PLAYER PLOT: fear is the mind-killer

[fullmoon]

CHARACTERS: You and all your least favorite things.
LOCATION: Shipwide.
WARNINGS: Violence, gore, monsters, psych trauma. (Please warn for any potential triggers—e.g. medical horror, eye stuff, recollection of past sexual trauma—in your subject lines.)
SUMMARY: Boggarts. See the plot post for a full timeline if you want to forward-date; otherwise, watch this space for updates.
NOTES: Whatever happens, however this ends, remember that it's Draco Malfoy's fault.

JAN 22

If you've been paying attention, you should already be on edge. Ward and Resnik have returned without many answers. There's the dead pirate again. The Tranquility is being pursued. People are talking about violent confrontation like it's inevitable, any cycle now. Any day. And now Morgoth is back, somewhere in the corridors.

If you keep an eye out, you won't find him. But you might find something else.

JAN 23

Never mind about Morgoth.

JAN 24

Despite very well-intended claims to the contrary (see above), the mounting evidence suggests that boggarts can be killed. Also, there's probably more than one. Sorry about that.

Comments

[familybusiness]

[Sam finds himself taking steps back, brow furrowed at his brother as he takes in the words, which only serve to make his chest hurt.

He's alluding to things he doesn't want to hear, and he finds himself shaking his head, even as he leans forward slowly so that he can set the gun on the floor in front of him before he straightens back up.]

You're way off course on this one, Dean. You don't want to do this.

[But he pushes the gun forward towards his foot anyway, so that Dean can have it. He wasn't about to shoot his brother with it anyway, and once he gets this straightened out, he'll give it back.

He's trying to ignore that look in Dean's eyes, the one that says that he's no better than a dead man walking to his brother right now. He can talk him down. He has to.]

[righteously]

[ The gun rattles along the smooth floor, slides a few inches to the right of Dean's boot before it finally skids to a stop. Dean's eyes don't follow it, they don't register it at all, in fact they never leave Sam's face. He steps passed it, evidently fine with letting it stay where it is, unconcerned with who might snatch it up. ]

Oh, on the contrary.

[ He corrects, a quirk to his eyebrow, still ambling forward at a slow and predatory pace. ]

See, you might have everyone else fooled- hell, you might even have yourself fooled, but you can't fool me, Sammy. I know what you really are, hell, probably better than you do.

[A beat, and then he explains:]

You're a monster, Sam. I can see it in your eyes, I can see the part of you that's just- that's wrong, and no matter what either of us tells ourselves, we both know how messed up you are inside. The longer I hang around on this ship pretending things are gonna go different, the more I'm startin' to realize you can't avoid what you're gonna become, and the more I realize what I gotta do.

[familybusiness]

Dean, please.

[Sam's entire body seems to go cold, each word he speaks just hammering away at the self doubt that he's had lingering inside himself his entire life, the one that's told him he's not right, that he's off, unclean, wrong.

A freak.

Even his Dad had believed it, had been plotting to either save or kill him, as if there were no other options. The way he was now would never be right or enough. Dean had been the only one that hadn't felt that way.

Or so he'd thought.]

You don't have to do anything. We'll figure this out. We always do.

[Except they didn't, and they don't. He becomes a monster and the only good thing he ever does is jump Lucifer into the Pit. He knows the story. He heard it.

So the words come out hollow. Helpless.]

[righteously]

[ He huffs a mirthless laugh. ]

I already got it figured out. If I kill you now, I save a hundred human lives. I save everyone that you ever murdered, and trust me when I say it's a lot of people. That's the job, ain't it? Kill the monster, save the civilians. It's what we do. It's what I do.

[ Because it can't be we if Sam's not a hunter, right? It can't be we if Sam's the reason they die. He pulls the hammer back, that amble stopping suddenly.

His face twitches, a sort of conciliatory shrug. ]

Time to go, Sam.

[familybusiness]

That I murdered? Who did I murder, Dean? What haven't you been telling me?

[Because if that's the case, then he's right. Maybe he doesn't need to go. He was the one who told him he might have to do it, right? Maybe they could stop everything right here, right now, and everything Lucifer's said about all the people who were gonna die could be okay.

He just never realized that maybe they really were on his hands.

Even if Sam's willing to make that sacrifice, it doesn't make the idea of dying at Dean's hand any easier to swallow, or make his heart stop beating a mile a minute.]

Fine. Do it. [He's trying to be strong, to face this head on. If this is really what his brother thinks is right, then this is what he has to do.] If you really think I'm a monster, then maybe you're right and I'm better off dead.

[He holds his hands out at his sides, as if welcoming the bullet, but it doesn't stop his hands from shaking or the moisture creeping into the corners of his eyes.]

[righteously]

[ Dean stares at Sam without empathy, without emotion. The only thing on his face is the slight curl of disgust to his lips as he stares down the barrel of that gun, unmoved by the shine in Sam's eyes or his willingness to comply. No, Dean is 100% going to pull that trigger.

A shot rings out, echoes through the locker room, but no bullet makes impact with Sam or the wall behind him. For a resounding moment, Dean looks as stunned as Sam probably feels.

