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

!!! *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.