likedillinger: (| phone | come again?)



"This is Dean's other-other cell.  So...you know what to do."

This post acts as an in-game voicemail for Dean and and out of game place
to contact the mun.  Please indicate whether the comment is
ic or ooc.  Feel free to leave Dean a message and he'll get back to you
or drop an ooc line here if you want to plot/RP with/start a verse with Dean.


likedillinger: (| highway)
 An on-going series of essays by me, explaining my personal head-canon regarding Dean's psychology.  

I.  Daddy Issues & the Batman Complex
likedillinger: (| impala cruisin)


How's My Driving?                   

You know the drill.
All comments screened.
Anon is available as an option.
Comments, complaints, questions, concerns, critiques, etc. all welcome.
 
likedillinger: (| triad of awesome)


Comment here with your character's name for a big block of text (ooc) about how mine feels about yours.

As long as we've interacted a few times,
it'll be tailored to your specific version of the char,
so feel free, for example, to ask about your Sam,
even if there's another Sam I've already answered for, etc. etc.


banner by [info]nito_punk 

It doesn't matter how old this post is,
feel free to comment~

likedillinger: (Default)
A

[ ACTION: 1666 NELSON ST. ]
[ He'd told Lisa that the couch was fine for him tonight – insisted on it when she fixed him with that pitying expression, because he figured that if he needed anything right now, it was to be alone. It wasn't fair, bringing all this crap to her doorstep, but it was even more unfair to make her deal with what he was sure was going to be the most restless night of his entire life. Cas had put his body back together again, eased away all those physical bruises in the blink of an eye, but there was no easy fix for the emotional scarring. It just made it seem all the more ironic: looking and feeling fresh as a goddamn daisy while he was still beaten to a bloody pulp on the inside. His body was wide awake, but he'd never felt so tired and haggard in his heart. Which translated to either no sleep at all, or a night full of the worst dreams of his life.

So the couch was fine, he'd told her, leaving out the explanation.

It was probably two hours after lights out, when Ben was safely slumbering away, that Dean looked up to find her standing over the sofa, and then she was grabbing his hand and giving it a tug that was both firm and gentle at the same time. “Come on.” Her tone didn't allow for an argument, and he found he wouldn't have had the strength for one anyways. She pulled him into bed with her, and wrapped herself against his chest, where he could stare at the ceiling and squeeze out some tears without her noticing. She seemed to know better than to look for them. Before she drifted back asleep, she whispered: “I'm glad you came back” and he wondered just how long it was going to take for her to change her mind on that one.

Somehow, impossibly, sleep found him too.

When the light pouring into the room hit his eyelids, stirring him awake, it was easy to think for a moment that yesterday had really just been nothing but one long bad dream. But a glance through sleepy lids to his right ix-nayed that hopeful fantasy pretty quickly, when he saw that he wasn't alone in the bed, and remembered:

Lisa.

Any momentary fragile sense of optimism crumbled in an instant, replaced by a sick knot in his stomach. Which only knotted tighter when she stirred and he caught sight of something in the light.

Her purple hair.

He stared uncomprehending for a long moment, as if waiting for the punchline. Finally, tentatively, he just said: ]


… Lis?

B

[ ACTION: NELSON STREET ]
[ In a much less long winded bracket-based adventure, Dean's next move is to go play Nancy Drew and head out of his house to ~explore the neighborhood~. Opening people's mailboxes surreptitiously, glaring down freaky lawn gnomes, knocking on your doors, whatever. HE WILL FIND ALL THE ANSWERS. ]

C

[ ACTION: DOWNTOWN MAYFIELD ]
[ Or not, in which case he's going to head downtown to try and figure out what info he can about the town itself. He peeks in shop windows, eyes up the vehicles, taking specific note of the make, model, and year on each one, and then slips into a diner in hopes of pulling his best Marty McFly impression.

… Sadly, this is nothing new to his life. ]