[It takes him a little time and motivation, before he finally reaches out to Sam again.
It's weird, sure, reaching out to yourself... but as far as Sam's concerned, this guy? This future version that isn't him? He's the better of the two of them in every sense of the word. He doesn't know a lot about the other timeline... but he does know enough to see Lucifer didn't get to him.
That alone is worth its weight in gold.
So in the solitude he's shoved himself into back at his own farmhouse, he places a call.]
Hey. Um.
I'm sorry for not reaching out sooner.
It's been... a tough couple of days. I just... had a lot to work out.
( Lucifer spooked him. He now sports gauze around his burned palm, lying to everyone and saying he touched a burned pan. Just for now. Until he can make sense of Lucifer wanting something from Jack, something from everyone else, content to sit in the back of Sam's mind until he goes to sleep.
He hasn't turned his Fluid on mute. Usually, he only leaves it on mute when he sleeps and even then, he only turns it low. Just in case there's an emergency.
The frequency comes through and then his voice, weaker and younger, but still his voice.
It's a few seconds before he grabs for the phone and replies. )
Yeah, it's - going around. ( Dean. Other Dean. His late night guest. ) You're you again. ( Or, has he always been since he'd seen him? Does Lucifer ride shotgun now and only take over when Sam is week or Sam says he can. He has questions. ) How much of what we say right now will Lucifer know?
[Unfortunately. But it's fortunate for everyone else, he supposes; nobody wants to be dealing with Lucifer riding around in the driver's seat.]
Usually, he can hear bits and pieces. Feel things. Like I used to.
... But if I make an effort, I can completely block him out for short stretches at a time. It's... um. It's hard to keep it going, but he's iced out completely right now. 100% in the dark that I'm even calling you. [A pause, and he sighs.] I guess that's something Lucifer would say to trick someone, but I don't know what to do to convince you it's all me right now.
All I can say is that he hasn't been in control since the day I first saw you.
[Like he said... a tough couple of days. He's held together with chewing gum, at this point, but...
( They need to address the room. No, not the elephant in the room. The entire room. Sam would take care with how he words things, how he approaches this Sam, but he can't. He can handle it. ...They both can handle it.
He's going to need to find a name for Sam. One that - that fits. Or, maybe he'll get used to it. That is his name.
Knowing he hasn't been in control, that makes him feel slightly better. But, only slightly. Because Lucifer is still here. Inside him. )
Well, the kid's in the hands of Winchesters. They find whoever they want to find, right?
I know. I've been keeping close to the panic room, just in case. Got some extra holy oil.
[Dean's been slowly trying to get him to wander the house more, but
you know.]
I'll try to stick to messages. I just don't know what I'm supposed to tell him. His dad's a monster? He killed almost everyone on the planet? All of the people Jack cares about are gone now because of him?
I'm starting to understand why Dean never answered questions when we were little.
i have an invitation for you. and a proposition. no, not like that.
so dean and sam - mine, obviously - have not really had much occasion for levity. in their lifetime generally speaking, and of course even less in recent history. I thought it might be a nice idea to alleviate that a little. and since you people seem so fond of holidays, I thought it would be nice to surround the two with everyone they find tolerable, stuff our house full to bursting with christmas decorations and food and alcohol, and have ourselves a little party - of the 'clothes still on' kind.
I have no idea how christmas parties work, so assistance would be appreciated. I'm assuming december 25th is the traditional date? Alcohol is easy, but I can't cook, and have no idea how to make the house offensively sparkly for the occasion. I also need someone to keep them occupied on the day of while everything is set up. I want to spring this on them as a surprise mainly so they can't escape it.
[ that's not the plan - and even just a month ago, Cas would have assumed that the plan changed and Dean didn't tell him, the fearless leader making his choices no matter what Cas thinks of them. Now, though... they're a team, Dean and Cas. And while Cas doesn't doubt that Dean could go down a very dark path once more if people push him towards it, he's determined to help Dean stay where he deserves to be - in as much peace as this place affords, not aggravated by his own family. But Cas puts none of that into his message - because that's not Sam's business. ]
the nephilim isn't invited to begin with, because dean and i don't intend to let him anywhere near sam. you'll have to excuse us for wanting to protect sam and contain lucifer over sparing someone's feelings.
i'll take offense on dean's behalf that you assume he'd pull the gun as his first response, despite that not being our plan. i don't know how things get in your world, but my dean is not some mindless killer. don't treat him like one.
you're still welcome to show up late or dip out early to go back to lucifer's offspring, and i won't judge you for that - so long as i have your word you're not laying into dean about this. otherwise, no dice.
