Frontierland. // Dean //

Sam Winchester
Hunter.

Posts: 958

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 11, 2017 22:28:13 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sam Winchester on Jan 11, 2017 22:28:13 GMT -5

ooc; SEASON SIX. EPISODE EIGHTEEN.

"It's here somewhere" Sam insisted, moving some lighter furniture around in the old Campbell family base. "I know it." Sam tried to move Samuel's desk but it wouldn't budge. "Help me move this" he requested, glancing up at Bobby who moved forward and together they were able to slide it off to one side, revealing a dusty trap door. Sam grinned. "See." Bobby and Dean looked impressed. "Well I'll be damned" Bobby allowed, nodding. Dean knelt down, tugging open the door and aiming his flashlight down into it. Brushing off his hands, Sam powered up his own flashlight and descended first into the room beneath. Jumping down off the last three steps of the ladder, Sam waited until Bobby and Dean had joined him before gesturing grandly.

"Welcome to the Campbell Family Library."

Dean Winchester
Hunter.

Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 12, 2017 22:30:46 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 12, 2017 22:30:46 GMT -5

Dean glanced around at the crammed bookshelves stacked three high against each wall. There had to be over two hundred books here. “So Samuel collected all this stuff, huh” he inquired, impressed in spite of his rather hostile feelings towards his deceased grandfather. “Apparently.” Sam switched on the overhead light and put away his flashlight. “Wow.” Dean stuffed his own flashlight back into an inner jacket pocket and nodded with determination. “Ok, what are we looking for?” “Anything that will put a run in the Octamom’s stockings” Bobby informed the brothers. “Pick a row.” And all three of them got to work.
~~~

“Bingo.” Dean wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Bobby spoke again but it had to be a few hours. The older hunter was holding up a heavy leather bound book in triumph and brought it over to the table, where he sank down and began reading to himself. Dean grabbed yet another book and brought it over to the table as well, his legs starting to get tired from all the standing. And silence fell once again.

This time only a few minutes passed before Bobby was inquiring curiously, "either of you jokers ever heard anything about a phoenix?" Dean glanced up. "River, Joaquin, or the giant flaming bird?" Bobby and Sam both chuckled before Bobby was elaborating. "Well it says here that the ashes of a phoenix can burn the mother." "Great." Dean nodded eagerly. "Where do we get one?" "You got me" Bobby scoffed. "I thought it was a myth." "Alright, then I guess we need to see if we can find out anything else about a phoenix" Sam commented and it was back to the bookshelves.

Dean had only been browsing for about five minutes when he came across a rather interesting looking journal bound in leather and began to read the first few entries. Everything in there was fascinating so Dean flipped back to the very front inscription page to find out whose journal he was reading and his jaw unhinged. How Samuel Campbell had managed to get his hands on Samuel Colt's journal was beyond Dean but that didn't much matter. What mattered was that halfway through reading the entire journal, leaning up against the bookshelf unit, Dean's eyes landed on a single word that stood out above the others around it.

Phoenix.

"Guys." Dean stared in amazement, hurtling both himself and the journal back over to the table where Bobby and Sam say. "Guys, guys, guys, listen to this." He cleared his throat and then recited excitedly, "March 5, 1861. Sunrise, Wyoming. Gun killed a Phoenix today. Left a pile of smoldering ash." Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Who's gun?" Dean grinned. "Colt's." Sam was caught off-guard. "Colt's, like..." "Like THE Colt" Dean confirmed, nodding a few times, his grin widening. "From..." He closed the journal, then opened it up to the inscription page, holding it up for Sam and Bobby to see the name scrawled there. "Samuel Colt's journal." "What" Sam exclaimed, stunned. "That's his??" "Yeah." Dean's face felt like it was going to split from grinning for so long. This was probably how normal civilians would feel watching Access Hollywood, learning secrets about people they respected and looked up to. "Dude, no." Sam still looked floored. Dean went right on grinning. "Dude, yes."

