One accidental video by two deliberate Philips [15/??? artefacts collected]

[sadfreezingbrit_archive]

First floor, room somethingorother. This is a boring feed. There's the sound of furniture being moved in the background, but all that's visible is a wooden door. For a moment it sounded like there was a knock on it, but that was probably just the background noise. Really, it doesn't look like anything will be happening here anytime soon. Honestly, better change the channel to something moreOHGODPICKAXE!!!



[ With a crack the wood splinters, a narrow metal head bursting through it. After a moment it dislodges and after another the axe comes crashing through again, making the crack wider. Somebody is behind that door, but their identity remains yet unknown.

Enter Philip, slowly shoving a heavy bookcase in front of the door. Once he's got the exit completely covered he disappears again and returns to follow up with a dresser, a table and several chairs.

Once the entire barricade is in place he sways back and lets himself fall against a wall, sinking to the floor while gasping for air.

He flinches as the barricade rattles and shakes.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Then silence.

Philip pauses, hesitates and finally breathes a sigh of relief.

Silence.

Suddenly a creaking noise, coming from the closet further back in the room.

Philip swallows and hesitates before slowly getting up to investigate, circling the closet doors at a good distance until he is able to see inside.

And once he does his eyes widen instantly and he takes a few panicked steps back. ]

No! N-no...

[ He shakes his head frantically. ]

How d-- How did you...?

[ The door creaks open a little further, revealing to the camera a perfect copy of Philip.

Not somebody similar, no. Not a sloppy copy with different clothes, perhaps an air that is more or less refined. Not somebody with a different voice or even a different accent.

Not somebody slightly younger or slightly older either, not even somebody who has at least the decency to wear an interesting hat or perhaps have pitch black demon eyes or set himself apart from the original in any way.

No, this guy here might as well be Philip's reflection. If Philip was currently holding a pickaxe that is... ]

The lesson here is that you can lock away your problems as much as you like, they are only going to find a way around eventually.

[ The shadow smiles and advances towards Philip. ]

Take for instance our dearest and most trusted companion Clarence--

I don't want to hear it! [ The original interrupts, takes another step back and looks over his shoulder. Then he turns around and jumps through the open window.

His remaining double only shakes his head and calls after him: ]

Denial is not just an anagram of your best friend, Philip!

[ After a moment's pause the shadow shoulders his axe and gives chase. ]

[[OOC: ICly cut for length. Philip will answer video and audio with a slight IC delay while being chased. Both Philips can be found outside the mansion for action interaction.]]

Comments

Good God, are you wearing a USED subject line? /scoffs

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

Such an eloquent strategy, so little appreciation for it.

"Little busy here, come back later."

The shadows' primary focus is always the person they are trying to immitate. Consequently Philip's shadow disregards both the attacker he can and the one he presumably cannot perceive in favour of pressing down the pickaxe on the original's neck hard.

Whatever strength to fight back Philip had is now literally down to its last breath and his hands are losing their grip on the axe, arms slipping down to the ground.

He'd say more to greet Dean, but apparently blue lips and silence are the new hello in their relationship.

Don't be so ~English~, Lady Philippa. /hairflip

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

The last time he saw Philip with blue lips, the man had been on the verge of freezing to death in a swimming pool that was doing a rather clever impersonation of Greenland, in all its icy glory. Here, the threat is far more immediate and obviously not easily distracted by his obnoxious presence.

Adrenaline sparking through his veins - Oh, the thrill of the hunt! - Dean lets a shot off in the middle of the Shadow's back. Not pausing to see if it did any actual damage, he flips the gun, holding the barrel in both hands, and sprints at the damn thing before it can break Philip's neck.

Swinging the shotgun around like a bat in the hands of a home-run hitter, Dean aims for the side of the Shadow's head with the heavy wooden butt, teeth bared.

CLEVER SUBJECT LINE IS CLEVER

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

Cas ducks out of the gun's swinging path, inwardly cringing a bit - but only a bit; this is merely a shadow, real as it may feel - at the sound of impact. The Shadow is knocked to the side, losing its hold on Phil, and not a moment too soon considering the color Phil has turned.

Before it can rally, Castiel pivots and catches the creature, thrusting it away from Philip and Dean, pinning it against a nearby tree. It's a move Dean will see often enough in the future: an angel overpowering another creature as much with invisible as with physical strength, pinning them high against a wall. Castiel isn't one for excessive dramatics though, and he likes the satisfying physical feel of the creature held immobile by his hand. "Silence," he tells it. He has words for the real Phil, but he'll wait until he's recovered enough to hear them, and hope his and Dean's strength will be sufficient to hold the Shadow at bay until then.

