Two people for the price of one transmission [16/??? artefacts collected]

[sadfreezingbrit_archive]

[ The year is 2011. The place is Wonderland. The exact time is exactly some time after the events of this log.

Both audio and video of this transmission are on, but the view leaves something to be desired. A white ceiling, half of which is obstructed by a smudge of blood.

The voice quality is top notch however and some may be able to recognise echo_of_utopia and sadfreezingbrit talking to each other not too far away. ]

No, I... I don't-- I can't...

Perhaps your room number?

...Five... sixteen on the... twelfth floor.

[ Short pause. ] All right, just a moment. [ Longer pause. ] Please look straight ahead and follow the light with your eyes.

[ Even longer pause. ]

Thank you, now--

...W-wait, there's-- Can... Can you...

Ah, of course. Let me just turn it off.

[ The sound of footsteps draws closer and for a moment the video displays part of the clinic, its most notable feature being a bed occupied by one not exactly stellar looking Philip LaFresque.

The other participant is of course none other than the good Dr Lamb who promptly pushes a button on the device, thus ending today's episode of ER: Wonderland Edition. ]


[[OOC: Video/audio/text replies from both sadfreezingbrit and echo_of_utopia are possible. Action tags at the clinic are also very welcome. Please specify who you're calling, in case you have a preference.]]

Comments

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

The clinic.

[Dean repeats slowly. He didn't even know they had a clinic. If Phil is suffering from a concussion - he barely seems to recognize Dean, anyway - then he needs a monitor.

Sometimes Dean marvels at how he developed such a mother hen complex from looking after Sam.]

What floor is it on, Phil?

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ Okay. Well. Currently Philip thinks he lives on the twelfth floor, so give him a moment to figure this out.

After a few slow blinks and clueless silence he looks wearily towards somebody or something off-screen before finally stating: ]

Fourth, in... number ten.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Dean decides that he really needs to get around to teaching Phil some code words to use in situations like this, because if he's not alone, who is he with? Dean can't recall ever meeting any doctors here.]

Just sit tight, dude. Gimme five minutes.

[Wishing his boy-genius brother was around to help, he cuts the feed off.]

[echo-of-utopia.livejournal.com]

[ Who is he with? Why, that is an excellent question, one which this nice lady will be glad to answer once Dean enters the clinic. ]

How may I help you?

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Whoa. Whoa, okay, he was not expecting a lady. Dean takes a deep breath, considers this, and re-evaluates who she must be. 1) They're in a clinic. 2) Philip needs looking after. It's only logical that there's a doctor.

Right?

Right.]

...uh.

[He's still taken aback, nonetheless, having expected little opposition, and struggles with formulating an explanation for himself.]

I'm Phil's friend. Came to see if he's okay.

[echo-of-utopia.livejournal.com]

[ Luckily Lamb only has one patient at the moment, so it's not too difficult to determine who this young and eloquent man is looking for. ]

Phil? Is that his name?

[ Apparently Mr LaFresque didn't get around to sharing the exciting revelations of his little chat with Dean yet.

Lamb points towards the far end of the clinic and starts walking towards an occupied bed behind a hospital curtain. ]

He's over there, but I'm afraid he is in no shape for a longer conversation.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Why do doctors make him so nervous? It's not only that, it's the whole...hospital...clinic thing...that bothers him, too. It's too pristine and boring a place to sit in when you're sick or dying. Dean would know. He's been there.

For the startling number of times he's stalked hallways like this for the sake of a case, he still isn't used to them - not by a long-shot. Following after the woman quietly, Dean grimaces as soon as he sees the curtain.

C'mon, Dean, pull yourself together. Pretend it's another case.]

Can you tell me what happened to him, Doctor...?

[-Insert Name Here-]

[echo-of-utopia.livejournal.com]

Doctor Lamb.

[ She briefs him while walking. ]

Unfortunately I cannot say. I found him in a corridor near the clinic. He...

