one attempt at one-eyed brunch [21/??? artefacts collected]

[sadfreezingbrit_archive]

[ It's been almost a week since ex-mafia!Philip had a very unfortunate event run-in with still-mafia!Dean. The result? His previous Wonderland lives are still intact, but he's down one eye and his arm isn't doing so well either. And that's the understatement of the day.

So. It's been almost a week. Hardly enough time to heal all wounds (or any of them for that matter), but time enough for Philip to get over the worst and out of his room. Or try to, in any case.

Right now (now being 11 in the morning) he's standing in the kitchen, arduously slaving over his attempt at late breakfast. The injury to his right shoulder is difficult to hide, what with his arm in a sling. But at least his left eye (or lack thereof) is cleverly concealed behind a pair of sunglasses.

To reiterate: Kitchen. Breakfast. 11 o'clock. Right arm in sling. Ridiculous Fashionable sunglasses. Shattered glass.

...Shattered glass? ]

Jesus, not again.

[ Stepping aside Philip looks at the mess. After six days improvements are coming along at last, but missteps (or misgrabs, as it were) still happen all too often. Oh depth perception, he never knew how much he loved you until you were gone.

And yet the milk keeps dripping on the floor; cold, cruel and undeterred by his struggles and frustrations.

To continue: Paper towels. Broom. Scoop. New try. Deep sigh. ]

Comments

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[It's been almost a week since he donned a pin-striped suit and called himself a hitman. Almost a week since he slithered through the dregs of Wonderland's society with incomparable ease, shmoozing all types of people, challenging the cops, sucking down cigarettes like he was addicted to nicotine. Dean still can't wash the ashy taste out of his mouth.

It's been almost a week since a little bell jingled welcomingly in a bookstore doorway. Dust and aging paper, weird quotes from famous authors he's pretty sure he hasn't read since high school. A bitter, livid grudge and the stench of blood, how alive it made him feel at the time.

How dead he feels now. Knowing that he enjoyed every second of it while it was happening is the most horrifying part.

He can't stay in his room out of shame - Castiel probably wouldn't let him, at least not without asking more questions than Dean is willing to answer. Maybe this is what he's been dreading, all this time. He knew he'd snap.

Dean's not hungry, but if he doesn't eat then he'll have to start taking something in an IV. Looking restless, bags under his eyes, he shuffles into the kitchen and shuts the door behind him just as something shatters on the floor. Moving around the little counter island, realizing exactly who it is, Dean ducks his head and grabs another roll of paper towels.]

...lemme help.

[Running is pretty much futile here.]

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ Being on this side of the whole friendly fire affair isn't exactly buckets of fun. It's remarkably painful and extremely annoying. But being on the other side... Philip doesn't even want to think about it.

What he did think about was how to face Dean again.

He was hoping he could be the one to make the first move, but he was also hoping for a point further ahead in time that would give him a chance at recovering sufficiently to smile out of conviction rather than the fact that he's practically chugged a whole pharmacy of painkillers.

As for his reaction, he--

He immediately scolds himself for flinching at Dean's voice. ]

{ Hurry, monkey, get outta here! He's gonna finish the job! }

[Well. That's one week worth of nightmares for you.

As for his reaction, if necessary he is determined and ready to show Dean the same amount of obnoxiously persistent forgiveness his friend once offered him. ]

Don't worry, I- I've got this.

[ Scooping up the glass precariously Philip stands and turns to face Dean. That expression, full-blown guilt with matching bags under his eyes included? Really not something he was looking forward to seeing.

Time to pull himself together and put on his finest fake morphine smile. ]

...I was just trying to make scrambled eggs. I know the scrambling is working, but if I actually manage to get them into the frying pan first, do you want some?

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Inside his head, the persistently obnoxious part of Dean that keeps forcing him to look at things in a glass-is-half-full way is crumpling under the weight of anxiety and guilt.

What was the family business, again? Saving people? Hunting things? When was the last time he did either of those? So far he's managed to make new friends, mutilate said friends, and refrain from getting any monster-hunting done outside of one pathetic attempt against the slender fiend out in the woods.

Better off dead? Maybe. Better off going home. At least he knows what he's up against there.

Dean clears his throat awkwardly and shifts. Philip is wearing sunglasses - good job there, too, because it's probably awful and Dean would almost rather have him looking like Elwood Blues than like he went ten rounds with a meat tenderizer.

His arm is in a sling. His good arm in a sling, because Dean shot him. The writhing feeling in his stomach threatening to make him throw up what little he ate for breakfast (i.e, nothing), Dean takes a careful, shuddering breath and barely nods.]

...yeah, sure. You, uh...you need any help?

[The word "guilty" doesn't even begin to cover it. He wants to go back to his room, break all the lamps, and sit on the floor against the bed.

And never come out again.]

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

{ Ohh. Oh, see that? That's just-- [ He chuckles. ] That is absolutely priceless. You two really got a knack for the whole emotional agony angle. }

[ Sadly Philip does indeed know that look. It's a look that says Dean's direct speech to angsty inner monologue ratio is currently somewhere around 1:30. So much for filing a patent for that one day. ]

I'd let you cut the onions, but you already look like you're about to cry.

