Oᴜᴛ ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʀɴғɪᴇʟᴅs ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴏᴅs ɢᴏᴛ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ

[righteously]

Who: Dean & Sam Winchester.
When: Early December.
Where: Cadens; Winchester-Harvelle House → The Horizon.
What: An exercise in guided meditation.
Warnings: probably nonsense.

Oᴜᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ sᴇᴀᴛ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ's '67 Cʜᴇᴠʏ

Comments

[righteously]

( My, how the turn tables.

Which is to say, Dean can remember pretty clearly being on the opposite side of this exchange some three years ago. Two whole ass failed attempts, only made possible thanks to a little magic from a different guy named Sam. Bless him, Geralt sure did try to Goosfraba Dean over to the other side, but— he'd just rolled out of Purgatory. His attention span and his ability to let things go aren't great at the best of times, they certainly weren't up to snuff those first few weeks re-adapting to society outside of monster hell.

Now here he is, legs folded beneath him Yoga-style on the living room floor in front of Sam, hands on his knees, clearing his throat in a let's get down to business way. )

Alright, so- the first time's gonna be a little... weird. You come in kinda... blank slate, basically. For you, that's practically a vacation, so don't worry about it. We just gotta get you across the finish line, pop you back out, then you should be able to hop in easy peasy lemon squeezy.

( Even though for him it had been more... difficult difficult lemon difficult. Sam's built different. This is gonna be fine. )

[kalesalad]

( Sam's worked through the initial surface level PTSD Dean's last more permanent death did to him, even thought it's going to do a number on him for months. As much as Dean is here within Winchester-hugging distance, right there in front of him, he wasn't a few days ago. Good sleep still eludes him, not that he's mentioned it to his brother.

Not that his brother probably can't see it on his face.

Like a Winchester, he dodges questions, looks, or pointed "Dude"'s.

In this case, he pushes up their time table. Originally, he asked Dean to give him some time, get his sea legs so-to-speak before they went diving into everyone's collective subconscious that might or might not be connected to the magical centerpiece everything is or isn't connected to.

But, one too many "You're not fine,"s later, and he wrangles Dean early.

He sits cross-legged, barefoot, trying to line his breathing up with his brother's.

He knows what to anticipate, and knows that Horizon-Sam isn't ready.

Clearing his mind, he steadies the pace of his heartbeat, lines that too up with his brother's.

He winces, only because he doesn't want the highest level. He doesn't want to see the bunker. The bunker connects aboveground. Around the bend from where he burned his brother's body.

He tries to will something else. Anything else. The scene intercuts.

His eyelids flutter.

Dean's body burns.

He turns his head, only slightly.

Smoke rises from his brother's body.

Sam's mouth crinkles. He doesn't want this. Doesn't mean to conjure anything. Wants something familiar. Not burning. Not flesh. Not his brother. He thinks of family. His brother's body burns again. )

No!

( Sam cries out, eyes opening, his expression a black slate, juxtaposing his terror a second ago.

Something wrapped up ahead of him sits on a pile of rocks, the fire raging. His flannel shirt sports the symbol of the Hierophant on the back as he stands in front of the tomb of the unknown soldier.

Beyond the piled rocks and the - is he at a funeral? - he sees a a house he doesn't recognize.

Despite the flame raging in front of him, he's calm. The running path behind him winds back around to the garage entrance to the bunker, for those people who knows where it goes anyway.

But for now, Sam stays in place, furrowing his brow like he's trying to figure out something. )

[righteously]

( It's complicated. He gets that it's complicated. He gets that Sam isn't okay, and that he doesn't want to talk about it, and that he wants to convince Dean that he's totally fine even though they both know he's full of an entire mountain of crap. He also knows it's going to come out eventually, and all he can really do about it is gently-not-gently tug on that thread hoping to unravel it before it unravels itself.

Like it always does.
Like this.

The flash of something like terror; the sound of Sam's voice crying out sharply before it cuts off, and they're both gone — gone, together. Somewhere else. Standing in front of a very familiar sight; he's built these funeral pyres with his own two hands on more than one occasion, but deep down, he knows he didn't build this one.

He'd recognize the shape of every body he's ever hefted onto one, and that one isn't-

That one isn't.

But Sam's calm now, and Dean can only take that to mean the memories are vacant, missing. He stands shoulder to shoulder with the guy, draped in a similar flannel, except his symbol is stitched over the breast pocket like a brand logo. )

Oh, we are so talking about this later. ( Muses the stranger at Sam's side, mostly to himself, shaking his head absently — right up until the house beyond catches his attention, and he stops, brow furrowing in surprise. ) Wait, is that Jody's place?

( A thoughtful beat, and then a curious: )

Huh. Well, could be worse.

( At least it's not freakin Flagstaff. )

[kalesalad]

( He's not alone, apparently. Which, isn't any more calming than this is. But, this shouldn't be, right? It's objectively violent, but transfixing. Finally, the stranger gets his attention and breaks his gaze. )

Who's we?

( He notices they're dressed similarly. )

Who's Jody?

( He doesn't know what could, or couldn't be, worse, so he just, shrugs. )

I'll take your word for it. But, dude, you're giving off real Single White Female vibes right now. ( What with their cute, matching - opposite color, at least, flannel. ) This feels... anti-environment. I half expect Smoky the Bear to jump out and tell us only we can save each other from forest fires. Or, maybe just, shake his head. He'd be disappointed.

( He's done with the fire, though. This guy mentioned a name, which propels him around the fire leaving the stranger behind. )

Jody? Did she start this fire?

[righteously]

( He opens his mouth; single white female vibes. His mouth snaps closed again immediately, and he levels Sam with a deeply unimpressed bitch I will stone cold stun you glare. Anti-environment. Smoky the bear. You gotta be kidding him, who decides what people do and don't remember in this stupid first Matrixing anyhow? How is it people can forget their own family, but Al Gore's stance on global warming is totally fair game?

Sam's right, though. Smoky would totally give the disappointed dad head shake. He chooses not to think about that, it hurts on a fundamental level.

And besides: he's been tee'd up for a stupid joke. )

She didn't start the fire. It was always burning- ( A stupid grin cracks up the side of his mouth; you get it? It falters after a beat of no recognition, so he tries another line: ) Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray...?

( Billy Joel? Did you get to keep Billy Joel at least, Sam?? )

[kalesalad]

( Sam's flannel twin follows close behind. )

Why are you quoting We Didn't Start the - ( he stops on the second step, the reason dawning. ) Got it. Thank you for the trip through the sixties, Flannel Guy, but I've never really been a Billy Joel fan.

( he prefers his bands alternative, emo, and rock. he grabs the door handle, opening it, because he knows inherently it will open, and turns to his - is this guy a friend? )

You couldn't make a Great Big Balls of Fire joke or Fire on the Water? I think there were lower hanging fruit there.

( not to mention, literally just the song "Fire," and on cue, the stereo sytem inside cues up "Fire" by Bruce Springsteen.

Sam stands in the living room, gesturing. )

See, the ghost stereo gets it.