"Let me see." Sam reached forward eagerly, but Dean pulled it out of his reach, settling back in his chair comfortably, preparing to read more. "No. Get your own." "Well, what else did he say about the Phoenix" Bobby pressed before Sam could say anything in return to the rejection. "What does it look like? Has it got feathers?" Dean scanned the brief entry for the third time just to triple check he hadn't missed anything and shook his head. "It just says Phoenix." "Well did he say how or where he tracked it" was Sam's follow up question, earning another head shake. "No." Sam sighed. "All right, so I guess we got to find one of our own, whatever it is." He and Bobby returned to their books. Dean, however, had just been hit with a lightning bolt of an idea. "I know where we can find one." He straightened in his chair, jabbing one finger at the open journal. "March 5, 1861, Sunrise Wyoming." His enthusiasm was met with two blank stares. "We'll "Star Trek IV" this bitch" he elaborated, proud of himself for the plan. So the continued blank stares were somewhat disheartening. Sam shrugged. Bobby made a face. "I only watched Deep Space Nine." Dean let out a defeated sigh. "It's like I don't even know you guys."

After taking a minute to collect himself, he explained. "We hop back in time, we join up with Samuel Colt, we hunt the Phoenix, and then we haul the ashes back home with us." "Time travel" Bobby summarized doubtfully, staring at Dean like he'd lost his mind. "That's your reasonable plan??" "We've got a guy who can swing it" Dean reminded him, closing Samuel Colt's journal and standing. Pressing both palms into the table and bowing his head in a halfway decent attempt at respect, he addressed the air. "Castiel. The, uh, fate of the world is in the balance. So, come on down here." He cracked open one eye and then the other. Nothing. Dean gave it another second and then sighed impatiently. "Come on, Cas, "I Dream of Jeannie" your ass down here pronto." He caught the look on Sam's face and quickly added, "please." There was a slight gust of air and a tall blond woman in a crisp grey suit materialized in front of them. Dean lifted one brow. "Jeannie?" "Rachel" she corrected formally. "I understand you need some assistance? How can I help you?" "Well, uh, we kind of need to talk to the Big Kahuna" Dean requested. "I'm here on Castiel's behalf" Rachel informed them in that same formal tone. "Where is he" Sam wanted to know before Dean could ask the same thing. "Busy." "Well, we've got a line on the mother of freaking everything" Dean announced. "So"- "I'm sure your issue is very important" Rachel cut him off, sounding kind of like a telephone operator to be perfectly honest. "But Castiel is currently commanding an army so"- Now it was Dean's turn to interrupt, exhaling sharply in annoyance.

"SO we get stuck with Miss. Moneypenny."

Last Edit: Jan 14, 2017 19:40:21 GMT -5 by Dean Winchester

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

Sam Winchester
Hunter.

Posts: 958

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 14, 2017 20:30:57 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sam Winchester on Jan 14, 2017 20:30:57 GMT -5

"So you need to learn your place." For the first time, Rachel's voice took on a frosty tone. Dean made an aggressive move in her direction. "Look, I don't know who you think you are" he began hotly but she didn't let him finish. "I'm his friend." "And you think we aren't" Sam wondered, stepping up beside Dean and placing a hand on his arm to hold him back. Rachel regarded him shrewdly. "I think you call him when you need him." Sam couldn't actually argue that point, he realized suddenly, struggling and failing to think of a time they'd called for Cas just to hang out or chat rather than just asking for assistance with something. "We're fighting a war" Rachel stressed impatiently. Sam was well aware of this fact. Cas had been quite clear about that and only that for a long time. He nodded with a strained smile.

"We get that."

NPC
Other.

Posts: 117