And then blood seeps through his shirt, plastering it to his chest and staining from nipple to navel. "Dean" drops to his knees with a hand fingering the bullet hole in his chest, gun dropping from his hand and clattering to the floor. Behind him, Real Dean pulls an annoyed face, gun leveled at his own back. ]

Really?

[ He asks Sam incredulously, ignoring the way his fake duplicate slumps bodily forward. ]

I take a five minute wizz detour and you're letting Timberlake bring on the waterworks? Just shoot me next time and shut me up.

[ ...Yeah, okay, so he called himself Timberlake. That's not the point. ]

[familybusiness]

[If he wasn't terrified before, which he was, it only increases tenfold as a bullet seems to miss him completely and hit Dean instead, though that fear quickly turns to utter confusion as his brother drops to the ground to reveal...another Dean.

Relief floods through him, as it slowly becomes clear what just happened here. He should have seen the signs, really, and he had at least in part, though he'd completely misinterpreted them.

He'd never been more glad that he was an idiot.

Lingering doubts remained, but they were overshadowed by the fact that his brother hadn't actually...said all that stuff. Hearing it in his voice hadn't done much to settle his own fears and insecurities, but damn it if he wasn't relieved all the same.]

Dean?

[Just to be sure, though the irritation and the snark tells him more than anything else.]

[righteously]

[ His arms come out in a sort of vague shrug. ]

You expecting Space Santa?

[ He asks, then drops his eyes down to the bleeding, tangible clone of himself on the floor. Man, he hates it when those things copy people. It's so weird, shooting yourself. Every damn time. He steps around his fallen form and scoops up Sam's gun. Holds it out hilt-forward, pinning his brother with a serious look. ]

You know whatever it said ain't true, right?

[ This Sam may be young, but he's got to have been through the ringer enough to know the golden rule by now, right? Monsters lie. Monsters say whatever they want to hurt you. Judging by the shine in his eyes. Sam isn't as hardened to it yet as he will be, and it actually tugs at something protective in Dean's chest. ]

It was full of crap, Sammy. It was saying whatever you needed to hear to cut you deep.

[familybusiness]

[Sam just stares briefly at the gun before he finally reaches out and takes it back, tucking it into the back waistband of his pants.

He's...kind of embarrassed, honestly. Frustrated with himself and pissed off that he fell for it.

And shaken because he'd believed it, that Dean could think something like that about him. Because he doesn't want to believe it about himself, even if in the back of his mind he knows it might be true.]

It was saying what it was pulling out of my head, reacting to my thoughts.

[He shakes his head as he adjusts his shirt to cover his weapon, as if the movement will distract him. He's having a hard time even looking at Dean right now.]

Don't tell me that it's never one crossed your mind.

[righteously]

[ It's been forever. It's been damn forever since he's seen Sam looking the way he looks now. It's been forever since he's seen Sam afraid, doubting himself, afraid of what Dean thinks, afraid of who he is, and it hurts just as bad now as it did ten years ago. For the first time in forever, it's hard to separate himself from his younger brother, no matter how much time and physical age seem to make that a convenient thing to do. For a second, that weird distance is gone and he reaches out, curling a hand around Sam's shoulder. ]

Hell no.

[ He answers firmly, seriously, looking Sam straight in the face. ]

Don't let that thing get in your head, man, because whatever it says- whatever you're thinking about yourself is a bunch of crap. Pure, uncut bullshit. I've seen you- hell, I've seen you sacrifice yourself over and over again to do the right thing. I've seen you throw yourself on the chopping block more times than I can count if you think you can save one human life. I'm not sayin' your not capable of bad, because we all are. I'm not saying you don't make mistakes, because everyone does. But you're good, Sammy. Hell, you're better than just about anyone I ever met. Don't start second guessing that now.

[familybusiness]

[He exhales and its a desperate, pained sort of sound. The backs of his eyes feel like their on fire, but he'll be damned if he lets all this crap make him cry.

Too bad he knows he's going to Hell someday.

He sniffs once, blinking his eyes as if it'll make the feeling go away before he makes a few sharp nods of his head, clearing his throat.

Dean's words numb away the doubt for now, send it back into that little spot in the back of his head where he might not think about it so much for awhile, but it's hard to eradicate something you've felt, even on a tiny scale, for your entire life.]

Yeah. Alright.

[It's about the only thing he can get out in response without losing his shit, and he can't afford to do that right now.]

We should move before it gets the jump on us again.

[righteously]

Yeah...

[ He agrees uncertainly, shifting to walk away and then stopping himself. Because there's no denying the expression on his little brother's face, the way he ducks his head, the way he clears his throat. After a beat of hesitation, he strides forward with purpose, throws his arms around Sam's shoulders in a hug.

It's a short thing, a brief thing, just a few firm slaps on the back before he pulls away again.

Like a man. ]

[familybusiness]

[He sees it coming, but his mind doesn't process it right away, maybe because he's not expecting it at all. Still, he manages to eventually get his arms to come up, reciprocating the gesture briefly before Dean's stepping away again.

As he tries to keep his eyes clear, he swallows past a lump in his throat, a bit of strained laughter escaping him in order to clear the air.]

How about we figure out how to put an end to that thing?

[Because he sure hasn't wanted to end a monster's life as badly as he does now in...awhile.]