[A special delivery, just for you, buddy. Comes in around Christmas, carefully wrapped in newspaper.
There's a coffee machine inside, nothing too fancy — just something nifty and vintage. And then there's a... large bag of salt, because salt is a very important item on a Winchester's list. Lastly — a small collection of Stephen King books.
The note attached reads:
This place is apparently King's wet dream, right? So here's some books for research. And something to make coffee, to handle the research. Thanks for not giving up on me just yet. Take care of Jack and Dean.]
[Left outside the house is a dark blue basket. Inside is an associate of tea, chocolates, a box of lemon drops, a bottle of wine and a copy of Charles Dickens, Christmas Carol. A blue Tardis-shaped card attached to the basket says, 'Santa' in silver marker.]
[Dean keeps trying to ignore that dream he had, the dream that started out so peaceful and quiet, by the perfect lake that always seems to occupy his happiest dreams, and ended in sulfur, brimstone, and Lucifer thanking Dean for all that he's accomplished in helping Lucifer and Hell meet their apocalyptic goals. He doesn't talk about this dream to anyone, not even Sam; instead, he drinks more, withdraws into himself and he tries to act like it never happened. If he shoves down thinking about how his cutting into his first soul in Hell actually kickstarted the Apocalypse, than it never happens, right?
Except the Devil's words are always there, lurking, clawing with Dean's memories of Hell to control his thoughts. Dean keeps trying to forget; he keeps trying to make everyone else not worry. He's just trying to keep from drowning, to stay abreast in choppy, stormy waters.
Except, apparently, his lungs are now made of lead, twin anchors determined to sink him.
Dean's in the kitchen, putting away dishes, when he hears Lucifer, clear as a church bell, in his head.
"You may have come up short for Sam, but you never let me down."
Suddenly, Dean's entire body tenses, a rubber band pulled taut just before it snaps.
"I never would have been here if you didn't break the first seal; if you hadn't undervalued yourself, threw yourself away at the first opportunity to ensure my vessel's survival."
His entire body goes numb; he feels only the vague tingling sensation of body parts falling asleep, and he sways on his feet.
"You're an unsung hero. It's a little unfair of me not to appreciate your hard work."
He did it. He started the Apocalypse. He picked up that damn blade, he cut into that weeping bitch, and he broke the first seal, enabling the entire disaster to begin with. All of it, every single aspect of this; it's all his damn fault.
Dean realizes that he can't breathe; he struggles, and he gasps, desperate, but his lungs seem to have given up on him, his chest tightened like a rusty coil, and he feels the way the black edges in on his vision. He tries to call for help, from Sam, from Jack, from anyone, but all that escapes his mouth is a squawk of a noise that sounds more like a bad turkey call than anything else.
He falls to his knees, trying to gulp down air recklessly and keep himself from drowning on dry land. Flailing as he falls, he winds up knocking over several dishes, glass shattering into pieces on the floor on his way down. He bends over, practically in half, as he fights off rising nausea, his head pounding in agony. God, he's really going to die again, isn't he. There are probably Hellhounds around the corner, just waiting to drag Dean back to Hell.
He lets out a low sound, some kind of combo of a moan and a desperate plea, and he can only hope someone in the house can hear him.]
( Coming in from the backyard, Sam's salvaged what buds he could, replanting them in a pot and setting that pot inside, by a window. There's zero guarantee it will matter, and zero guarantee a dream climate will bring back any crops. But, he has to try.
He hears the distant clatter of a dish, when Dean's memory first hits. But, it's the next few, the ones that hit the ground around his brother as he crumbles to the floor that brings Sam into the action.
Moving into the back entrance of the kitchen, by the back stairs, he spots his brother on the ground by the sink. )
Dean?
( Boots clomp over, stepping on stray pieces of plate as Sam lowers himself crouching down. )
Dean.