Of course. They all say that.

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

Once freed Philip takes a deep gulp of air, chocking and coughing as it travels down his injured neck.

Words or even screams are still beyond him at this point, but fortunately his shadow has every intention of disregarding Castiel and speaking for him.

"Silence or what? I'm free for a demonstration, I've already been wondering how you would end up killing me.

Sure, I thought it wouldn't be so blunt, not while Dean's around, but I guess you both want me- or us dead a lot more than I thought."

The shadow squirms, but doesn't quite manage to free himself. He looks past Castiel at Philip.

"Hey, Philip! Run while I try and hold them off! They'll probably kill us both anyway, but at least we can make it a bit harder for them!"

Philip looks up at him wearily, still gasping for air. He is covered in "his own" blood from the gunshot and his injured leg is hurting a lot worse than it did before.

Overall he is not having such a great day and getting up enthusiastically, let alone running away is nowhere near the top of his to-do list.

Friggin' angels and physics professors, man.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Panting, staring for a moment in impressed awe at the being pinned to a tree by nothing more than Castiel's mind, Dean takes a second to recollect himself before shooting a glare at the Shadow and turning to look at Phil.

He looks...wow. Awful, really. Just bad. A pickaxe to the leg'll do that to you, as well as the splatter-factor from the buckshot Dean had embedded in the Shadow's back. Walking over to him slowly, Dean crouches next to Phil and wipes some blood off his own cheek with the back of his hand, smiling lopsidedly.

"Didn't think we'd abandon you to the fucker, didja?"

Dean glances back to Castiel briefly. Phil has two options concerning his lookalike, but he probably won't like either of them. Dean didn't like his. Picking at the torn trouser fabric that's plastered itself to Philip's leg with the man's blood, he grimaces at the gash he finds. That's definitely going to leave a mark.

"We don't want you dead, man," Dean states quietly, shirking the flannel over his t-shirt off and wrapping it around Phil's leg like a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. "Just listen to Cas."

Angel wisdom monologue, blah blah boring

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

castiel ignores the Shadow's taunts, only paying enough attention to recognize that it voices fears the real Philip likely shares. "I will not harm you," he tells both of them. "I am merely protecting you from yourself. Whatever must be done with your shadow, you yourself must choose: to accept it as part of yourself and become stronger for that acknowledgment, or to destroy it utterly and free yourself from its power.

We will aid you in whatever you choose, and in the meantime I will hold your shadow back to allow you the recovery you require." He knows what he would choose - it's what he did, after all: accepted his shadows - both of them - and now feels whole in a way he didn't before. But his combat was not physical and violent the way Philip's has been. he honestly doesn't know what decision to expect.

Striptease! Striptease! ...am I on the wrong side again?

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

When Dean comes closer Philip attempts to croak words of thanks, but the earlier attack makes speech a little more painful than he'd like, so he opts for a simple nod and a smile of relief.

If he wasn't so deprived of blood and oxygen it might occur to him to tell Dean to WATCH THE BLOOD JESUS OH GOD CAREFUL OF THE BLOOD, but as it is that biohazard warning sentiment gets a little lost in the haze.

He is not happy to see Castiel again, no matter the circumstances. Dean's presence makes the meeting more bearable however and Philip's own exhaustion doesn't leave much room for anything but what he's being told right now: Listen to Cas.

...Yet when the angel speaks he can't help but think that blah blah monologue blah blah is a fairly accurate description of what he hears. He's finding it difficult to concentrate, but what's more he doesn't understand why they wouldn't just--

"Kill it! What-- What are you waiting for, just kill it!"

His voice comes out hoarse and he holds his neck in pain. Digging his palms into the earth he pulls himself into a sitting position, eyes widening as Castiel's statement clicks.

He looks at Dean, pleading.

"That is not me. That's not any part of-- just shut him up,please."

Yes you are, dear. The fellatio is on the other side.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Dean sort of remembers the same speech when he was cowering in his bedroom, his own shadow taunting him. Chipping away at him. Smothering him. Cas stood there; Cas heard everything. Cas understood all his worst fears, now, thanks to that thing. It hadn't been passive, the way it screamed for family and friends that first night.

"I know what you're afraid of, Dean-o. You're scared of being alone. Well heads up: You are alone. You know exactly what's waiting for you when you get back. So what are you trying to do, huh? Prolong the inevitable? It's pointless staying here - you've already alienated yourself.

