sadfreezingbrit_archive | One unenthusiastic video under sea [13/??? artefacts collected]

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One unenthusiastic video under sea [13/??? artefacts collected]

[ Philip's face is looking perfectly normal (if a little crabby in the strictly mood-related sense of the word). Shoulders, arms, no problem there. His chest, not currently covered by any sort of clothing, is looking just a tad more blueish and... transparent than it should.

Opacity only decreases from there, making Phil entirely light blue and see-through below his stomach. Below the waist it looks like he's been torn and tattered, his body segueing into a thick bundle of thin tentacles where his legs should be.

Or in other words: Philip, now with roughly 65% more this. ]

How is that even--

[ The blue tentacles whirl around as Philip turns and spins nervously in front of his algae-encrusted mirror, placing his hands behind his back to confirm that there is indeed nothing whatsoever between the front and the back of his body.

He spins a few more times before letting himself drift onto his mattress with resignation. ]

...I want my organs back.

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[ Huh. Well, that was a surprisingly ordinary request. ]

...Yeah, no problem. I'll, uh, meet you downstairs?

[He doesn't say thanks, but he nods gratefully and switches off the communicator. And Dean swims - wow, rather elegantly and quickly, actually - down to the library. Maybe being a merdude isn't so bad after all.

Even though he's still shirtless.

Doing the shark equivalent to pacing, Dean ends up looking like a very predatory creature in front of the library doors.]

[ Sadly speed is not a thing Philip can offer. It already took him a while to develop a steady rhythm that allows him to propel himself forward in short bursts and even so he still prefers areas where he can use the pull of his arms to move, since there isn't a lot of muscle strength in his lower body right now.

And elegance? Well, majestic as the cornucopia of blue tentacles may be by itself, attached to one half of a skinny English professor the final verdict probably still falls into the weird category more than anything else.

...Be all of that as it may, he arrives at the library in all his jellyhybrid glory, a few minutes after Dean. ]

Did you have a look inside yet? Are the books okay?

[Dean resists the urge to laugh when Phil sort of scoots into view, and suppresses a smile. That only took...a while. Way to go, slowpoke.]

No clue. For all I know, they're written on seaweed.

[He nudges one of the doors open slowly, sliding inside and looking around.]

...this is all creepier underwater.

[ Philip hurriedly pushes himself past Dean to inspect the library's new design.

The layout is the same, but the décor is a catastrophy! Algae-encrusted shelves, seaweed growing in the aisles and tattered and dissolving pages everywhe--

...No. No, not everywhere! Philip swims closer and inspects one of the shelves. Some... no, many books are entirely encased in plastic, page by page, safe (at least temporarily) from the water and ready to be read.

He breathes-- pardon, "breathes" a sigh of relief. ]

What did you say you wanted again? Shark... something, right?

Edited 2011-02-13 00:34 (UTC)

Yeah, somethin' on sharks.

[Dean mumbles idly, trailing his fingers through the algae on one shelf with a grimace. It's slimy and pretty grotesque.] Different types, so I can figure out what I am, y'know?

[He sort of glides over to another bookshelf, frowning at the contents.]

How the Hell are these organized? It's not even the Dewey-Decimal-whatever.

{Galeocerdo cuvier. Make a note, so you can be impressed later. }

It's more...

[ He moves along the aisle, searching it for clues. ]

...intuitive? There are sections sometimes, but it tends to...

[Philip raises his eyebrows and takes a book from the shelf, apparently putting it aside for later. ]

...know what you want. Like the closets, only not always quite as cooperat-- ah, there we go.

[ He reaches for another book and pushes himself back to Dean. ]

You can start with this.

[ A Field Guide to Sharks of the World ]

[Dean turns from his perusal of a shelf bearing a series of books on mollusks and accepts the book from Phil. Sharks of the World, huh? Damn, he might actually learn something today.]

Thanks, dude.

[Floating there - he can't sink to the bottom, he's noticed, without going completely immobile - Dean flips through the plastic-coated pages and tries to match up the markings on his "tail".]

...I think I'm a...Galeocerdo cuvi- What the fuck is...? Oh. A tiger shark. Cool.

[Distractedly flipping through the description, he calls over to Phil.]

So what the Hell kinda jelly-thing are you?