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 14, 2017 21:00:41 GMT -5

Quote

Post by NPC on Jan 14, 2017 21:00:41 GMT -5

-- "Castiel" --

"Clearly you don't, or you wouldn't call him every time you stub your toe, you petty, entitled little pie-"

The unfinished insult was interrupted by Castiel's arrival. "Rachel." He inclined his head stiffly at her. "That's enough." Even though he'd sent her down to see if she could help the boys he'd kept an ear on the conversation and it hadn't been going too well, warranting his assistance. But Rachel seemed offended by the drop in. "I told you I'd handle this" she insisted with a tight smile. "It's alright" Castiel assured her. "You can go." "You're staying??" Rachel blanched. "GO" Castiel repeated firmly, softening his expression a smidge. "I'll come when I can."

Rachel hesitated a second longer and then vanished. Castiel turned to face the three hunters who were staring after Rachel with dislike. "Wow. Friend of yours" Dean inquired, making a face. "Yes." Castiel nodded briskly. "She's, uh, my lieutenant. She's...committed to the cause. Now..." He sighed heavily.

"What do you need?"

NPC
Other.

Posts: 117

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 14, 2017 21:49:23 GMT -5

Quote

Post by NPC on Jan 14, 2017 21:49:23 GMT -5

-- "Bobby" --

Bobby finished loading up the duffel bag the boys would be taking with most of the remaining gold from the dragons' sewer lair. Sam sat at the desk cleaning his gun and Castiel was leaning up against the door with crossed arms. Bobby looked around curiously. "Where's Dean?" Sam shrugged, distracted. "Supply run he said." "Um, about your plan" Castiel spoke up slowly, turning away from the door in deep thought. "You'll only have 24 hours." "Wait, what??" Sam was no longer distracted. He left his half assembled gun on the desk, standing. "Why?" "Well, the answer to your question can best be expressed as a series of partial differential equations" Castiel began technically. "Ahem" 'Bobby cleared his throat to get the angel's attention. When Castiel looked his way he rolled his eyes and half-smiled.

"Aim lower."

NPC
Other.

Posts: 117

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 14, 2017 22:12:44 GMT -5

Quote

Post by NPC on Jan 14, 2017 22:12:44 GMT -5

-- "Castiel" --

Castiel hesitated, reorganizing his thoughts. "The further back I send you, the harder it becomes to retrieve you" he began to explain slowly. "24 hours is all I can risk. If I don't pull you home within that time..." He swallowed hard at the thought, his expression downcast.

"You'll be lost to me."

Dean Winchester
Hunter.

Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 16, 2017 22:19:37 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 16, 2017 22:19:37 GMT -5

Dean had returned from Wally's Western World with two full shopping bags, re-entering the library just in time to catch the end of Castiel's announcement. Dean grinned broadly. "Well then we better get you a watch."

Castiel, Sam, and Bobby stared at him and his bags. Finally Bobby voiced the question that was probably on all their minds. "What the hell's all that?" "We are going native" Dean reminded them. "Got to go native." With a flourish, he offered Sam one of the two bags. The younger Winchester could now clearly see the name of the store emblazoned on it and retreated a step, holding up both hands to ward Dean off. "No, Dean, I'm fine. I can wear this." Dean gave his flannel shirt and jeans a once over and scoffed. "And look like a spaceman??" "Look, just because you're obsessed with all that wild west stuff" Sam began, rolling his eyes and Dean immediately objected with a hasty, "no I'm not." "You have a fetish" Sam insisted. "Shut up, I just like old movies" Dean argued defensively. Sam stared him down, arms crossed. "You can recite every Clint Eastwood movie ever made, line for line." Bobby raised a surprised eyebrow. "Even the monkey movies??" "Especially the monkey movies" Sam clarified. Dean was still stuck on the "clint eastwood" line, offended by the mistake. "His name is CLYDE."

Sam speared him with an exasperated "see" look. Dean didn't back down. He shook the hand holding the bag in Sam's direction. "At least wear the damn shirt."
~~~

