particularly since that sonuvabitch mirror of his stole a goddamn autographed Queen album. Dickweed yuppie.

But the pleasantries and light conversation flows freely, which is a relief. He'd been really worried about Philip.

Another beer and thirty minutes of chatting later, Dean feels weirdly tired.

Sluggish.

Uncoordinated.

He glances down at the beer in his hand and chuckles a little at the alcohol content, because it's not bad at all. It's his standard. Maybe the four hours of sleep are just catching up to him.

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sadfreezingbrit April 15 2011, 00:07:11 UTC
Clarence notices the chuckle. Are we there yet? Because he honestly isn't sure how much of this banal chatter he can stand without vomiting.

"Do they print jokes on these now?"

He is at his second can himself, although he hasn't gone further than opening it and raising it for a toast. Dean was lucky enough to grab one dud at least, so Clarence prefers to keep away from the remaining treats.

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dashboardlite April 15 2011, 00:20:29 UTC
"No, I dunno, I'm kinda..." Dean rubs the back of his neck, losing his train of thought completely. He was going to say something. What was he going to say, again? He can't even remember.

He puts the can of beer down, having finished it off, and feels his eyelids growing a little heavy.

"...s'weird," Dean mumbles.

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sadfreezingbrit April 15 2011, 00:26:45 UTC
Ahhh, finally! Now there's a punchline he enjoys.

"Dean, are-- Are you okay?"

Clarence puts his own can down as well and looks at Dean in a - if he may say so himself - magnificent display of concern.

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1/2 dashboardlite April 15 2011, 00:30:42 UTC
"No idea," he mutters, swaying. "Head hurts, I can't-"

Complete sentences, apparently.

"Sonuvabitch."

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2/2 dashboardlite April 15 2011, 00:32:20 UTC
Aaaaand he's down for the count!

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sadfreezingbrit April 15 2011, 01:00:37 UTC
"Dean? Dean!"

In the spirit of his newfound acting talents Clarence leans forward worriedly and grabs Dean by the shoulders, giving him a few light slaps on the cheek.

But oh, surprise over surprise, Dean's reaction remains missing and so Clarence lets him falls backwards again, deciding that his act could use a short break.

"And did I mention too easy? 'Cause it kinda was."

Grinning to himself Clarence gets up from the couch and locks the door, but not before hanging a tie on the knob outside.

What? Until you invent him an international TORTURE - DO NOT DISTURB signal this one will just have to do.

After that he-- you know what? Let's just fast forward a bit here and cut to just before Dean is about to wake up.

Because once he does he will find himself shackled to his bed (thank you, magical closet handcuffs!), his weapons spread out on the kitchen table (because he's been out for a bit and Clarence was bored and that bag looked interesting).

Clarence himself is sitting somewhere by the window, reading The Illustrated History ( ... )

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dashboardlite April 15 2011, 01:11:37 UTC
Dean comes to slowly. His head feels like it's full of cotton and his tongue tastes like sandpaper and stale beer. Making a groggy, disgruntled sound, Dean cracks his eyes open and stares up at the ceiling for a minute.

Stirring more, he reaches over to scratch an itch on his cheek and realizes that he can't reach his cheek.

Dean turns his head to look at his arm, and slowly realizes (once his vision focuses) that there are standard-issue police cuffs around his wrist and one of the bedposts. He shifts to see his other arm, and the same thing applies.

"What the-"

He frowns, feeling consciousness creeping in a little faster. And then he notices Philip over by the window.

"Uh...Phil?"

That's not Phil.

"I like a little bit of adventure on my bed from time to time, but this ain't exactly my cup of tea."

That is not Phil.

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sadfreezingbrit April 15 2011, 01:26:21 UTC
Don't forget the feet now, couldn't leave those dangling around uncuffed. ♥

"Ahhh, there it is again," Clarence puts his reading material aside and stands.

"Your remarkable sense of humour."

