Dean Winchester
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Michael's True Vessel
Posts: 75
Player: Varon
HP: 250
Win: 20
Loss: 0
Flee: 0
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Post by Dean Winchester on Dec 27, 2013 0:59:01 GMT -5
It's not how long you live but what your morals say. The message on his phone had nearly sent Dean into a downward spiral. Bobby’s voice had rang clearly through to him, gruff and blunt as ever. The fact that the last time he had heard Bobby speak had been a hundred and twelve, maybe a hundred and fifteen years ago in a pit of Hell known as the Maze didn’t change a damn thing. He knew that voice, recognized it, associated it to memories long forgotten, memories obscured, memories carefully nurtured back to the fore by Belial after he'd gone black, and beyond all that, beyond all of that, he knew that he couldn’t even go and see this phantom of reality until he had confirmed through every channel he had that this was the real Bobby.
Dean knew the proper hunter way would be to go up to Bobby, smack him with some holy water and Borax, give him a silver knife cut and call it a day, but the scars within that still lingered, deeply buried, from his time in Hell couldn’t bear to even see Bobby if it could prove to be a trick. Killing Bobby – even something that was just using his face, his voice, as a method to lure and trap him – was not something Dean wanted to see if he was still capable of.
He was still on the loose, technically speaking. He’d left Sam and Castiel at the bunker to check up on a few leads regarding the Stairway to Heaven, such as it were. He could do what they would expect and desire him most to do. He could have called them and told them that he had received a message from Bobby and asked them to back him up. The trouble was, Sam didn’t trust him to lead the pack and Castiel didn’t know a damn thing about how to be human, let alone how to hunt like one. If this was a trap, he could not afford them being there. They were too important for Dean to put at risk and in this scenario, they would all be liabilities to one another.
So Dean had called Belial instead to see if there was any possible chance he could get some information up on this. After swearing up and down not to go headlong into anything until Belial got back to him, Dean had cooled his heels for a couple of days and waited. His obedience wasn’t something he felt was unusual. He had faith in Belial – a trust that ran as deep as a Winchester’s capacity to love.
In the end, waiting for Belial had been the right decision. He was informed that Bobby had pulled himself up and through the borders of Soul's End – fully escaping the Fields of Abaddon through some manner of crack. Dean didn’t need to ask how -it was Bobby. If anyone could bust out of death's back door, it was him. But he did so anyway, less because he thought he was wrong and more because he wanted to hear it confirmed outloud. Belial confirmed what he'd already said, and Dean knew that going to see Bobby was not going to end in a repeat of any Maze performance. It was all he needed to climb back into the Impala and head up to Sioux Falls, leaving a message on Sam's voicemail as he drove up.
Hey Sam, its me. Got a message from Bobby. He busted out of the Fields. Heading up to Sioux Falls. See you there.
It took him a bit of digging to find Bobby – old codger had used a burner phone on him so a GPS tracking had been more than a little out of the cards – but eventually he hit paydirt at a tiny hotel just outside of the town. Standing outside the hotel door, Dean swallowed thickly before raising his fist and giving three sharp knocks.
”Bobby?” He called, giving a final rap when that alone didn’t summon the old man. ”Come on Bobby it’s me, open up.”
@bobby @sam Let me know if you need anything changed! Created by Loki of Proboards Support
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Post by Deleted on Dec 28, 2013 12:17:32 GMT -5
When Sam got Dean's voicemail, he almost crashed the car. He hit play and held it up to his ear as he drove the lonely road between the bunker and the nearest town, where he'd made a grocery run for himself and Cas. Milk, bread, peanut butter, and two packs of Red Bull and Heineken sat on the passenger seat beside him as he played Dean's message. Sam had already cracked open the Bull and chugged it down. With the way he was sleeping, he had more caffeine than blood running through his veins.
'Hey Sam, its me. Got a message from Bobby. He busted out of the Fields. Heading up to Sioux Falls. See you there.'
"What?" The word came out of him with such force, though it wasn't addressed to anyone in the empty car. Turning his attention to his phone, he found the play button again. Dean's voice began again and Sam jerked the drifting car back into his lane. 'Got a message from Bobby.' He played it again, paying less and less attention to where he was driving. Only when he hit gravel did he course correct back into his lane. Finally he gave in and peeled off the road. A quick check of the trunk showed that he had the salt, the silver, and the knife needed to be sure what was what. He wasn't going to be fooled, and if any creature, demon, or angel was trying to pull one over on them, they'd regret it.