[ They arrive at Phil's bed and Lamb pauses, looking to see his reaction to Dean. Just because he says he is a friend of Phil doesn't mean he couldn't be somebody else entirely; the person who did this in the first place, for instance.

...But Lamb already has her suspicions on the culprit and the smile her patient attempts upon seeing Dean is sufficient confirmation. ]

He does not recall the incident at the moment.

[ She turns to Dean. ]

A number of residents here are prone to violence, with or without cause. Unless he was attacked for reasons I am unaware of I regret to say that he may have simply been... unlucky.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Like out in the hall? Jesus.

[Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, looking genuinely upset, actually, about what he's seeing. Phil's worse in person, like the by-product of being tossed around by a wendigo. He resists the urge to demand an explanation for his state, seeing that Philip really isn't in the right mind for talking too long.

Standing by the bedside, hands curling into fists in his jeans, he assesses the damage and keeps the conversation light and frivolous as he crouches by the bed.]

Hey, dude. Don't think you'll be winnin' any beauty pageants anytime soon.

[Dean glances back at Doctor Lamb.] Unlucky? That ain't exactly comforting. So what's the prognosis, then, 'cause I figure he's gotta have a concussion.

[What frustrates him is that people he knows keep getting hurt, and he's never around to help.]

[echo-of-utopia.livejournal.com]

No, it certainly is not.

[ Another look at Phil. No visible objections to Dean's presence, so she proceeds with her diagnosis, nodding to confirm Dean's suspicion. ]

A moderate concussion, several minor facial fractures and... some trauma to his abdomen. [ And now the translation! ] It appears he has received severe blows to his head and stomach. There have been no complications so far, but I certainly recommend further observation to be sure.

[ The last part is said in Phil's direction before she looks back at Dean. ]

As it is now I expect him to largely recover within the week.

[ See? Not as bad as it looks.

Probably.

She's not sharing that particular detail without Phil's explicit consent, but all the information she has is... annoyingly vague, given that her patient quite vehemently refused further examination via scans.

It's frustrating, especially since she can't for the life of her imagine what he's so worried about her discovering... ]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

A week, right.

[Dean repeats automatically, standing.]

Is there, uh-

[How to not make this sound intrusive without...being intrusive? It isn't as though he can just go hunting the first violent being he sees in the mansion on a mission to tear its friggin' lungs out, because A) it might not have lungs at all, depending, and B) Dean has no idea what the perpetrator looks like without Philip's description.]

...anything I can do to help?

OH FOR THE LOVE OF-- *throws in towel*

[echo-of-utopia.livejournal.com]

You can stay with him if you would like.

Seeing a familiar face always provides some comfort, although you will likely find that it is difficult for him to concentrate at the moment, amongst other things.

[ Clearly by help Lamb assumes Dean is talking about medical assistance rather than bloody vengeance. ]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Bloody vengeance? No...no, what are you talking about? Dean isn't prone to 'bouts of violence. You must be mistaken. He clears his throat and nods.]

Yeah, that's...that's fine. Whatever I can do, y'know?

[Slaughtering people or not.

He casts his gaze around briefly, grabbing at the nearest chair and dragging it over to the bedside. Assuming that he might need to help with that "wake them up every half-hour" thing, Dean leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He hasn't seen Castiel - or Sammy, for that matter - for a couple of days, and peering into Phil's transmission to see that he's a wreck?

That makes him feel a little guilty.]

Lemme know if there's anything else I can help you with, doctor.

[echo-of-utopia.livejournal.com]

Thank you, that is very kind of you, Mr...?

[ Might as well keep track of visitor names, right?

Oh, and one announcement in advance: ]

I will need to take care of some business in the practice next door for a moment.

Please let me know immediately if his condition changes.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Dean resists the urge to call himself "Mick Jagger", instead opting for honesty since this place is fairly close-knit. Too many people know him already for him to pretend that he's a famous rocker.]