You have no friends. Face it; your own brother is here, and you don't trust him. After everything you've done for him, all the messes you've cleaned up - and he doesn't even appreciate it. So what's the point? You're pathetic."

The Shadow is dirty laundry. It's all your baggage, it's what you worry about. Whether or not it's true doesn't matter, it's only there to break you.

And, looking at Phil as the poor guy heaves himself upright, fingers fumbling over his neck as he forces out the words Kill it, Dean understands the sentiment. He appreciates it more than what he himself did, especially considering the circumstances, because as much as his own tried to destroy him with psychological warfare, Philip's had done the same with the physical.

Tying his shirt around Phil's leg in a tight knot, blood - sorry, occupational hazard - slicking his hands, Dean nods sharply at Phil's request and pulls the Desert Eagle out of the back of his jeans. Exchanging glances with Castiel and standing, Dean aims-

-And promptly empties an entire clip into the Shadow's chest.

Fellatio? *perks up* Where? /distracts from short boring tag

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

Castiel exchanges a glance with Dean and they both nod. If this is what Philip wants, they'll do it.

He holds the Shadow immobile as Dean perforates it, letting his sword materialize in his right hand at the same time in case it doesn't work. He waits, tensed and ready, as the smell of cordite dissipates into the trees and his ears stop ringing.

!!! *rips off clothes and jumps through nearest mirror*

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

The Shadow groans in pain once, then goes limp, Castiel's power being the only thing still holding him in place.

Philip flinches and turns away. Wanting the thing dead and seeing something that seems all too much like his own body destroyed are two different things entirely. He waits.

He's about to breathe a sigh of relief when the Shadow coughs, blood dripping from his mouth onto the ground.

"Don't look away now, this is the important part of the lesson!"

The creature jerks its head up and looks at Philip.

"You know it's only a matter of time before you come to your senses. And when our disease gets worse they won't just tuck you into bed and make you hot soup!"

Coughing the Shadow leans forward, fighting against Castiel's restraints.

"You never should have told!"

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

He knew it wasn't dead. It's never that easy. Dean could hardly fight his own Shadow. He had the first time, walking through Bobby's dreams. He'd hit it with the butt of a heavy gun, pumped it full of buckshot. Refused to let it have the last laugh. Refused to let it be right.

But it was, and he knew it.

Whether Phil's Shadow is right or wrong doesn't really matter, but as a Winchester - as someone with all the determination and stubbornness as a pit bull - Dean has every intention of helping the first person his age around here who actually took him seriously.

"Don't listen to it!" He barks at Philip, pulling some shells out of his pocket and loading them into his sawed-off with practiced efficiency. "If it gets worse," Dean cocks the shotgun with a loud CLICK. "We're gonna do whatever we can to help. So you," He aims at the Shadow's head.

"Shut your fuckin' cakehole."

Another shell explodes in the Shadow's chest, spraying them with blood. Wiping red from his face with the back of his hand, he cocks it, aims, shoots again, stepping forward and pressing the barrel up underneath its chin, expression tight. He'll let Castiel have the final blow, but Dean wants the last words.

"Go to Hell."

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

As Dean delivers his parting shots - both of them - Castiel strides forward, sword in hand.

It feels like a long time since he's felt his role as a soldier in this way. Philip doesn't even like him. But Cas wants him to. So he will do what he must to help him.

Calmly, unheeding of the blood getting on his clothes (he's had worse, far worse... Dean's insides working a shift as outsides comes to mind), he draws the blade back a little, and then thrusts it upward beneath the Shadow's ribcage, straight into its heart. Lightning crackles through its frame, wreathing it in sparks and light, and when it dissipates, the Shadow falls away as ash that disappears into the air, less than dust.

Castiel's sword can kill angels. The Shadow isn't coming back this time.

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

The Shadow looks down at the barrel of Dean's gun, grinning. Blood drips down onto the weapon as he opens his mouth, but Castiel's attack interrupts him with devastating efficiency.

And then the Shadow is gone. For now.

Combat only stalls. The only way to get rid of the Shadow for good is to accept it, but an attack like this should at least buy Philip a day or two. And for now it's Dean who has the last word.

Philip forced himself to look at the scene and now breathes that sigh of relief at last. He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes. The pain from being chocked is only a faint soreness in his throat now. The leg is... a little less accomodating.

Shakily he attempts to get back on his feet, leaning against a tree behind him for support. Words still fail him at this point. Well, part of him anyway...

" So our damsel Philip here is still a little too distressed to comment, but on his behalf I'd like to express my sincere thanks for savin' our skin.

Sorry for the lack of hands and all, but really, standing ovations, guys."