Sam turned the car around and pointed it to Sioux Falls, and he didn't stop except to relieve himself in the weeds between Norfolk and Pierce, because by the time he got to Norfolk, he'd had four Red Bulls and even half a beer. He made a peanut butter sandwich and ate it as he passed through Yankton, Idaho, and soon he was pulling into Sioux Falls.
It was no secret that Sam was the researcher of the Winchester brothers, and he was staked out in front of Bobby's motel for an half an hour before Dean pulled into the parking lot. Sam gaped as he got out and waltzed right up to the door. "What the hell are you--" Flailing within the car, Sam grabbed his flask of holy water and his two knives--of the silver and demon varieties--and practically fell out of the car.
Hurrying along the side of the building so anything looking out the windows wouldn't see him, he hissed at Dean as he got close. "What are you doing?!" What had happened to caution? Glaring at Dean, whom he hadn't forgiven for the Lucifer betrayal, he joined him at the door, knife out. Under his voice, he berated his brother for his carelessness. He didn't have a white-eyed demon's word for it that Bobby really was Bobby.
He rapped on the door with an oversized hand and yapped, "Come on Bobby, open up." Sam had no handle on how bad he looked--the more he remembered from Hell, the worse he got. He was seeing his own torture, sure, but also things he couldn't make sense of. A river in Hell. The creation of angels. He'd had a migraine for a week straight now and looked worse after every sleepless night. Now, he stood with ugly circles under his eyes and a papery white color to his skin, glaring at the door as he waited for Bobby--or whatever it was--to open up.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 29, 2013 11:40:13 GMT -5
So we can take the world back from a heart attack One maniac at a time we will take it back 'Dean, It's Bobby, Can't say I know what's going on, but I figure you boys are behind it; whatever it is. I'm home. You boys know how to find me.'
Home. He was alive. He was really back. A small part of him wondered just what a man had to do to stay dead around here. Honestly, it didn't seem like other people had problems with that. Hell, once most hunters bit the big one that was it. The only ones he'd known to have a problem with staying dead were Sam and Dean. Not that he was really complaining. As nice as it was to not have to worry about fighting the good fight anymore, he couldn't say he was truly at peace about it. How could you be? Knowing everything you've ever cared about was still in danger. But he'd come to terms with the fact that he hadn't belonged here anymore. He'd made that choice, and he'd asked the impossible from the boys. They'd done him proud: and he knew their Daddy would be proud as well. Taking a deep breath, Bobby was aware of his lungs expanding full of air before deflating in his chest as he exhaled. It had been an unconscious effort to breathe before; done without thinking, without being aware. It was amazing how much of a difference coming back from the dead made. You didn't have to breathe when you were dead. There was nothing for oxygen to keep alive: no brain to deprive, no heart to keep pumping, no blood to push through veins. There had only been existence. Memories to float between of happier times. Old friends and lovers to see and hold again. A peace that had drowned out all else. Drinks with Ash; Hugs and laughter with Ellen and Jo; Forgiveness and acceptance with Karen. But there had still been that lingering worry for the brothers: a knee bouncing, pacing, grasping for a phone that wasn't really there and glancing at the door worry that was more ingrained from years of habit than anything else. He'd told those boys he'd see them on the other side. And he'd made sure to tell them to take their time. But since when did they ever listen? However there had even been a peace to the worry, as strange as that was. And over time - days? weeks? months? years? Time moved so differently when you were dead - he'd grown used to it. He'd moved on with his after life, surrounded by the loved ones he'd lost through his long years of life and hunting. But it seemed all good things came to an end. It seemed that no sooner had he gotten there - or had he been there long? They really needed a better way of managing time in heaven - that all hell was breaking loose. Or rather, Heaven had broken loose. He'd been with Karen, finally together - properly this time - after so long. She'd been baking her pies in the kitchen, and he'd been reading a newspaper in the living room; the sliding doors that separated the room both open so that both occupants of the house were able to see each other. Both able to finally relax knowing they were together again. And then they were falling. At first, Bobby had figured something was calling their spirits back. A summoning of sorts. Though who was calling was beyond him. And just as sudden as their fall had been, they were in a field. But it hadn't been just them. It seemed that everyone was there. Ash, Karen, Ellen, Jo, Rufus. He was sure if he looked longer and searched harder he would have found John with Mary. There were innocents he'd failed to save; people whom he'd never met before: ancient and new, young and old. But out of the masses that were there, Bobby noticed that they were all people. They were all humans. Angels had fluttered in and out of various versions of heavens; sometimes they would make contact other times they were simple observe. But they'd always been there. But in this place, there was none. Just confused people ripped