[ Thing is, after everything the hunter said to Philip, after the things he told him to get him back on his feet, after all that Dean is simply not allowed to feel miserable about this. ]

Hand me the butter?

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[It's somewhat hypocritical of Dean to feel this awful and refuse to take his own advice, but he supposes that he should have considered what the other side felt like when the disaster itself was over with. Cleaning up the aftermath of an atomic bomb is harder than it looks, particularly when that bomb feels like it went off inside your skull.

Yet even with the surplus of angst that's threatening to shut down his entire body, there are some things out there (aside from cutting your friend's eye out) that are simply criminal.]

Dude, onions in scrambled eggs?

[He slides a paper-wrapped stick of butter across the counter and gives Philip an "Are you serious?" look.]

Why dontcha add some bell peppers while you're at it and throw off the whole eggy flavor?

[Well done, Philip. No, seriously. No sarcasm here. Well done. You weirdo Brits and your weirdo food.]

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ Cue Philip snerking and flaunting a small cup of neatly cut bell peppers in front of Dean's face. ]

You mean those bell peppers?

[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[Dean stares at the cup in a mixture of revulsion and horror. Also disgust. Accompanied by a little cringe at the thought of those poor, poor eggs being subjected to bell peppers.]

Get those crimes against humanity out of my face and out of my eggs.

1/2

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ Philip takes a deep breath and slowly withdraws the cup. ]

You- you're right, I'm... I'm so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking, let me just--

[ Cue deliberate cup flip. Bell peppers, meet frying pan! ]

2/2

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

Oh no. What a terrible mistake. My hand slipped. Accidentally.

[ Happily stirring peppers, lalala~ ]

[itsahotone.livejournal.com]

[Hey, how about seeing someone totally unsympathetic? Philip will have plenty of angst elsewhere; you know he wants to converse with his favorite bitchy teenager who still thinks he has a drinking problem!

Anyway, Santana walks in, wearing shorts and a bikini top because it turns out she likes the pool more than for one day only, and she definitely doesn't notice (or care about?) any injury at first. Which is why her greeting is as follows:]

...Nice mess you're making. Oh hey, sunglasses indoors, too. Should I be smelling your breath for alcohol or something?

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ FINE. BE THAT WAY.

The hangover impression is probably not helped by a brain that is not feeling so well from eye-deprivation headaches and one week worth of self-medication. ]

Sorry, I- what?

[ Putting the wet towel away Philip stands slowly and leans against the counter. ]

No, I- I'm not, I didn't drink.

way to not show up, notif!

[itsahotone.livejournal.com]

Just clumsy, then?

[She steps over a further-reaching shard of glass on her way to the fridge. Clearly she will be very helpful.]

What happened to your arm?

damn you, notif! o9

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

...Just clumsy.

[ That will have to do as an answer to both questions, because honestly? Philip miiiight not be too happy to see Santana right now. She has a knack for involving him in conversations that turn very uncomfortable very fast and it's really not like his current situation needs much of a shove to get there. ]

So how-- How was your event?

[ Battle strategy: Persistently keeping the subject off of himself until Santana leaves. ]

and it continues :(

[itsahotone.livejournal.com]

[Not happy to see her? That is impossible! She is a ray of sunshine, sent to brighten anyone's day. So there.]

I didn't break anything, so apparently better than yours. [See her super sweet smile? Day-brightening complete.] I looked ridiculously hot, though.

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

I can imagine.

[ Lalalalal-- wait, did that just sound like he thinks it sounded? Better not think about it again. Philip frowns. Nexttopicnexttopic. ]

Do you, er... want some coffee?

[itsahotone.livejournal.com]

[Santana, in her tiny shorts and bikini top, smirks. Then she shuts the fridge, holding an uber-delicious piece of......celery.]

Sure. Unless you think you're going to have another klutz attack, because I can seriously live happily without being burned.

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

{ Hey, you ever think about why you're letting a spoiled brat talk to you like that? Or why you shouldn't toss hot coffee at her for that matter? }

...I'll try.

[ Which is true enough. The coffee itself is already ready and mugs plus an unspilled bottle of milk is found soon enough, but combining the ingredients is... an interesting study in slow-motion with Philip carefully making sure that the pot of coffee actually rests on the mug before pouring it.

Oh. Right. That conversation thing. ]

Do you have any idea whose event that was?

[ He slides the mug over to Santana, unbroken and unspilled. Oh, small victories. ]

[libraritology.livejournal.com]

[Having somehow wrestled her way through one event, not particularly phased seeing as it was basically a black-and-white version of her own time period, Evelyn is feeling a little more confident about being trapped in the mansion. Confident enough that she's forgoing the simplicity of the dining room in favour of trying to make something herself in the kitchen.

She didn't expect to encounter one of the nicest people she's met here so far, though he looks a little worse for wear. On her end, the event wasn't particularly dangerous. She has yet to consider the fact that it could have been nearly fatal for others.]