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Dean really would have liked to blow the thing's head off - Hell, this has been the first successful hunt of his since he got here, and the thrill is still vibrating through him - but letting Phil see...well, technically himself...getting shot and stabbed was probably enough for one day.

Sadly, Dean doesn't even get to hear Clarence's thanks, though he'd probably brush them off as stupid and douchey.

Soul-sucking alien virus bastard.

Chucking his emptied shotgun back into his duffel bag, he moves over to Phil's side, kneeling and checking the jagged tear in his leg. The bleeding's slowed, but not by much, and Dean doesn't even have anything to patch the damn thing up with besides his shirt.

"Y'know," He says conversationally, tightening the fabric around Philip's leg. "This is the second time in two days I've had to save your ass. I'm gonna hafta start putting you on a tab. Can you walk?"

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

Meanwhile, Castiel puts his sword away. It disappears into the space-between-spaces where he keeps it near his soul, ready to be drawn again next time the next time he needs it.

"Wait," he says, hearing Dean's question. He approaches where Dean is tending Phil's leg. Not waiting for permission - he suspects if he were to ask, he'd be met with vehement panicked and violent refusal at worst, or stubborn decline at best - he bends down, extending two fingers to Phil's torn limb.

It's not as much as he wants, but he can still do this much at least. And he'll never regret the reason for his waning powers.

When he touches it, the flesh knits back together in the time spanning one second to the next, and Phil's other minor scrapes are gone. It's not complete: the leg will still be sore and tender, and had the wound been fatal, Cas' abilities would have helped little. But it's better than it was.

He stands again then, backing away a little, giving space to the two men who know each other better.

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

Philip smiles wryly and shakes his head. Dean's persistent attempts at humour regardless of the horror of the situation are a comforting constant.

He looks down at his leg. "Sure," he says nodding, though without much enthusiasm. At least if he can drag his injured self through mines and frozen lab complexes then this should be a piece ofOHMYGODWHATAREYOUDOING?!

Philip stares in horror (a prequel to panicked and violent refusal, had his reaction time been any better) as the angel approaches, but that's about all he manages before his leg receives its magical fix.

Incredulously he stares from his wound- from where his wound should be to Castiel and back.

"Wow. Neat trick."

"There's... there's a clinic here, you know."

...Which he was about to laboriously limp back to and HE WOULD HAVE BEEN FINE, thank you very much.

C'MON GUYS CAN'T YOU TWO JUST GET ALONG? DDD:

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Dean's seen the healing thing before - Cas managed to mend his broken fingers after he'd thrown a punch at his shadows and snapped a few bones with the force. So yeah, while it is kinda douchey that he sit back and allow Castiel to fix up Phil's leg when Phil would obviously rather be chewing glass, it's better this way.

And he feels like that poor kid in elementary school who just wants all his other friends to get along. Dean throws a fond smile at Cas as the angel finishes up.

"Relax," He claps Philip on the shoulder, "Now I don't hafta carry you. Can't have you bleedin' all over the place, anyway."

Speaking of which...He looks down at his hands, grimacing. Slick with red, Dean rubs as much off on his pants as he possibly can. "Let's, uh- Let's get back to the Tower of Terror before anything else shows up in here. This place ain't exactly a den of happy memories, if I recall correctly."

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

Castiel falls into step behind Dean and Phil, leaving a gap between himself and them to give them space. He keeps close enough to hear their conversation, and to react swiftly enough should anything attack, but he knows Philip still cares little for him.

And Clarence perplexes him: Castiel's gut response is to dislike and distrust... him, it, whatever the proper word is. He is obviously indwelling Philip without his desire or permission, and that is far too demon-like for Cas' comfort, waking his desire to smite, to purge impurity. But as far as he's seen (so far), Philip also seems to mostly retain his autonomy. And since Cas can't tell yet what Clarence is, he has no clear idea how to exorcise him from Philip without killing both of them.

So he contents himself with quietly following behind, vigilant to sounds in the forest around them as they near the mansion. It is not lost on him that he is deliberately putting space between himself and Dean, too, keeping his yearning in check. Now isn't the time... yet.

NEVER! *CROSSES ARMS* *SULKS*

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

"Right. Let's go."

Philip gets up and is surprised to find himself walking at a reasonable pace without any trouble that's worth noting.

The healing would be worth words of thanks at least, but Philip can't bring himself to open his mouth, especially since Castiel's own silent retreat is... irritating for reasons Philip can't quite grasp himself.

The truth is that, much as he wants to make a tentative attempt, Philip just can't get over his fear and resentment, especially not after seeing what Castiel did to "his body".

