entranceway | first hunt 🔪 video

Awesome.

[When the camera pans around at first all you see is jeans and boots before he's got it up and focused on his face. Dean flashes the receiver an unimpressed look, whatever this was he didn't want to be in on the joke.]

As far as abduction sequences go, the digs are nice. I'll give you that. Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered, but I so don't do Stockholm.

[Zachariah might want him to sign up and put his body on layaway for the apocalypse but he didn't have any plans to go belly up. As far as he was concerned, there was still a shot, and he'd only consent to Michael if he didn't have any other choice. He was a lot of things, but letting someone else do his dirty work wasn't his style.]

Whatever sick twisted things you had planned, I don't go that way. ...No matter what you've heard.

[Dean takes a minute to scratch the side of his cheek, and then sets his jaw and squares his shoulders. The usual off-the-cuff sarcasm is still as confident as ever, but he's over the showmanship. Broadcasting wasn't his bag.]

And anybody else that wants to feed me another line of crap about mirrors and royalty, don't waste your time. The creep I'm looking for has Fifty Shades of Douche written all over him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Mom? ...What?

[]She's so confused and more than a little hurt the previous version never mentioned this to her. Let her believe she only has one son here in the house. She has to sit down in the chair behind her, not able to fully process all of this.]

Dean? He never told me...

...What??

[This is way too much too fast. Dean's not sure what to make of it. Maybe he had her pegged wrong, maybe she's not Mary, maybe she's some weird-as-hell doppelganger.]

Edited 2016-06-18 05:04 (UTC)

[First things first...]

Is your name Dean Winchester?

Yeah, it's me.

[It'd make sense that he wouldn't look the same. The last time she saw him he was still a toddler. Dean's still suspicious, and not sure how to handle this one. He hasn't seen or talked to his mom in a while and the few times weren't real or were too far back for any established connections.]

How long have you been here?

A few weeks.

Dean, can I see you? Not on this phone, in person? Please?

[She wasn't sure how much she trusted the phones, but she wanted to see him for herself if he really was her Dean.]

[The whole thing is uncomfortable, he gets it, and she has to be shaken up by everything. The least he can do is go along with this and see if it's the real deal and not some kind of trick.]

Yeah, sure. Name the place.

[It's still clear he's guarded, jaw tense and tight, but if she wants to see him face to face he can do that. He's just not gonna walk into it unarmed.]

Dining Room?

[She can tell he's guarded and she can't really blame him. Hell, she didn't believe any of this was real when she got here.]

[It takes some resolve to terminate his feed before answering, mostly because he's not sure yet if he'll actually make it down there. Dean's fed up from a day of talking to way too many people and handling way too many conversations. This is the last thing he should be doing, but he can't help it.

When he goes, he's still got some concealed weapons. Enough to hold his own in a fight against any of the usual suspects. Even then, she's not hard to miss. He's been picturing her face every day for as long as he can remember. Worried he might forget it if he ever stops the habit.]

Hey.

[Dean stays on his end of the room, waiting to see how it'll all play out. If she's the same, or if something else is riding shotgun. He has to remind himself those are odds worth betting on when it comes to her.]

[Mary's sitting at a table, sipping a cup of tea. She wasn't sure how to do this...she met Dean before, but he didn't tell her she was his mother...now she just had to keep things from being awkward.

Looking up when he enters the room, she sets the cup on the table, hesitantly standing. Does she hug him, does she stay...she was so beyond sure how to approach him.]

Hey.

...You uh...you wanna sit?

[As far as not keeping things awkward, she's doing a piss-poor job. Dean can tell right away that something's off, and it's the only thing keeping him from pulling her into a solid hug, just to make sure she's real.

Instead of responding, Dean settles into a seat at the other side of the table. It's hard to keep himself open-minded to this place when it keeps throwing him curve balls.]

Alright, spill.

[The tension is so damn thick in the room he could cut it with a knife, he'd rather get everything out in the open than deal with much more of it.]

[Lowering her eyes when he sat across from her, she sat slowly, licking her lips nervously. Folding her hands on the table, she finally looked up to him, studying every inch of his features. She could see so much of her daddy in him.]

I'm sorry.

You must...hate me. [It hurt so much to say that, but why wouldn't the other Dean tell her he was her son?] I'm so sorry and I know I can't make anything up to you, but I'd like to try.

[There's no way in hell he could ever hate her. It doesn't take much to put two and two together. He figures it out pretty damn quick, for whatever reason, she doesn't remember him. That's okay. She's probably better off. Especially if she's still alive.]

You don't owe me anything.

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