[ Philip rolls his eyes at the shark's scientific name. ]

{ What? No applause? Not even a little? See, you're a stingy bastard after all! }

I could be...

[ He flips through the pages of A Beginner's Guide for Maintaining Healthy Jellyfish ]

It's a little hard to tell, but... [ Flip. ]

Moon jellyfish, maybe? [ He shows Dean the picture for inspection. ]

[Dean cranes over, squinting at the pages. Moon jellyfish, moon jellyfi- Oh, there it is.

...it's not very impressive.]

You only have a lifespan of around six months. [Dean observes, amused, and claps Philip on the back.] But hey, you get to eat all the plankton you want!

[ I hope Dean likes this look, because it's all he's going to get. ]

...oh come on, grow a funny bone. At least you can sorta sting people, right?

[Here. Look. He will suffer to make you feel better, you sonuvabitch. Rolling his eyes, Dean sinks a little and pokes one of the wavy tentacles, wincing.

...okay, so it didn't hurt that badly, but still.]

You sting. Congratulations. You could have been a guppy.

Edited 2011-02-13 19:19 (UTC)

[ Philip flinches. ]

I sting people. How is that a good thing?

[ He does the floating equivalent of taking a step away from Dean. ]

...it's a self-defense thing for jellyfish, Phil.

[Dean looks...confused. Why wouldn't someone want to be able to defend themselves?]

Y'know, it keeps away predators. And stuff.

[ Okay, calm down. Dean probably meant well and Philip has developed an unfortunate tendency to react a bit too strongly to a handful of subjects. He sighs and gives Dean an apologetic look, attempting to explain. ]

But it's going to work whether somebody's a predator or not. And I'd rather go without stinging everybody I bump into.

[ Speaking of which he carefully sidles closer again and attempts to peek at Dean's hand. ]

...Does it hurt much?

Yeah, 'cause you bump into people all the time, you budding socialite, you.

[Dean cracks a grin, flexing the fingers of his left hand and feeling the skin tighten over the stripes of red. There's only a few of them, all parallel, running across the backs of his knuckles. The book said moon jellyfish weren't all that poisonous, so he's not going to die.

At least, not from this.

Dean gives Philip an Are you serious? look, snorting his laughter.]

Dude, I've been strong-armed by the Operator. A little sting ain't gonna hurt. [He holds his hand out, clenching it into a fist again and making a face.] Burns a little, though. Numbing toxins, I think.

[ Philip crosses his arms. ]

What do you mean by that?

[ The budding socialite comment, in case that wasn't evident from his immediate and indignant interruption. ]

[It takes Dean a moment to re-organize his thought process - which has long-since moved onto other things - and go back to whatever Philip is referring to. What, the- Oh. Oh, the socialite thing. Right.

Dean shrugs. His reply isn't probing or insulting - He's just stating fact.]

I dunno, I never really see you around. You sorta keep to yourself.

[ Philip falters. He was sort of hoping for a more insulting insinuation with room for objections, but that... is a sadly matter-of-fact and depressingly accurate statement. ]

{Lies! How dare you! Phil here is in wonderful company all the time. }

[ Okay, so Philip ventures out into the open a little more often these days, but that's a fairly recent development still and not exactly on a level that gives him something to brag about. ]

...Oh. That. I-- I just haven't really...

[ He'd attempt to explain, but there's really very little to it apart from (HEY GUESS WHAT) being terrified that he will involuntarily hurt anyone he comes near. ]

...Right. No, you're... probably right about that.

[ Saying that last part he looks away. He's never been a budding socialite in the literal sense of the word, but he used to have a perfectly decent social life. Lots of acquaintances, friends and a handful of people close to him.

His inability to return to that stings so much more than he would ever admit. ]

[Dean watches the the changing of Phil's expressions; from startled, to introspective, to regretful. While Dean might not know the circumstances that cause this range of emotion, he can empathize, and recognizes something there that he's felt just as keenly in the past. Hell, he still feels it now.

The only reason Dean started coming out of his room and meeting people was because it started with a push from a kid that would never stop reminding him of his little brother. If it hadn't been for Kurt, Dean probably would've used up all his lives on liver poisoning, courtesy of Jack Daniels.]