Five minutes later they returned from the upstairs bathrooms, Sam wearing a white shirt emblazoned with yellow rosebuds, carrying a brown cowboy hat, Dean dressed to the nines in full western gear, complete with a sarape. "Dean, this is stupid" Sam complained, looking down at his shirt and then up again. "I look stupid." Bobby gave Dean a once over, his lips twitching mockingly. "You going to a hoedown?" "Now...is it...is it customary to wear a blanket" Castiel wanted to know in confusion before Dean could return Bobby's fire. "It's a sarape" Dean corrected, beaming. "And yes."

Everyone present stared at him. Dean’s smile faded slightly. “Nevermind, let’s just go.” His gaze fell upon the half-open duffel bag on Bobby’s desk, full of gold jewelry. “What’s this for?” “Where you’re going they don’t take plastic” Bobby reminded him, which was a fair point. Dean nodded, adding his favorite gun to the bag and zipping it closed. “Alrighty then.” Shouldering the bag, he turned to face Castiel expectantly, his heart racing with excitement. “I’ll send you back to March 4” the angel informed the brothers, sounding about as enthused with this plan as Sam looked, which Dean was having a hard time understanding. It was a good plan. Castiel kept talking. “That should give you enough time to find the Colt…and this Phoenix creature.” He approached the boys, lifted both hands, and pressed two fingers to each of their foreheads. Bobby’s living room vanished.

Dean stared in awe at their new surroundings. “Oh now we’re talking” he breathed, taking in the very western style wooden houses and dirt road, a horse and buggy trundling off in the distance. He gave himself a minute or two of fascination before focusing. He inclined his head at Sam who was setting the timer on his watch to 24 hours. “Alright. Let’s go find Samuel Colt.” Adjusting his hat, he added thoughtfully, “we should check out the Saloon first, see what we can get from the locals.” Giving him a once-over and putting on his own hat, Sam chuckled. “Sure, whatever you say sundance.” “Think we’ll have time to hit on the Saloon girls?” Dean raised a suggestive eyebrow that fell flat with a sheepish grin at the expression bestowed upon him. “Kidding.”

Following Dean, Sam took a step forward, right into a large pile of horse manure. “Dammit” he muttered in disgust, trying to wipe his foot off on the ground. “You know what that is” Dean inquired with a grin. Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s horse c-“ Dean cut him off with a clap on the shoulder and even wider grin.

“Authenticity.”

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

NPC
Other.

Posts: 117

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 16, 2017 22:22:13 GMT -5

Quote

Post by NPC on Jan 16, 2017 22:22:13 GMT -5

-- "Bobby" --

No sooner had the boys vanished from sight than Castiel turned to face Bobby and delivered the news, “I have to go” in a somber tone. Bobby inclined his head at the spot on the carpet the boys had been standing not 60 seconds prior. “What about getting the boys back?” “Pray for me in 24 hours and I’ll return” the angel promised. Bobby moved into the kitchen to grab a timer and set it. When he looked up again, Castiel was gone. Bobby sighed heavily.

“I’ll pray for all of us.”

Dean Winchester
Hunter.

Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 16, 2017 22:56:46 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 16, 2017 22:56:46 GMT -5

The boys made their way into town where a large crowd of people was gathered around a high wooden platform. Atop the platform, four men stood, one of whom was bound in iron shackles with a rope around his neck, one reading from a bible, and the other two looking on. “We stand here today – March 4th, 1861 – to execute justice upon Elias Finch for the murder of his own wife” the bible reader recited. “Sentence handed down by myself, Tye Mortimer, duly appointed judge of the Wyoming circuit. You will be hung by your neck until death.” “Wow” Sam whispered with an unsettled expression. “Talk about authenticity.” Dean made a face of his own. “No kidding.”

