Don&#39;t go where the path may lead you

All right, I'll give it to Dean.

...I am so sorry.

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It's a flood. It'll pass.

[It's kind of her way of waving it off. She'll be more gracious later. When the pain stops.]

Could ya do me a favor and call him? Ah can't open mah eyes just now.

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Right. Let me - just a sec.

[Now with added Dean-access]

Hey, Winchester. If you can walk, I need you to do me a favor. [He shows the Rogue doll, eye scratches and all.] Can you put this somewhere safe?

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[It takes him a moment to come on - he's juggling a lot of different situations right now, and the effort is taxing him more than it should - but once he does his expression slams closed and his lips thin.]

What the hell?

Where are you? Rogue, sugar, where are you?

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Uh...hallway on 8. Ah'm not goin' anywhere if y'could pick up the doll first.

[Because though Duke is a decent guy, he already caved into the temptation once. She wants it in hands she can trust.]

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I'm on 7, cabin 4. And locking myself in my room right now, away from this.

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Put it down and don't touch it, goddammit. But don't let it outta your sight, either: I don't need to be chasing down someone else with it.

Rogue, sit tight, I'm on my way.

[And he is, snatching up his communicator and heading out the door at a quick walk and, when that doesn't seem to knock him over for now, picking up to a long-legged jog.]

Duke, what all'd you do?

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I'm not touching it! It's on the chair right here, see?

Just the eyes, nothing else. Butterknife. It was like instinct, I didn't even think about it. [If a person can sound like a beaten dog with its tail between its legs, Duke does. He's never given into something like this before.]

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[Something in Dean's normally lively hazelgreen eyes shutters, and a muscle in his jaw jumps.]

It's the flood. [He doesn't want to say it, but it's true enough: there is a flood, and it is making people do things they wouldn't normally do. He's still not happy about it.]

No one's shown any damage yet. It's okay. It's gonna be fine.

[The hunter's breath is hitching by the time he hits the stairs, but he pelts down them anyway, moving down three levels to seven.]

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Yeah. [It's the flood. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about that. Still, that changes next to nothing in Duke's eyes. If a Trouble made him do this, he'd fight to the end.]

What are you going to do with it?

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Keep it until this all blows over if I can. Attach my lassiebot to it so I can find it if I can't.

Figure something out.

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Attach your what?

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Lassiebot. Iris makes 'em. They can find each other, in case you get kidnapped, or die somewhere outta the way.

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If you put it on and the doll disappears the next person could destroy it. Temporary fix.

Can you give it to someone else you trust in a couple of hours?

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If someone destroys it, Iris fixes it, no big.

That's up to her, but I wouldn't be happy about it.

[Private + Dean] phone hdu

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hearrrtofgold - Date: 2014-04-27 01:33 am (UTC) - Expand

[Private + Dean]

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surfaceshine - Date: 2014-04-27 01:35 am (UTC) - Expand

[Private + Dean]

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hearrrtofgold - Date: 2014-04-29 04:27 am (UTC) - Expand

[Private + Dean]

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surfaceshine - Date: 2014-04-29 04:35 am (UTC) - Expand

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[Dean does not handle sickness remotely gracefully; he's impatient with himself at peak performance, barely has a filter as is, and wants to be in the middle of everyone and everything as a rule.

He's really not happy about how long it takes him to make it down to Duke's cabin, pick up the doll, deposit it back behind a locked door in his cabin, and then stumble down into the corridor where Rogue is. He kind of wants to throw up by the time he's there, he feels light headed and clumsy, but all of that falls aside except for his harsh breathing when he half-slides into a kneel beside her, already reaching for her face.]

Rogue? It's me. Hey.

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[As soon as she hears him, feels the touch of his hand on her cheek, she turns toward him like a flower to the sun. Her eyes are squeezed shut, clearly still intact under the lids, but tears are flowing down her face almost continuously. Hey body is trying to soothe a wound that doesn't exist, but it can't tell the difference.

She's relieved he's there. Her own hand comes up to press his against her skin more firmly, using it to ground and calm her. But that's when she feels the cool clamminess of his flesh. He's still sick, and clearly it's hitting him hard right now.]

