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

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

[ 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. ]

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Um, rewind that one for a second.

[ Weirdos and singing teenagers seem a part of Wonderland's natural ecosystem, but the ability to play Dr Dolittle has yet to fall into Philip's hands. ]

Talking horse? As in 'stomps its feet, reacts to your words' sort of talking, like that- [ He cringes a little ] -that crocodile from the tenth floor or... or like '"How do you do?", having an actual conversation' talking?

{ Sounds pretty far-fetched, right? Least now you know how I feel watchin' you monkeys jabbering about all day. }

No, I, uh...I had a conversation with a horse.

[This doesn't seem to bother him as much as it should, but he's been in Wonderland a pretty long time, now, and he's seen almost everything.]

It was...sorta yellow, talked with a country accent. It had an apple stamped on its ass. And it was wearing a cowboy hat.

[Oh, also-]

I wish I was joking, man, but it said it's name was "Applejack." Made me really want that cereal.

I really shouldn't find that so hard to believe, should I?

[ Philip forces a laugh and rubs his temple. Talking animals. He knows the sentiment is misplaced, but that revelation still feels a lot like the last straw of sanity burning down to a few grains of ash, despite everything that's happened here before. ]

...Did you ever wonder how-- Did you ever wonder why it's us? Why- why we showed up here and not... other people? Other horses? [ Snerk. ]

Edited 2011-07-29 21:12 (UTC)

[Dean stopped pretending he was sane a long, long time ago. Not that it ever bothered him when people told him he was crazy, but still.]

You mean in a cosmic "maybe God thought it would be hilarious" kind-of-way? [Dean shrugs.] I dunno. Interdimensional Hotel California seems more like limbo than anything else, 'cept I know I wasn't dead before I got here.

[Oh, well. The wheel in the sky keeps turning.]

Maybe it's just 'cause we're so awesome. You think it's because we're so awesome?

[Dean Winchester attempts lightening the mood, Take 1.]

I was hoping to find a more scientific reason, but I'll take it.

{ Can we please just go talk to the horse instead? }

[ Plate empty. Mug empty. Philip's work here is done. This would be the part where Philip retreats to knock back another dose of painkillers, subsequently spending the rest of the day in bed, lacking the focus to read, watch films or do anything else that could be considered entertainment.

He wants to ask if Dean felt quite as miserable after his involuntary enucleation. And if so he really wants to ask when it's going to stop, but no matter the context, Philip knows better than to bring up the injury voluntarily. ]

...Any plans for later today?

[Dean was worse than miserable after having his eye stabbed, ripped out, and eaten. He didn't want to do anything at all, not for the first few weeks. Forcing himself to hold that pirate party was as much excitement as he could muster, just to give people the appearance that he was okay. Physical recovery only took about six weeks. Psychological recovery might take forever.

This is an incredibly vain person we're talking about, though. Dean likes his pretty-boy looks: they get him what he wants, and not having one beautiful green eye makes it a little harder to charm people. Things have gotten better since then, certainly, but he's still not happy.

Then again, when was he ever completely happy?]

Nah, not really.

[He stretches and feels his shoulders pop.]

Might wander down to the beach since the weather's warm. I sorta hate the library, and it ain't just 'cause I can't play music there. Damn thing never gives a straight answer.

Why, what did you ask?

[ Philip has been fairly lucky with the research he did, not counting the complete lack of answers concerning his father's book. ]

[Dean waves his hand.]

Nothin'. Just some stuff about Hell. Demons and things.

[Not like he's trying to figure out what sort of things really go on down there, or anything. Nope. No siree.]

[ How to get out. That was Philip's first thought, but then he remembers that Dean wouldn't remember any of that, making it a fairly pointless effort. Then what it's like. It's what he would want to know, with or without the prospect of real world memories of it.

Philip nods. ]

I... don't even think it exists in our world, but... I'll keep an eye out for it next time I go.

{ What, just one? Seems a bit half-hearted, doesn't it? }

[ ...D'OH. ]

Yeah, well - it exists in mine.

[So let's not split hairs, shall we? Especially not when the library is being a dick and refusing to tell him anything about specific demons. He might be looking in the wrong place, or asking the wrong manner, but either way his attempts have been fucked lately.