“You got anything to say” one of the other men on the platform asked Elias, scowling at him. Elias turned a cold, hard expression on the questioner. “You’re gonna burn for this” he remarked tonelessly, shifting his gaze to the judge and then to the final man who cowered under the stare. “Every last one of you.” There was a brief, intense pause, and then the man who’d asked the question nodded at the cowering man who reached out and pulled the lever with a trembling hand. Finch’s body dropped like a stone in water through the trap door, his neck snapped audibly and his lifeless corpse swung to the gasps of the crowd. “Good times.” Dean turned away from the spectacle to face his brothers. “So where do we find Sammy Colt?” “No idea.” Sam froze mid-shrug, his eyes travelling to the three men who’d been up on the platform for Finch’s hanging and were now on their way down its rickety steps. The man who’d asked Finch if he had anything to say had unbuttoned his jacket a little and a shiny gold sheriff’s badge was now visible. Sam pointed it out. “But I think I know who to ask.”

Before the boys could do anything else, the man in front of them turned around, gave Dean’s attire a brief once over and then snorted. “Nice blanket.” Dean’s heart sunk, his expression crumpling as the man wandered off, laughing to himself. Sam was trying to look sympathetic but Dean knew he was holding back a similar laugh. Exhaling sharply, Dean yanked off the sarape and threw it to the ground. “Shut up.”

The brothers followed the trio of men into the sheriff’s office across the square. “Sheriff, can we have a word” Dean requested politely. The sheriff poured himself a glass of whiskey and eyed Dean with curiosity. “Depends who’s asking.” “Marshal Eastwood.” Dean pulled aside his jacket to reveal the gold star badge he’d pinned there, knowing the name would mean nothing to these people seeing as how Clyde Eastwood movies hadn’t come out yet. “Clint Eastwood.” He tipped his head sideways at Sam without taking his eyes off the sheriff. “This here is Walker. He’s a texas ranger.” It took quite a bit of willpower not to even let his lips twitch, allowing his expression to remain steadfastly straight. The sheriff studied him closely for another minute and then nodded his head in approval. “What can I do for you boys?” “We’re looking for a man” Sam began and the judge snorted, interrupting before the sheriff could ask for further details. “I’ll bet.” Now it was his turn to give Dean a once-over. “Nice shirt there.” Dean frowned, running a hand over his vest. The remark about his “blanket” had been one thing but his jacket was as western as they came. “What’s wrong with my shirt?” “It’s very clean” the judge observed and Dean came back with an immediately defensive, “it’s dirtier than it looks.”

Clearing his throat, Sam stepped in before the debate over the jacket’s cleanliness could continue. “We need to find Samuel Colt. Do you know him?” “The gunmaker” the sheriff clarified after a swig of his drink. “Yeah.” Dean nodded once. “He in town?” The sheriff gave his head a singular shake in return. “Not that I know of.” After a brief pause, he added, “you might try asking Elkins over at the saloon. Been here longer than God.” The saloon. Dean grinned. Awesome.

Pushing through the saloon doors with both hands, exactly like how it was done in old westerns, Dean strode into the saloon and the smile fell right off his face. Rather than packed with patrons, drinking beer and laughing uproariously, and sexy saloon girls hitting on everyone like in the movies and old shows, the saloon had maybe three customers, all passed out at their tables. And the saloon girls…well they were not what you’d call sexy. They weren’t even what you’d call easy on the eyes. Dean felt as though he’d been betrayed by a very close friend.

“This is not awesome.”

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

Sam Winchester
Hunter.

Posts: 958

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 17, 2017 19:04:52 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sam Winchester on Jan 17, 2017 19:04:52 GMT -5

Sam gave his brother an encouraging pat on the back, brushing past him to approach the counter where an elderly man was cleaning glasses with a rag. “You Elkins?” “The one and only” he confirmed, putting down his current glass to focus on them. “What’ll you have?” “Oh, ok, great. I’ll have your top shelf whiskey” Dean ordered, looking relieved, and Sam knew he was grasping at straws, hoping for something, anything, to work out the way it did in his beloved westerns. Elkins gave him a strange look. "Only have the one shelf." Sam looked down to hide his smile as Dean nodded and agreed, "that'll do just fine." Looking back up, Sam opened his mouth to put in his own order, but Dean kept talking. “And he’ll have a sarsaparilla.”