( Is he having trouble breathing? His hand rests on his upper back, concerned. )
What happened?
( Is this Hell? Is it a flashback to his time there? )
Try to -- focus on something. Focus on a tile, okay. Focus on one tile underneath you.
[Vaguely, Dean hears someone calling his name; he also registers that the voice sounds like Sam, but he can't quite tell. He feels as though he's hearing everything from underwater, like he's submerged all the way over his head and the water is stifling any and all incoming sounds.
It's only when Sam places his hand on Dean's upper back that Dean registers that it really is Sam here with him, that he's not underwater but rather on the floor of their kitchen, surrounded by the broken glass of the dishes that fell with him.
Dean blinks, struggling to process what Sam is telling him, but, eventually, he hears him, and he proceeds to follow his advice; he focuses on the tile closest to his right elbow, focusing on the color and the shape of it. In and out, he breathes; in and out, in and out.
He manages to steady his breathing after a few minutes of this; he reaches out and clutches at what he can reach of Sam.]
'm sorry, Sammy. I just...
[He lets out another breath, long and low, as his eyes fall shut.]
The Devil came to see me in my sleep. He, uh. He told me...some things.
On the eve of the 24th, a brightly colored dreamguide vested in black and yellow comes marching into your space. A golden hue surrounds it, shimmering with every flicker of its wings creating a venerable light show. Hanging from its short limbs is a ziplock bag with a few tablespoons of honey and no note attached. Freshly collected, the little buzz maker circles around you once, twice, and on the third drops the bag above you - hope you catch it. Once it's made its delivery it will go on its merry way.
[on christmas eve, a new present ends up underneath their tree. it's not wrapped properly (because he had no clue that was a thing he's meant to do), but it's at least hidden away in the bag he'd brought it home in.
on the front, sam's name is scrawled in black marker. and inside sits a mug and a book. nothing particularly expensive, of course. but he wanted to give sam something. some small token to thank the man for all he's done. and to make it clear that, even during those times when they end up at odds with each other, he still knows that sam really is his dad.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Voice.
Date: 2020-11-13 06:59 am (UTC)It's weird, sure, reaching out to yourself... but as far as Sam's concerned, this guy? This future version that isn't him? He's the better of the two of them in every sense of the word. He doesn't know a lot about the other timeline... but he does know enough to see Lucifer didn't get to him.
That alone is worth its weight in gold.
So in the solitude he's shoved himself into back at his own farmhouse, he places a call.]
Hey. Um.
I'm sorry for not reaching out sooner.
It's been... a tough couple of days. I just... had a lot to work out.
Voice.
Date: 2020-11-13 11:53 pm (UTC)He hasn't turned his Fluid on mute. Usually, he only leaves it on mute when he sleeps and even then, he only turns it low. Just in case there's an emergency.
The frequency comes through and then his voice, weaker and younger, but still his voice.
It's a few seconds before he grabs for the phone and replies. )
Yeah, it's - going around. ( Dean. Other Dean. His late night guest. ) You're you again. ( Or, has he always been since he'd seen him? Does Lucifer ride shotgun now and only take over when Sam is week or Sam says he can. He has questions. ) How much of what we say right now will Lucifer know?
Voice.
Date: 2020-11-14 12:10 am (UTC)Yeah. I'm me.
[Unfortunately. But it's fortunate for everyone else, he supposes; nobody wants to be dealing with Lucifer riding around in the driver's seat.]
Usually, he can hear bits and pieces. Feel things. Like I used to.
... But if I make an effort, I can completely block him out for short stretches at a time. It's... um. It's hard to keep it going, but he's iced out completely right now. 100% in the dark that I'm even calling you. [A pause, and he sighs.] I guess that's something Lucifer would say to trick someone, but I don't know what to do to convince you it's all me right now.
All I can say is that he hasn't been in control since the day I first saw you.
[Like he said... a tough couple of days. He's held together with chewing gum, at this point, but...
It's holding up.]
no subject
Date: 2020-11-14 12:25 am (UTC)( They need to address the room. No, not the elephant in the room. The entire room. Sam would take care with how he words things, how he approaches this Sam, but he can't. He can handle it. ...They both can handle it.