...Philip?

[She fetches a dishtowel and mops up some of the milk on the counter.]

Did you spi- Oh, my.

[His arm wasn't in a sling the last time she saw him. Yeah, that's...different. Have a healthy dose of concern from a well-meaning source.]

...your arm. What happened?

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

[ And that brings the count of people he really didn't want to see right now up to an impressive hat trick. ]

Evelyn. Hey...

[ Although the narration supposes that clarification is in order: Seeing Evelyn again easily makes the top five of good things to happen to Philip in this mansion. Talking to her was a fantastic break from all the unpleasant things Wonderland has dished out to him so far.

But seeing Evelyn again now means there is practically no way Philip can avoid those things entirely while he's still a walking advertisement for their consequences. ]

You don't have to-- I've got this.

[ He stands and dries the last splashes of milk before wiping his hands.

So far so good. And what happened?

Of course he's been thinking about what to tell other people. Alex, for instance, already knows he was attacked. No point in altering that story, although he'll keep swearing he never saw the attacker coming.

He might let a few other people in on that version, but for the rest of the mansion he's decided to settle on a simpler version with a lower potential for follow-up question. ]

It's... [ He laughs, a little forced. ] the stupidest thing, really.

During the event I was- I owned a bookshop and... I feel down the stairs.

[ And right on top of a bullet. No. Wait, that wasn't part of the story. Ahem. ]

...It's just dislocated, nothing... nothing to worry about.

[libraritology.livejournal.com]

[Philip's arm is in a sling and he's wearing very curious sunglasses, so the questions aren't so much as lessening as multiplying in her head. The way he's holding himself indicates a heavy consumption of pharmaceuticals, and since he never gave her the impression of being some kind of drug addict, he must be in a great deal of pain.

Years of living with her brother and men in high, authoritative positions have certainly trained her to know when to stop asking questions, although that doesn't necessarily mean that she will.]

A bookshop.

[She repeats, looking dubious. Everyone else appeared to have rather dangerous, life-threatening jobs during the event, and Philip owned a bookshop. Well, good for him, then, despite the injury. At least he wasn't out and about flailing a gun.]

If you're quite sure you're going to be all right...

[But really, why is he wearing those sunglasses?]

...is there anything I can do to help?

[Cooking with one arm has to be difficult.]

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

I know. [ A wry smile. ] You'd think compared to all the detective offices, police stations and back alleys a bookshop would be a safer place to stay, but...

[ He cracks two eggs into the pan. Random breakfast generator part 2: Fried eggs and bacon and spam, spam, spaaaaaam, lovely spaaaaaaaaam! ]

That's just my luck.

[ Cooking with one arm is a challenge to say the least, but two days of trial and error (with emphasis on the error) have increased Philip's proficiency in one-armed cooking to a sufficiently non-catastrophic level. ]

But I- I'll be fine, I'll-- Could you hand me the breadbasket though?

[libraritology.livejournal.com]

[She doesn't believe him - not entirely - but lets him be. Whatever happened, dislocated shoulder or not, seems to have struck him fairly deep. Whenever Philip is ready to share, he will, but until then...

...until then, Evelyn will just remain consumed with curiosity.]

Certainly.

[She does so, then fetches a tin of coffee grounds, a tea kettle, and a French press from the cupboard. Setting some water on to boil, she leans back against the counter and procures a small notebook. Jotting a few things down before tucking it back into her pocket (the only way to find patterns in Wonderland is to take fastidious notes, right?), she smiles at Philip.]

Other than falling down a flight of stairs and putting your arm out of commission, how have you been?

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

Thanks.

[ A good scientist always keeps a pen and paper handy, just in case. Philip wants to ask just what that pen and paper was about, but she beats him to the next question, so he decides to drop it. ]

...Out of commission actually sort of sums it up. I--

[ He drops a few strips of bacon into the pan, hears them sizzling and is sharply reminding of yet another lapse in manners. ]

I'm so sorry, I didn't even ask yet, would you like some?

[ Toast, eggs, bacon and spaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam LOVELY SPAAAAAAAAAM! ]

[libraritology.livejournal.com]

[In all actuality, the pen-and-paper thing wasn't fancy or anything bad, just a record of observations. First time in the kitchen deserves a note about the cupboards and their remarkable specificity.

She had asked for a very particular type of Turkish coffee and Spam, after all.]

Just toast, thank you.

[The tea kettle whistles, and she pours it over the grounds in the press.]

I don't normally eat a large breakfast. Do you, ah... [Evelyn gestures to the coffee steeping in the press.] ...Do you want some?

[sadfreezingbrit.livejournal.com]

Some wha-- [ The limited field of vision to his left still catches him off-guard every once in a while, but really, come on now, just turn your head a little more... there we go. ] Oh. Yes. Yes, please.

[ Philip checks on his egg and bacon project before putting two slices of toast into the toaster. ]

So how was your first event anyway? I hope it went better than mine.