from their memories and once more thrust into a confusing place: though this time with no answers. And then there had been the crack. And he just knew. He'd known what it meant, knew where it would lead him. And he'd wanted to run to it and jump right through, claw his way through if he'd had to. But Karen's hand was in his: solid and warm and what he wanted for so long. But he'd left to soon. He'd been ripped from the good fight before he was ready to hang up his hat. And for all he knew, whatever had happened to heaven was happening to Earth. More chaos in a world already on the brink. He'd looked back at Karen at the time, seeing that her eyes were already on him, irises already swimming in tears even though a smile was gracing her lips. She knew him better than anyone. Knew he wouldn't have been able to make that choice on his own; to leave her again. So she'd let him go: released his hand and stepped back, saying without words everything he'd needed to know. With one last, apologetic smile in her direction, he'd taken off. Back home. Back to living. Back to breathing Back to beating hearts. Back to his boys. But he'd had no way of finding them. He had a number; one that he couldn't be sure of was still in their possession. Hearing Dean's voice on the message had nearly made Bobby weak in the knees with relief. But there was still no way of knowing if the phone was in their hands or a demons. And there was no way he was letting Crowley get his hands on him again - or maybe he should. He owed that bastard a Holy Water bath - so he'd left his message, ditched the phone, and stopped off at the ruins of his home. The fire had destroyed almost everything. Almost. The panic room had still been in tact; and the weapons and gear within remained unharmed. "Thank God for weekend's off." Of course, getting to the panic room had been slightly difficult. But he'd managed to get two bags together of a few shotguns, rounds full of rock salt, silver bullets, borax, canisters full of salt, and a few jugs of Holy Water. Step One: Get supplies, Check. Step Two: Nearest Motel, In progress. There had been some money stashed away in the panic room with a few rations of food. Enough to get him buy until he could figure out what the hell was going on. He wasn't expecting Dean to get to him immediately. And if he did, he'd slap the Idjit around for just rushing in like that. But it appeared Dean was checking leads before coming his way - either that or he was dead - which gave Bobby more than enough time to protect his room against threats. Enochian sigils found their way until the walls, protecting him from Heaven's feathery guardians. Devil traps were drawn on the ceiling right next to the windows and door. Lines of salt lay on the window sills and in an arch around the door so as to not be disturbed when the door opened. A silver knife was in easy reach in a sheath at his right hip, an open flask of Holy water taped to an open flask of borax by his right hand, and a shot gun loaded with rock salt rounds rested loosely in his right hand. And he waited. Eventually the knock he'd been waiting for pounced against his door, Dean's voice calling out to him. His heart tightened in his chest at the sound of his voice, as he ignored every fiber of his being to rush over and open the door. He remembered well his time in hell, the demons who'd used Dean and Sam's face to torture him. Waiting a beat to see if anyone would force open the door, Bobby stood and made his way over to the door. Just before he unlocked the door to swing it open, There was more pounding, and Sam's voice rang clear through the wooden door. Taking a deep breath, he quickly unlocked the door and stepped back from reach close to the taped flasks, cocking the shotgun and pointed it at the two young men outside the door. He quickly took in the state of the two brothers. "You look like hell, Sam." Template by Loki @ Proboards Support
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Post by Deleted on Feb 2, 2014 23:17:47 GMT -5
There were times in Dean’s life when the moment approaching him was one that made his heart stand still; when he’d waited with bated breath to be healed by a blind man after shocking himself in a near-fatal hunting accident, when stuck in a djinn’s fantasy holding a gun to his head, when waiting for Kevin to decipher the demon tablet, all times in his life when the result of something would change life as he knew it. Waiting outside of that door was one of them. He heard Sam before he saw him. He thought his was sneaky but the guy was the size of a small giraffe, there was little grace in his movements. He ignored his brother’s scolding and listened for any movement in the motel room. Sam followed his rapping with a knock of his own and Dean looked at him warily.
Bobby was the Father Dean, really, never had. Sure, John did his best, but it was Bobby that taught Dean how to catch. It was bobby that showed him how to use a clutch on a motorcycle when he was 13 and Bobby that put him in his place as a know-it-all teenager. When John was too heartbroken and obsessed with finding out what killed Mary it was Bobby that was there for any memories that could be considered normal during his childhood. And then as he grew and it became clear that Dean, that the Winchesters, were made for hunting he was the mentor that he needed. He was the one person Dean could say would take care of Sam if anything happened to him. It was his safe room he’d thrown his brother into when the demon blood detox happened, his number he called when an identity was questioned or there were no answers on how to deal with a monster.