...you made a mistake. [He observes quietly, letting it hang in the air for a moment before continuing. In all actuality, Dean can tell that Philip hurt someone, but unless that information is offered he's going to keep his postulating vague.]

Whatever it is, man, you can't keep beating yourself up.

[Dean Winchester is practically the poster-boy for "how to lose friends and alienate people". Everyone always gets hurt around him. He sinks down to the sandy floor of the library, leaning against the shelf and looking up at Philip.]

I miss people too.

[ Philip mechanically sinks to the floor along with Dean, his tentacles bundling to form something similar to a bean chair.

Dean's words are appreciated, but his advice is easier given than followed, even under normal circumstances. For Philip there is still Clarence and his taunts and the constant reminder of what happened and could happen again at any given time.

And after the support Dean's been giving him (in slightly more different and irritating ways than he may be used to) Philip... really wants to explain himself, but-- ]

{ Story time? Oh, goody! Just don't shorten the bloody details when you get to our little ritual part, because I worked really hard on that.

Hey, by the way, just out of idle curiosity: Saving people, hunting things, eh? So which do you reckon he's gonna apply to you? }

[ ...So, silence, was it?

...

Yep.

Silence. ]

[It's almost a blessing that Phil is quiet, because Dean talks enough for two people. It isn't born out of a need to fill the silence - because a lot of the time, he's perfectly content with silence - but a need to tell someone who isn't Cas, who doesn't already know his life story.

When Dean dies, no one is going to remember him.]

You know, ah... [He laughs quietly, the sound slightly-pained.] ...I had...a dream, once. I had a girlfriend, a regular job, a house. My mom was alive. My brother was married. I was... [Dean struggles for the word, surprised when he finds himself settling on-] ...happy.

And then I woke up. And I was...back in this...piss-poor excuse for a world, doin' credit card scams and impersonating federal agents. [Dean fingers the amulet around his neck.] It wasn't even worth it, while it lasted. It was all wrong.

[He huffs, watching the bubbles from his exhalation rise to the ceiling of the library. Monsters and people are different. Demons and people are different. Evil is subjective.]

I've done a lotta bad stuff. Done a lotta good stuff, too, though it's not like they cancel out. But the way I see it, no one's ever done somethin' bad enough they can't be forgiven.

[ A girlfriend. A regular job. A place to live and his mother alive and well... up until a year ago those were extracts from Philip's life which he took entirely for granted.

To think that for Dean these things were never more than a dream, a dream he once had is... terrifying, tragic and so many other things Philip can't even begin to list.

Philip wants to make his response about Dean. He wants to say something comforting. He wants to say something. He wants to say anything, but--

But then Dean's last words stir something in him, something that is half defiance; half you can't possibly mean what you just said and half desperate hopefulness and please, oh god, please be serious about this.

And then his response is something different entirely. ]

I killed three people in this mansion.

Edited 2011-02-14 01:22 (UTC)

[Right here, right now is where Dean could really use a drink. But he's a shark-man, and he's underwater, and he'd probably lose the whiskey before it got in his mouth anyway.

He regrets a lot of things, yeah. Mostly having to do with Sam, or his father. Dean should have done a lot of things differently. But he knows there are others who feel the same. So when Philip finally decides to speak, the silence that lurches between them afterwards is almost deafening.

Dean has killed monsters. Some of them retained a semblance of humanity, and sometimes Dean felt regret afterwards. After plugging a werewolf with a silver bullet for his brother, because Sam wasn't strong enough to do it himself.

Plenty of people die in his line of business. That's just the way it is. But Dean has never killed someone in cold blood. He does realize, however, how monumental a step this is for Philip to be telling him what he did. And Dean has the sinking feeling it has something to do with all of Phil's questions about possession.

He stares at the markings on his shark's tail, chewing the inside of one cheek.]

Are you sure it was you?

Edited 2011-02-14 02:16 (UTC)

[ And for a moment that shuts Philip up completely. He anticipated a number of possible reactions, but this one petrifies him entirely and he can't even tell if his reaction comes from fear or relief. ]

{ Huh. Pretty perceptive for an ordinary monkey. Way to go, that one's a real keeper.

...If he doesn't snap your neck in the next couple of minutes that is. }

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