Tʜᴇʀᴇ's ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛᴀᴄʜᴇ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ

[righteously]

Who: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Jo Harvelle, Castiel, Ciri, Geralt, Jaskier, Sam Wilson, probably others that I'm forgetting
When: Last week and a half of May
Where: Cadens, the bad lands, and the Winchester-Harvelle house
What: Demon Dean triggers his master plan to snatch Ciri and take her to the singularity to portal him off-world. The gang catches up and things get violent before Dean is eventually subdued and cured.
Warnings: Demons trying to be as demonic as possible, with all the gross violence and mean language that entails. Also, needles.

𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒
𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ
𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒
𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛' 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑜
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦
𝐼𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒
𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡
𝐴 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤

Comments

[righteously]

( That's all he needs. That fleeting hesitation, that's all it takes for his joints to pop back into socket, for bone to meld, for muscles to mend.

Humans, Witchers, whatever. They're both the same, they both have the same weakness. Big, stupid hearts with big, stupid feelings.

He grins wickedly, and then launches himself forward, tackling Geralt to the ground. That's the thing about swords; up this close, they're hard to swing. Hard to get momentum. Hard to get leverage. His best bet is to work the floor game, grapple the son of a bitch long enough to shove this cursed dagger through neck or heart or head and be done with it. )

[gynvael]

[ Even the smallest mistakes are costly.

Geralt catches the demon straight to the chest. He rolls with the momentum, skidding across rough dirt and rocky ground. Dust showers the air. He wraps one leg over to try and flip himself on top. Dean has that jagged knife; the edge isn't sharp—to say the least—but it needn't be sharp to kill in Dean's hands, and he's mindful that for all the damage he can take, he still has a beating heart to preserve.

True: his sword is optimal with some distance, but Geralt's learned to adapt when he hunts everything from wyverns to wraiths with it. And a weapon is a weapon.

He grasps the blade of the sword with his other hand, slamming the pommel down—or upwards, if he's trapped beneath—towards Dean's face. ]

[righteously]

( They're suddenly and temporarily even in the broken nose department; Geralt's pommel smashes him square in the nose hard enough to not only break it, but to send splinters of bone upward in a move that would be highly dangerous to anyone of the slightly more human variety. His sword goes skittering a foot or so away, and it's a minor miracle his other hand manages to clutch onto the First Blade.

The whole thing does a good job freeing up a little space — if only because of the sheer force of it, he recoils, rising up and away a foot or two. Their legs remain tangled, threaded, hips on hips in the dirt, but it's nothing Geralt can't overcome. He earns himself the perfect opportunity to flip things in his favor before Dean can get his bearings again.

Under his breath, a snarled: )

Son of a bitch-

[gynvael]

[ Deep down, some part of him wants to be able to pull back. To find an out, one that brings his friend back whole and rewinds all this shit that's happened.

He knows that time passed long ago. Perhaps longer than any of them could comprehend—months back when Dean first appeared with the Mark on his arm. They'll never know. There was never an opportunity to find out.

He doesn't hesitate again. Once was all the lesson he needed. The instant he has his chance, he forces Dean onto his back and pins him down. ]

(( sliding them on this way ))