As Elkins turned to fill their orders, Sam fixed his brother with a “seriously” expression. Dean half-shrugged and Sam rolled his eyes, choosing to let it go and focus on the bigger issue at hand. “You know a man named Samuel Colt” he wondered of Elkins who’d returned with their drinks. Elkins nodded. “He passed through here about four years ago.” The boys swapped a hopeful look. “He still around” was Sam’s next question. Elkins pushed their glasses towards them and went back to cleaning the others. “Rumor is he’s building a railroad stop twenty miles out of town by the postal service. Middle of nowhere.” Elkins shook his head with an expression that quite plainly expressed how crazy he believed Colt to be but Sam held a different opinion. “Devil’s gate” he whispered to his brother, leaning closer. “Location fits” Dean whispered back in agreement, lifting his glass to his lips. However, before he could take a sip, a woman’s voice, probably in a manner that was trying to be seductive, purred, “howdy boys.” The Winchesters turned in unison to find one of the saloon girls making her way over, grinning a mouth full of rotting yellow teeth. “Darla’s my best girl” Elkins boasted as she made her way closer, getting uncomfortably close to Dean. “Try me” she breathed in his face. “Want a kiss?” She pressed herself up against him, her mouth inches from his. Dean bent backwards against the bar, trying to maintain some distance. “This is so much germier than I pictured” he muttered, making a face. Sam couldn’t help the wide grin spreading over his face. Then, just as Darla was about to plant one on Dean, a voice from the other side of the saloon interrupted. “Darla.” Darla’s face fell briefly but then she hitched a phony smile onto it and turned to greet her admirer. “Judge. Nice to see you again.” Judge Mortimer pointed at the stairs. “I thought we had a date.” “Of course.” Darla spared a final glance of longing in Dean’s direction before following the judge upstairs. Dean let out a breath of relief. “Well that was close.” Sam chuckled. “Guess it’s good to be judge.” He finally took a sip of the sarsaparilla in front of him. It was sweeter than he was ready for, but otherwise it wasn’t actually awful. Beside him, Dean had taken a gulp of whiskey and spat it right back out. “Oh god, it’s like gasoline” he gasped, making a face. Sam took another satisfied sip.

“Sarsaparilla ain’t half bad.”

Dean Winchester
Hunter.

Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 17, 2017 19:20:32 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 17, 2017 19:20:32 GMT -5

He gagged on the revolting liquid, shoving the rest of his drink away, feeling worse than ever. So far everything they’d seen or done hadn’t been anything remotely like his favorite movies from the old west. But then there came a horrified scream from upstairs and all other thoughts left his brain. Springing into instinctive action, the boys sprinted upstairs, bursting into the room Darla and the judge had taken. Darla was cowering in the corner, trembling from head to foot. Her eyes were locked on the bed and when the boys turned their heads in that direction too they discovered the charred remains of the judge. Completely burned up.
~~~

“You ok sheriff” Dean wanted to know ten minutes later as the sheriff paced the floor, hands clasped behind his back. “’Course I’m ok” he confirmed, becoming stationary. “I just”- “It was a ghost” Darla interrupted in a panic. “It wasn’t a ghost” the sheriff objected, pointing at the dusty ash footprints leading from the room out onto the balcony. “Unless ghosts leave footprints.” Darla stepped up beside the sheriff and brothers, seeming to be gaining some of her courage back. “I am telling ya…Elias Finch was here! He did…that…” She gestured at the judge’s remains. “…and then he walked out that door!” “Rope didn’t kill him” the sheriff announced. “Seen it before.” “You got any idea where he is now” Sam wanted to know while Dean moved out onto the balcony and looked around. The footsteps ended and there was a soft bunch of bushes directly below it that would make a nice landing spot for anyone jumping down. “Could be a thousand places” the sheriff was answering Sam’s question. Dean doubled back into the room to ask once of his own. “Well you got a way to draw him out?” “Of course.” The sheriff nodded confidently. “We’re going to form a posse, hunt Finch down and string him back up. Put a bullet in his head for good measure.” “That actually sounds like a good plan” Dean complimented, surprised. “You two should come along” the sheriff suggested, surprising Dean further. “Meet downstairs at dawn.” He took a step towards the door and then turned back around, giving their outfits a dismissive glance. “But get yourselves some real gear first.” Turning to Sam without a word about yet another jab on his western wardrobe choices, Dean lifted one eyebrow.

“I think it’s time we paid our respects to Finch.”

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

Sam Winchester
Hunter.

Posts: 958

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 17, 2017 20:01:49 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sam Winchester on Jan 17, 2017 20:01:49 GMT -5

Sam agreed with a solemn nod. “I was thinking the same thing.”
~~~