You're still sick. Ah shoulda told him ta call someone else. Ah'm sorry.

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[Tears have always done something weird to Dean; there's a moment, sharp and powerful, where he feels helpless, doesn't know what to do with that at all. Then he does whatever he has to do to make them stop; if this involves violence, he doesn't balk. First aid, he can handle. Hugs, fine.]

What? No. Don't be ridiculous. [It's an effort to keep his voice level when he shakes his head, leaving his fingers cupping her jaw, tilting first one hand and then the other so he can carefully wipe away the tears from her cheeks. His hands are always steady, callused with the blue collar work he does and warm, and he completely ignores his body's own failings. He wouldn't even acknowledge them if he wasn't forced to do so.]

Hush now, let me see. Easy. [He encourages her to lean against him where they're both sitting, more or less, on the floor and tilts her face up so he can see that there is, in fact, no damage.] Can you open them at all? Just for a moment. Just to make sure. Yeah?

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[She wants to suck it up, get to her feet and demand he go lay down. But it's hard to pull off when it feels like her eye sockets should be bloody ruins. So Dean gets to win this round.

She leans against him at his urging, tilting her head back. She has to fight her body's instinct to get her lids to raise. The pain doesn't stop, even when she's blinking at him through watery lashes. She can see him. That's both a relief and strange.]

Ah can see. It feels like Ah shouldn't be able to, but Ah can.

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Attagirl. Hey there. [He's quick when she opens her eyes; he knows how to be quick, how to triage and trust his gut. His currently stone-heavy gut - it's been months since he's felt the therapeutic, familiar burn of anger geared towards protecting someone he loves, instant and cauterizing; it's still present now, but banked against having no target - that drops with relief when he hears her. He nods, and shifts one hand up to cover her eyes again, as though he can shield them from light and somehow help as much as another version of the touch he uses more often than anything else to comfort.]

Alright. Let's get you back into your room, yeah? I gotcha. C'mon. [He'd take her to his cabin, and part of him thinks of the blessings and protections he's laid down inside of it and wants to, but it's not like they're actually helping. It would still make him feel better. But hers is much closer, so that's where he glances when he shifts his center of balance to not just hold her, but prepare to help lift her up to her feet.]

You'll be alright. We'll get some ice and some meds down you and see what it does. [He'll lift her himself, if he has to, chestcold be damned; this is what he's for. What good is he if he can't do this.]

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[The darkness should be soothing, but it isn't. It's frustrating. But there's nothing she can do about it. So she'll take what comfort she can in the gesture.

She feels him shift and moves with him. The rest of her is fine, she just can't bear to open her eyes.]

If ya can keep me from runnin'into walls, Ah can keep mahself upright.

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[He'd laugh at himself, if he was watching from the outside. Rogue's tough, she doesn't need coddling and he doesn't, really, think that she does, especially not when it's phantom pain instead of real damage. He's acting more shaken up than she is.

He probably is, but he doesn't examine that too closely right now. He just accepts her guidelines, and stands with her.]

I think even I can handle that. Probably even better than I do for myself.

This way.

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[She wouldn't laugh. She's tough, but it's nice to have faith rewarded. He was the first person she though of to come bail her out, and he came. They were a lot of undefinable things to each other, more than friends, lovers but not in love. But whatever they might be, one thing was certain, come Hell or high water, Dean was someone she could count on.

She puts her arm around him, a sneaky way of supporting him, while he did the same right back, and follows his lead. It's a familiar situation, but not one that she'd shared with him in particular.]

You're not gonna walk me off a divin' board, are ya?

[She's trying to lighten things up a little, despite the fact that they were neither of them at their best. There's humor in her tone that invites him to relax a little. Everything was going to be okay.]

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[It's the intent of the motion more than its end result that heartens Dean somewhat; he's always been tactile, much more deeply than he's ever been able to even consciously recognize. As long as she's hanging onto him, he's pretty sure they can work out the rest, or at least that's what some part of him that could be called instinct or intuition is telling him.

He blinks at the question, though, and shakes his head.]

I figure you'd probably notice if we went up all eight levels, plus the deck and two more before we got to your cabin thirty feet away.

I mean if I'm wrong, you should totally tell me so I can do that instead.

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