Right, Dean. So stop being so bitter. He lets a weary grin split his face.]

But thanks, yeah. What about you? Anything exciting lined up?

[Aside from popping pain meds like House?]

I know. You told me.

[ The conversation was memorable enough. And Philip never doubted Dean; he merely felt it was necessary to point out the potential difference between their worlds, wanting to account for the possibility of an unsuccessful research in advance.

But enough of that. ]

Exciting?

[ Philip actually has to laugh a little her, although the source of his amusement is clearly incredulity.

He can barely move one arm and any attempt at focusing on any form of media for more than five minutes is usually met with pain or hopeless confusion.

Call him soft all you like, but he doubts that there will be any excitement for him anytime soon. ]

Not particularly, no. I thought I'd have a look at that film again... er, Karloff.

[ Translation: Pop pills. Get film. Fall asleep after fifteen minutes. ]

[Don't mind Dean, he's just a little ticked off that his research is turning out to be crap. It's never been his strong suit.

And exciting? Vicodin is pretty exciting, Dean can vouch for it.]

Yeah, check it out. I'm gonna do the same. See if your Egypt lady is secretly Zita.

[He would wink suggestively, but...well. You know.]

What's her name, again? Elizabeth? Evian? [A beat, before Philip can glare through his sunglasses.] Evelyn, right.

[Dean moves around the counter and claps Philip on his good shoulder.]

Get some morphine and a nap, Elwood.

Eve-- [ Ah, there we go. Better late than never. Philip nods. ] Evelyn Carnahan.

[ No glare for that, but there will be an eyebrow for Dean's next suggestion. ]

It's noon. I can't--

[ And there is that flinch again, a sense of violation of his personal space Philip is fairly sure wasn't there when Dean offered a companionable gesture pre-noireness.

He swallows and hopes he can push it down in the next breath. ]

I can't sleep all day.

[Dean notices the wincing. It's not a reaction of pain, but a reaction of something that goes deeper than just another flesh wound. His hands go back into his pockets immediately, and Dean takes a little step back.

Reading Philip is like reading Sam. Something is wrong, definitely, but he's not completely perceptive enough to pick up on what it is.

Although in this case he knows the reason. It doesn't make Dean feel any better being aware of the fact that he's the problem.]

Yeah, but you gotta get some shuteye or you're gonna regret it.

[Talking from experience, here.]

[ More than anything else Philip wants to reassure Dean that he's perfectly fine. Needless to say that bending the truth is required to achieve this goal.

Needless to add that there are currently certain aspects of the truth that refuse to be bent or shifted in any way, aspects that are still screaming, "HEY DEAN, REMEMBER HOW YOU SHOT ME AND STABBED MY EYE OUT".

That involuntary flich was only one of them. One Philip sincerely wishes Dean hadn't noticed, especially since he can only guess all too well what it translates to in his friend's mind. ]

It wasn't me.

[ Much as Philip loves avoidance as a coping tool, there's an elephant in the room and he's playing guitar hooked up on a speaker system. ]

You attacked Clarence, not me.

[ He turns to look at Dean. ]

You know that, right?

{Really now? When did that happen? Pretty sure I was out for your little mafia party. }

[It wasn't him. It was Clarence.

He wants to bite back with a "But I still hurt you" sort-of retort, but that wouldn't help anybody. He's learning to curb that much more wicked tendency to snarl at everything.

Somehow, Philip's reassurance isn't as reassuring to Dean as it ought to be.]

Yeah, sure.

[Yeah, right. There isn't a fine line between convincing and unconvincing when it comes to Philip. It's all about as obvious as being hit in the face with a brick. They've gotten a little too good at gauging each other's feelings, now. Damned manly bonding time.

Dean nods, because he knows it'll make Philip feel better, and it sort of makes himself feel better as well. Delusion is the way to go, right? Right.]

That event was all screwed to Hell, anyways.

[Dean winces. Nice allusion, buddy.]

[ That was about as convincing as an ode to Octopussy as the best James Bond movie.