The idea may have been a good one but they were unable to follow through on the execution. Finch’s grave site had already been disturbed, the hole empty other than a large pile of ash not unlike what had been left behind at the judge’s murder scene. Sam held his lantern over it for another minute and then lifted it to illuminate his brother’s pensive expression. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Rose from the ashes to burn up his victim” Dean theorized. “So maybe we’re not looking for a giant flaming bird. Maybe the phoenix is actually walking around in cowboy boots.” “Makes sense why the rope didn’t kill him then” Sam agreed, nodding his head thoughtfully. “Could be Finch. Now the question is…how do we put this thing down?” Dean considered this for a minute and then reminded him, “well we do know one thing that will kill friggen’ anything, right?” Sam shrugged. “Yeah, the Colt.” Though technically speaking that wasn’t true, but it was true enough for their current purposes.

“So…” Dean mimicked the shrug. “Go get the gun.” Sam frowned uncertainly. “But isn’t the gun coming here? I mean, according to Colt’s journal.” “People here barely know who Colt is” Dean pointed out. “So maybe you’ve got to go find him, bring him and the gun here, and make history.” It sounded reasonable enough of a plan to Sam. But he was a little confused why Dean wasn’t offering to join in. “What are you going to do?” “I’ll stay here and hook up with the posse” Dean informed him, which would have been fine, had he just stuck with that. But then he kept talking. “I mean, you know me, I’m a posse magnet. I love posse.” The corner of his mouth twitched, his eyes dancing merrily. “I’m going to make that into a tee-shirt.” Sam rolled his eyes. His brother had all the sense of humor and appropriateness of a twelve year old sometimes.

“Are you done??”

Dean Winchester
Hunter.

Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 17, 2017 20:04:54 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 17, 2017 20:04:54 GMT -5