But whatever comment he has in store for that remains firmly locked inside his mind, if only for Dean's sake. The healing was helpful and will get them out of his trauma forest much faster. And he's been through enough without Philip showing animosity towards the angel when he and Dean are clearly--

...Actually Philip would rather not contemplate their relationship in detail.

'Wow. I could cut the tension here with a bloody dagger. Hey coat guy, are real angels ever in heat or is that just you?

So hey, just say the word and Philip and I will head back home alone, leave you two lovebirds to... a little somethin'-somethin' between the bushes if you know what I'm sayin'.'

...And he sincerely wished that the rest of his mind could have extended him the same courtesy.

Philip sighs quietly to himself. At least from Dean's perspective he is only walking along wordlessly...

PLEASE? PRETTY PLEASE? WITH A CHERRY AND WHIPPED CREA- Wait.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Were Dean aware of the conversations that Castiel and Clarence could potentially have thanks to their uncanny ability to project their respective consciousnesses to sensitive minds, the chances of embarrassment would be...extremely high. It's fortunate for everyone else, then, that Dean continues blissfully walking along, boots crunching the underbrush, one hand shoved in his pocket, whistling something that is probably Led Zeppelin.

At the very least, no one can hear his thoughts - Except maybe Castiel, but they haven't ironed the kinks out concerning mental messages and subconscious voicemail.

It's probably complicated.

When they finally break out of the forest, back in the startlingly-manicured field, Dean takes a deep breath of relief and cracks his neck. "Remind me to not go so long in between hunts," He says dryly, to no one in particular, and re-adjusts the shotgun over his shoulder.

The silence is a little too awkward.

"So, uh...I take it...you guys met, already?"

The whipped cream is for later, Dean.

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

"...we are acquainted, yes," Cas answers for both of them. His tone is level, carefully flat.

Aimed at Clarence (not that Dean heard the question, but he'll probably be able to guess who asked, if he thinks about it), he adds, "And it is not unheard-of for angels to have sexual interest, nor for them to have intercourse with humans. Such was the origin of the Nephilim, thousands of years ago in human history."

Pitching his voice a little louder, and adopting what he fancies is a conversational tone, he goes on, "It is well you are physically unequipped to bear offspring, Dean, as the Nephilim were determined to be abominations in the sight of the Lord, and were therefore to be hunted."

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

Somewhere there is bound to be a helpful book on angel/headvirus etiquette, all the information laid down and lovingly elaborated on. A set of strict yet vital rules... of which Castiel probably broke just about all and then some.

From being in Philip's head in the first place to indulging Clarence with an answer to making it that answer and then going on...

It's hard for Philip to pick between incredulous, mortified and furious when they all apply in such significant amounts.

So he simply bites his lip, lowers his head and walks a whole lot faster.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Take Philip's absolute, utter mortification, and now multiply it by infinity. At first Dean thinks he's hiding the embarrassment well: head ducked, shoulders a rigid line. But the heat is increasing and his cheeks are burning and his stomach is flipping in that way that only happens during freefall on a roller coaster - or in Dean's case, any occasion when he's seated on an airplane.

Cas just...in front of Phil...

...and in that instant Dean loses any hope of his friends becoming friends, and shoots Castiel a look that says We are talking about this later, you tactless dick.

Because it's not already bad enough that Philip and Cas appear to have gotten off on the wrong foot without Dean to supervise. Castiel was being presumptuous with a whole slew of things - for one, assuming that Dean would...y'know...take it like some bitch. Then there's the issue of bringing it up in public, but for some reason that bothers him less than the idea of bending over for some other dude.

Even if he likes the other dude a lot.

It's just emasculating, man.

So he flushes dark red, keeps his own head down, and steps up the pace to get back to the mansion, so grateful when they finally reach the foyer.

"Uh," Dean's voice is tight with anxiety and anger, but he nods quickly at Phil. "See you around, man. Stay...stay outta trouble."

[out-of-minutes.livejournal.com]

Cas may not be the most tactful guy in the world (can we say vast, vast understatement?), but even he can tell that conversational gambit fell more than a little flat.

Feeling somewhat sheepish even if he doesn't look it, he offers a lame and somewhat stiff half-wave to Philip, and follows Dean. Dean doesn't look like he's feeling well. And Cas suspects they need to talk, if he read Dean's look correctly. Perhaps Dean disagrees with his Nephilim lore?

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

Not sparing Castiel so much as a glance Philip throws Dean subdued words of goodbye and books it while trying to blank out Clarence's mock complaints about wanting to stay for tea.