And Philip really wants to keep digging, because it doesn't make him feel bad, it makes him feel angry, because after everything Dean told him the hunter just doesn't have the right to--

He shouldn't be allowed to feel bad. And he definitely shouldn't be allowed to drop the distinction between Philip and Clarence to do so. ]

[ But Philip is in no condition to slam Dean against a door in the vicinity (and let's be honest, two good arms probably wouldn't improve those odds either), so all he can do is force himself to remember the view from the other side and hope that Dean knows how to deal.

Delusions it is. At least that way is easy enough... ]

Well, what did you expect from an event with a permanent voiceover?

Woulda been cool if I hadn't been a douchey hitman.

[The problem is that Dean forgave Philip. A while ago. Back before the vampire event. He got over it - he told himself he did, because it had been Clarence. The repercussions on Philip had been only mental at the time, and now there they were, clear as day, gashes on his face and arm.

Dean had let that grudge go.

Obviously it hadn't been gone long enough. Stayed dormant, maybe, but if there was some part of Dean that even he wasn't aware of, something vengeful and dark- Hell, he already knew it existed. There was always the potential. It just decided to rear its ugly head now. And Dean can't exactly forgive himself for that.]

Look, dude, I-

[I'm tryin' this new thing out. It's called talking to people about my damn problems. Like a What Would Jesus Do? Only it's a What Would Sam Do? It's really friggin' hard and I ain't good at it, but I'm trying, okay?]

...I'm sorry, man. I know what you're gonna tell me, 'cause I told you the same damn thing the last time, but just- [Forcing. The words. Out.] -hear me out for a second?

...Sure.

[ Philip's look says that Dean has his full attention, but the teeth biting down on his lower lip say that it was a close call, that he almost denied the request, because that should be all there is to it. ]

[He gets the hesitation, because guys like them don't share feelings. It's just how the world works. Wonderland, on the other hand, works differently, and it's obvious that Dean isn't enjoying saying what he needs to say just as much as Philip isn't enjoying listening in.]

I get how you felt, okay? And it sucks, and I'm- I'm tryin' not to let it get to me, and take my own advice, and I've never been good at takin' advice from anyone.

[Unless it was Dad.]

So...I'm just tryin' to say that I'm really sorry that we both look like friggin' pirates, and getting back to things like me making fun of your lady-friends would be easier, but if I've learned anything it's that not many people here...have close...friends.

[Jesus, that was a painful sentence to say. Avoiding eye contact makes this considerably easier.]

And...you're my friend, so.....thanks.

[ Philip tenses and waits for the inevitably but, an objection to any and all attempts at alleviating Dean's guilt.

But the accusation never comes and the actual conclusion prompts as much surprise as it does relief. ]

Dean, if--

[ Philip wonders just how to word what seems so obvious beyond discussion to him. ]

If it wasn't for you I'd... I would have frozen to death, probably had my head split open by a pickaxe and-- [ Hesitation. ] And God knows what else, so...

[ A smile of the genuine kind appears on his face. ]

So don't mention it.

{ Seriously, don't. 'Cause I'm gettin' internal bleeding from all the sap. Didn't think that was a thing? Go figure! }

[ Translation of the above minus Clarence commentary: I strictly platonically guy-love you too. ]

[Don't mention it? Don't mention it. Glad we came to that little agreement there. Dean doesn't usually consider "saving people" as a kind of social nicety - it's his job, so he doesn't expect thanks most of the time. He doesn't really expect thanks ever, actually, but hearing it is nice all the same.

It never crosses his mind, then, that maybe there are people out there who are grateful for his assistance. Strictly platonic guy-loves or not.]

Cool. Well, uh.

[So wrap up the afternoon soap moment, Laverne and Shirley.]

...that was...real graceful of me, so I'm gonna make a motion for a shot of liquor and some sleep.

[ A smile. Tolerance aside, there is only so much booze and painkillers the physicist mixes willingly. ]

I think I'll need to pass on the liquor today, but-

[ Philip stands up. ]

-knock yourself out.

[ He certainly will. Just as he'll actually be taking his leave now. ]

I'll call you later.

Later.

[Dean gives a short wave and turns back to his coffee. Knocking himself out sounds like the best plan yet.]

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

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