He's going to need to find a name for Sam. One that - that fits. Or, maybe he'll get used to it. That is his name.
Knowing he hasn't been in control, that makes him feel slightly better. But, only slightly. Because Lucifer is still here. Inside him. )
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From:yes i am too aware that your inbox is exclusively yourself, sam
Date: 2020-11-17 10:33 pm (UTC)He's pretty adamant about meeting in person.
Didn't want to leave you in the dark, uh.
I'm not sure he's going to actually do the whole "stay away" thing.
[... He couldn't completely blame him.
If he were in Jack's shoes, he's not so sure he'd do anything differently.]
it's his lot in life
Date: 2020-11-17 11:26 pm (UTC)If you can, stick to messages. If Lucifer gets foothold and he's there...
no subject
Date: 2020-11-17 11:37 pm (UTC)They find whoever they want to find, right?
I know.
I've been keeping close to the panic room, just in case. Got some extra holy oil.
[Dean's been slowly trying to get him to wander the house more, but
you know.]
I'll try to stick to messages.
I just don't know what I'm supposed to tell him.
His dad's a monster? He killed almost everyone on the planet?
All of the people Jack cares about are gone now because of him?
I'm starting to understand why Dean never answered questions when we were little.
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From:Slid under the front door
Date: 2020-11-23 02:10 am (UTC)text. backdated to after his talk with the other sam
Date: 2020-12-01 09:55 pm (UTC)I don't like it.
no subject
Date: 2020-12-01 10:22 pm (UTC)Would you rather we do this in person?
1/3
Date: 2020-12-01 10:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-01 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-01 10:44 pm (UTC)You said I wasn't allowed to tell anyone who my father was. But you told the other Sam.
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From:text; un: dw79 (private)
Date: 2020-12-06 12:19 pm (UTC)what the hell sam?
no subject
Date: 2020-12-06 04:56 pm (UTC)text; un: winchester
Date: 2020-12-07 04:08 am (UTC)i have an invitation for you. and a proposition. no, not like that.
so dean and sam - mine, obviously - have not really had much occasion for levity. in their lifetime generally speaking, and of course even less in recent history. I thought it might be a nice idea to alleviate that a little. and since you people seem so fond of holidays, I thought it would be nice to surround the two with everyone they find tolerable, stuff our house full to bursting with christmas decorations and food and alcohol, and have ourselves a little party - of the 'clothes still on' kind.
I have no idea how christmas parties work, so assistance would be appreciated. I'm assuming december 25th is the traditional date? Alcohol is easy, but I can't cook, and have no idea how to make the house offensively sparkly for the occasion. I also need someone to keep them occupied on the day of while everything is set up. I want to spring this on them as a surprise mainly so they can't escape it.
you in?
eventually, they're all in, once they ICly find the Jack-OU Cas workaround
Date: 2020-12-08 04:41 pm (UTC)I don't want to leave Jack by himself on Christmas Day.
no subject
Date: 2020-12-08 05:29 pm (UTC)[ that's not the plan - and even just a month ago, Cas would have assumed that the plan changed and Dean didn't tell him, the fearless leader making his choices no matter what Cas thinks of them. Now, though... they're a team, Dean and Cas. And while Cas doesn't doubt that Dean could go down a very dark path once more if people push him towards it, he's determined to help Dean stay where he deserves to be - in as much peace as this place affords, not aggravated by his own family. But Cas puts none of that into his message - because that's not Sam's business. ]
the nephilim isn't invited to begin with, because dean and i don't intend to let him anywhere near sam. you'll have to excuse us for wanting to protect sam and contain lucifer over sparing someone's feelings.
i'll take offense on dean's behalf that you assume he'd pull the gun as his first response, despite that not being our plan. i don't know how things get in your world, but my dean is not some mindless killer. don't treat him like one.
you're still welcome to show up late or dip out early to go back to lucifer's offspring, and i won't judge you for that - so long as i have your word you're not laying into dean about this. otherwise, no dice.
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From:Sometime Around Christmas Day
Date: 2020-12-13 06:42 am (UTC)There's a coffee machine inside, nothing too fancy — just something nifty and vintage. And then there's a... large bag of salt, because salt is a very important item on a Winchester's list. Lastly — a small collection of Stephen King books.