If there was ever a man Dean wanted to be when he grew up, it was Bobby Singer.
Losing him had been hard, perhaps more difficult than it had been when his own Father had died. It was unexpected and final. But, surprisingly, hearing he was back had been difficult too. When he sought out Belial’s help with the truth there had been expectations as to what he’d feel when he found out. If it was an imposter he’d be pissed. He could handle that easily. But Bobby coming back…the emotions that welled up were ones he didn’t want to or know how to deal with. He’d have to soon enough, though, because after Sam’s knock the door opened and there stood Bobby. He moved back and cocked the gun in one movement and Dean didn’t flinch, not even a little bit. Silence hung in the air for a half a second before Bobby broke the silence. Dean looked over at his brother, really looked at him, and he had to agree. Sam did look like hell. But there wasn’t any time to assess Sam’s situation. Since the trials he was halfway to dead all the time, hell might be on the better side of the look lately.
Dean eyed the shotgun and held up his hands, “It’s good to see you too, Bobby.” He glanced down at the salt and nodded at it, “I’m coming in. Don’t shoot me, you won’t get whatever security deposit this shithole might have made you put down.” Stepping over the salt carefully he kept his arms up and then put his hands down, “See? Not a demon. I’ll even tap dance out of the trap under the rug if you want me too.” Inside Dean didn’t know how to feel. Inside he wanted to laugh and cry and scream all at the same time. He was relieved to see him, it would make the angel mess a lot easier, but he had dealt with Bobby’s death and then subsequent haunting already. Dredging it all up…it’d take a few seriously messed up hunts to deal with it all over again. “Good to see you, how are you and all that polite jazz but we need answers, Bobby. How did you get back? And where did you come from..?” he glanced up at the ceiling, “up there or…” his eyes drifted down to the floor and back up to Bobby. They didn’t have time to deal with the fallout if Bobby had been in hell. Then again maybe it’d be worse if the man had to say goodbye to heaven.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 3, 2014 21:43:04 GMT -5
Sam didn't realize just how Hellish he really looked, but he had some idea. He was well aware that he wasn't working at full stability, but he was convinced, as always, that he could handle it. Off Bobby's comment, Sam gave a troubled look to the air halfway between Bobby and his brother. Dean had yet to grill him about his current state of being, but only because he hadn't had the chance yet. Sam wanted to avoid the barking interoggation for as long as possible. He didn't have an answer for Bobby, so he just stayed silent.
Dean seemed to be on the same page as Sam, regarding Bobby with as much wariness as the situation deserved. When he entered the motel room, Sam followed, let Dean take the lead while Sam scoped out the room. It looked like a Bobby room -- bag on the spare bed, no bother unpacking, except for the little soap, which Bobby always unwrapped to use. It was weird little things like that which only family knew about each other. Sam had a laundry list of Dean's weird habits a mile and a half long. Letting Dean do the talking -- at least at first -- Sam kept his knife at his side, firmly pointed at the ground.
“Good to see you, how are you and all that polite jazz but we need answers, Bobby. How did you get back? And where did you come from..? Up there or…”
There were a few seconds of space to answer before Sam, moving a little slower in his off-his-rocker state, lifted a hand and splashed holy water all over Bobby's face. As droplets dripped down his beard and it became apparent that the person in front of them was not a demon, determination turned to a tiny hint of embarassment on the part of the younger Winchester. "Had to be sure," he excused himself, glancing from Bobby to his brother and back.
Screwing the cap on the flask, Sam listened to Bobby speak his piece. He hated to think of Bobby being in Hell, as Dean had suggested was possible. But he supposed they'd do a lot to get their hands on a soul like Bobby's. He'd much rather think of Bobby relaxing in his own personal paradise, which was undoubtedly a version of his own auto yard where he could drink and get foot massages all day. Heaven wasn't perfect, but it beat the alternative. When the man was finished, Sam held up a knife. "One last test," he said grimly. If he could count the times they'd all cut themselves open with a silver knife to prove they weren't a shapeshifter...well, actually, he probably could, if he looked hard enough for all the little scars. Gesturing for Bobby's arm, Sam waited.
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