He approaches Dean laughing softly, his voice still playing Philip's part.

"I... I really can't put into words how much I loathe it," he muses with a serene smile before taking one swift step forward and bringing his fist down on Dean's stomach hard.

"Really, really loathe it," he chuckles and rubs his knuckles.

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dashboardlite April 15 2011, 01:46:35 UTC
His mind is running ten miles a minute.

That is not Phil I'm handcuffed to a fucking bed he drugged me the sonuvabitch drugged me why didn't I see it I oughta pay more damn attention who is this-

Dean swallows hard, watching with rapt attention as Philip, smiling benignly, walks over to the bedside.

Curls his hand into a fist.

SLAMS the thing right beneath his solar plexus, into his gut.

Choking instantaneously and trying to curl inwards - impossible, because fuck if his feet aren't strapped to the damn bed, too - Dean gasps for air, sucking in deep gulps through grit teeth.

"You-" More surprised than anything, forcing out the words is hard when his stomach is convulsing. "-dick, what the fuck?"

That is not Philip.
That is not Philip.
That is not Philip.

"Clarence."

He growls through a clenched jaw, glowering up at him.

"How?"

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sadfreezingbrit April 15 2011, 01:59:55 UTC
That conclusion earns Dean a round of slow applause.

"Sorry, should've introduced myself before sittin' down for drinks, huh?"

The last of Clarence's facade drops and his voice- his voice is still Philip's voice, but the patterns are different, the accent and pace distinctly alien to anyone who's heard the man speak before.

"And, uh, you mean how did I get to drive this model here?"

Clarence flashes Dean a toothy grin.

"I asked nicely."

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dashboardlite April 15 2011, 02:07:30 UTC
That's not right. That is not. Right. Hearing someone else speaking out of Philip. It's fucking weird, and wrong, and makes Dean wish he knew that Latin used for exorcising demons, disregarding the possibility that it might not even work.

At least then he wouldn't feel so helpless.

Dean jerks on the cuffs around his wrists experimentally. They don't budge an inch. Unless his hands manage to shrink in the next couple of minutes, he's stuck spitting obscenities at the douchebag wearing Philip's meatsuit.

"Bullshit," he spits. "Give Phil his damn body back, you sick fuck."

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sadfreezingbrit April 15 2011, 02:12:45 UTC
"Does-- Does that actually work?"

Clarence chuckles and circles the bed contemplatively.

"I mean, is that how you hunt demons? You hurl obscenities at them and they go 'Gee, sorry! I don't know what I was thinkin'! Sorry 'bout that, won't happen again, buh-bye'?"

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dashboardlite April 15 2011, 02:20:12 UTC
Dean gives him a feral grin.

"Yeah? Why don't you take these fuckin' cuffs off and we'll see who gets the crap beaten out of them first, bitch?"

Because in a battle of strength, Dean knows that he could easily overpower Philip, Clarence-possessed or not. Unfortunately, he isn't exactly a match for the handcuffs. If he had a damn paperclip, then maybe, but unless he's got some kinda wire he can't MacGyver his way out.

"Usually I'm armed and I've got a pentagram under their asses."

Which reminds him.

There's a pentagram he'd painted on the floor underneath the doormat at the entrance to his room. And Clarence walked right over it.

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sadfreezingbrit April 15 2011, 02:41:17 UTC
"Huh. Gotta say, I'm almost a little disappointed now."

Clarence examines his nails idly.

"Remember what you said to Phil? 'Cause I do, and I quote: 'If it gets worse we're gonna do whatever we can to help'."

He pauses, flicks away a little dirt.

"But I guess now you're mostly sayin' that you just wanna beat the crap out of us. And hey," Clarence lifts his arms in defense, "it's not like that isn't what I've been tellin' Philip all along, it's just..."

He leans forward, supporting himself on the bedpost.

"It's just that even I figured you'd at least try to save him."

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