...Winchester. Dean Winchester. [He raises an eyebrow at the informative statement.] Yeah, no worries. I'll keep an eye on 'im.

[Another nod.]

Thanks, doc.

1/2

[echo-of-utopia.livejournal.com]

Of course.

[ A nod sounds like a great idea. She offers one to both Dean and Phil before departing. ]

2/2

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ ~MEANWHILE IN THE HOSPITAL BED NEXT TO THIS CONVERSATION ~

Philip was still listening- trying to listen to the conversation at first, but the entertainment value of their talk didn't really measure up to the energy required to pay closer attention.

So when Lamb leaves he's just about to drift off and continue nursing his headache in his dreams. ]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Dean leans in after Doctor Lamb leaves, rubbing the back of his neck and raising his eyebrows.]

Hey, Phil.

[A little louder.]

Phil? How ya doin'?

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ It only takes him a moment to open his eyes, but a few blinks longer to find his voice. It's quiet, slurred and unpleasant to produce through split lips. ]

Could be better.

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

Doc says you're gonna recover in a week. [He grimaces.] But you're gonna have some nice bruises to show off to all the ladies, huh?

[Dean leans on the side of the bed with his elbows, trying to keep eye contact with Philip. He cracks a half-hearted smile, for Phil's sake.]

Went down t'see the vendors. They're interested in whatever you've got, so when you're back in the game we can start buildin' the Lee. How's that sound?

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ How bruises are supposed to impress women would be beyond Philip's grasp on a regular day. He isn't even going to touch that one now.

Show off? No, he is mortified because he looks like hell again, because Dean sees him looking like hell again and he swears he had his life together at some point although maybe there just isn't all that much assault and battery in the field of theoretical physics as a whole.

He will however attempt to comment on their ongoing car endeavour. ]

They're won't, they- they're-- I tried, they're too... they're too expensive.

[ We did say attempt. His mind is currently stuck in horrible neon party withdrawal event mode where Philip tried to sell all his artefacts for a single piece of candy and was shot down by the temporarily overpriced merchants. ]

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Dean's seen worse. And been worse. Remember for a moment that you're talking to someone who's died multiple times. Of course this wouldn't matter to Philip, who appears to have an aversion to being vulnerable even in front of friends - although Dean can relate entirely - but still. Still.

It shouldn't matter. Dean raises an eyebrow.]

Expensive? What the Hell are you talking abou-? Oh. Oh, shit, right. That rave from Hell. [Sighing, Dean rakes a hand through his hair.] Sonsabitches jacked up their prices.

[Slumping back in his chair, Dean laces his fingers together and rests his hands on his stomach. That "neon party" is something that Dean is still trying to forget. After getting hopped up on candy and suffering from horrendous withdrawal (He actually spent a lot of time curled up on his bed, clutching a pillow and shaking it all out of his system), he decided that lime green is a sinful color and pounding bass beats should only be relegated to Metallica riffs.]

I think the prices've changed since then, dude.

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ For some reason changed since then makes it sound like an awfully long time has past, at least in Philip's mind which is currently a little too removed from reality altogether. ]

Why, what... what _month is it?

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Phil must have taken a harder knock to the head than Dean had anticipated.]

It's still March, Phil. It's March- [He checks his watch.] It's the twenty-fourth.

[Dean leans in.] Do you really remember nothing from what happened to you?

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ A sigh of relief. March. If he ever had a theory then that was definitely it, although right now the present time and place have an odd way of drifting in and out of focus.

Be that as it may Philip is now trying very hard to answer Dean's question. ]

I was in my room on... [ Today? Probably Definitely today. ] this morning and I actually wanted to see the doctor and I... I left the room, I must've left the room, but... but then I was already here.

{ Would love to help you out there, monkey, you know I would, but it looks a little like a hurricane went through here and uh, might take me a while to find that memory you're lookin' for. }