The note attached reads:
This place is apparently King's wet dream, right? So here's some books for research.
And something to make coffee, to handle the research.
Thanks for not giving up on me just yet. Take care of Jack and Dean.]
Action; no reply; December 24th
Date: 2020-12-17 11:02 pm (UTC)Action | CW: Panic attack, anxiety, alcohol, self-esteem/self-worth issues, torture mentions, etc.
Date: 2020-12-19 04:13 am (UTC)Except the Devil's words are always there, lurking, clawing with Dean's memories of Hell to control his thoughts. Dean keeps trying to forget; he keeps trying to make everyone else not worry. He's just trying to keep from drowning, to stay abreast in choppy, stormy waters.
Except, apparently, his lungs are now made of lead, twin anchors determined to sink him.
Dean's in the kitchen, putting away dishes, when he hears Lucifer, clear as a church bell, in his head.
"You may have come up short for Sam, but you never let me down."
Suddenly, Dean's entire body tenses, a rubber band pulled taut just before it snaps.
"I never would have been here if you didn't break the first seal; if you hadn't undervalued yourself, threw yourself away at the first opportunity to ensure my vessel's survival."
His entire body goes numb; he feels only the vague tingling sensation of body parts falling asleep, and he sways on his feet.
"You're an unsung hero. It's a little unfair of me not to appreciate your hard work."
He did it. He started the Apocalypse. He picked up that damn blade, he cut into that weeping bitch, and he broke the first seal, enabling the entire disaster to begin with. All of it, every single aspect of this; it's all his damn fault.
Dean realizes that he can't breathe; he struggles, and he gasps, desperate, but his lungs seem to have given up on him, his chest tightened like a rusty coil, and he feels the way the black edges in on his vision. He tries to call for help, from Sam, from Jack, from anyone, but all that escapes his mouth is a squawk of a noise that sounds more like a bad turkey call than anything else.
He falls to his knees, trying to gulp down air recklessly and keep himself from drowning on dry land. Flailing as he falls, he winds up knocking over several dishes, glass shattering into pieces on the floor on his way down. He bends over, practically in half, as he fights off rising nausea, his head pounding in agony. God, he's really going to die again, isn't he. There are probably Hellhounds around the corner, just waiting to drag Dean back to Hell.
He lets out a low sound, some kind of combo of a moan and a desperate plea, and he can only hope someone in the house can hear him.]
no subject
Date: 2020-12-19 07:11 pm (UTC)He hears the distant clatter of a dish, when Dean's memory first hits. But, it's the next few, the ones that hit the ground around his brother as he crumbles to the floor that brings Sam into the action.
Moving into the back entrance of the kitchen, by the back stairs, he spots his brother on the ground by the sink. )
Dean?
( Boots clomp over, stepping on stray pieces of plate as Sam lowers himself crouching down. )
Dean.
( Is he having trouble breathing? His hand rests on his upper back, concerned. )
What happened?
( Is this Hell? Is it a flashback to his time there? )
Try to -- focus on something. Focus on a tile, okay. Focus on one tile underneath you.
no subject
Date: 2020-12-26 04:49 pm (UTC)It's only when Sam places his hand on Dean's upper back that Dean registers that it really is Sam here with him, that he's not underwater but rather on the floor of their kitchen, surrounded by the broken glass of the dishes that fell with him.
Dean blinks, struggling to process what Sam is telling him, but, eventually, he hears him, and he proceeds to follow his advice; he focuses on the tile closest to his right elbow, focusing on the color and the shape of it. In and out, he breathes; in and out, in and out.
He manages to steady his breathing after a few minutes of this; he reaches out and clutches at what he can reach of Sam.]
'm sorry, Sammy. I just...
[He lets out another breath, long and low, as his eyes fall shut.]
The Devil came to see me in my sleep. He, uh. He told me...some things.
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From:24th of December
Date: 2020-12-20 07:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-21 08:40 pm (UTC)on the front, sam's name is scrawled in black marker. and inside sits a mug and a book. nothing particularly expensive, of course. but he wanted to give sam something. some small token to thank the man for all he's done. and to make it clear that, even during those times when they end up at odds with each other, he still knows that sam really is his dad.]