Dean tried to look apologetic but couldn’t help the small grin that still tugged at his lips. Sam rolled his eyes again. “Look, the problem is, Colt’s twenty miles outside of town. How am I supposed to get there and back before noon??” Dean only had to think about it for a second before the sound of a snorting horse pawing the ground met his ears. He turned slightly to find they were across the street from a barn that housed a large sign “horses for rent” and then turned back to Sam, grinning. “Ride ‘em cowboy.”
~~~

One exchange of two gold watches for a horse later, and Sam was slipping one foot into the stirrups, trying to mount it. He looked anything but graceful. Dean held the horse in place by its bridle, watching the scene unfold. “Almost there” he coached unhelpfully while Sam slung his leg over the saddle, wobbling as he tried to sit straight. “You know what…this actually feels alright” the younger Winchester remarked after a second, seeming to get his balance figured out. “Be careful” Dean advised, backing up from the horse, releasing its bridle. “Yeah, sure.” Sam gathered up the reigns. “11am, right?” Dean nodded his confirmation of this fact. “Don’t be late!”

“Got it.” Sam clicked his tongue and the horse began a sort of jerky motion in the opposite direction, Sam bouncing along on top. He held up one thumb over his shoulder. “I’m ok!” Dean made a face.

“That poor horse.”

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

NPC
Other.

Posts: 117

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 17, 2017 20:11:27 GMT -5

Quote

Post by NPC on Jan 17, 2017 20:11:27 GMT -5

-- "Castiel" --

The warehouse was abandoned. Castiel wandered its depths alertly. Who had summoned him here and for what reason? Wind kicked up from a broken window, ruffling his hair. Suddenly he became acutely aware that he was no longer alone.

“We need to talk” came Rachel’s voice from behind him. Castiel turned, bewildered. “YOU summoned me here?” “Castiel, I’ve been hearing things” she began in a voice throbbing with desperation. “Things I don’t want to believe.” Castiel said nothing. He was trying to gage how much she knew. “Just tell me if it’s true” she begged, earning a slow, “…if what’s true” from Castiel, still stalling for time. “You know…your dirty little secret.” Rachel eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and pleading. Castiel could tell she knew everything.

Taking a moment to compose himself and think of the best angle he could come at this from, all that came to mind was his steadfast excuse he’d been peddling to everyone, including himself. “I have to defeat Raphael.” Rachel’s expression crumpled. “Not this way Castiel.” “Rachel”- Castiel tried to get his side of the story in there again, but she stopped him, sounding heartbroken. “We put our faith in you and…look what you’re turning into.” Castiel couldn’t deny that he’d changed since the start of heaven’s civil war. That was the consequences of leading an army. Of trying to take down a stronger angel and his followers. But it was for the greater good. He shook his head solemnly. “I don’t have a choice.”

Rachel let out a small, defeated sigh. “Then neither do I.” Her blade was too fast for Castiel, catching him in the chest with a searing amount of pain. Fortunately, before it could sink too deep and cause permanent or fatal damage, he was able to use brute strength, snapping one foot against Rachel’s knee joint, resulting in a stumble backwards, bringing her blade with her. Staggering backwards himself, breathing deeply, one of Castiel’s hands went up to the gash on his chest, staining his dress shirt blood red, and the other caught the handle of his blade as it slipped down from his sleeve into his palm. The two angels began a circular path, the distance between them never varying. Castiel kept his eyes on Rachel, his posture stiff and tense. Ready.

Finally, she charged, swiping her blade at him again. Castiel sidestepped it with a bit of effort from his labored breathing, attempting a counter stab that, in his weakened state was easily parried, knocked from his grip by the full-strength Rachel. As his blade skittered across the ground, Rachel flattened him with one strong punch to the face, followed by several kicks to the stomach while he was down. After three kicks to the stomach, Rachel’s foot found his face next. Castiel rolled a few times from the blow, happening to land with his face directly next to his fallen blade. Spitting blood onto the cement, Castiel stretched out his fingers, reaching for the blade. Out of nowhere Rachel’s foot crashed down onto the blade, one hand on her own blade, the other reaching down to haul Castiel up to his feet by the hair. Her blade-wielding hand reared back, poising to strike its final blow.

As it streaked towards him, Castiel somehow managed to get ahold of Rachel’s wrist, twisting it and redirecting the blade so that it ended up impaling its owner instead. Castiel lay her down, the image of her expanded wings etched into the cement on either side of her, bright white light glowing around her like a halo for one moment before extinguishing. Staring down at her lifeless form, Castiel’s heart was heavy.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean Winchester
Hunter.

Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

Frontierland. // Dean // Jan 18, 2017 23:19:29 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 18, 2017 23:19:29 GMT -5

The first thing Dean did once Sam had left was go to the closest clothing store, using more of the gold jewelry from his bag to purchase “real gear” as the sheriff had requested. As he put each article on, he swore he felt like a tingle up his spine. And when the entire ensemble had been donned and he took a final glance in the mirror…it was like he had been transported back to the old west. Oh wait. He had been. Only now…he truly looked the part.
~~~

Dawn found Dean striding through the saloon’s doors once again. Striding confidently over to the bar, he waited for acknowledgement from Elkins who looked him over and observed, "new hat." "I look good" Dean remarked proudly. With comments about his new wardrobe out of the way, he became aware that he and Elkins were the only two in the entire saloon. Dean arched an eyebrow. "Where's the posse?" Sam was the one wearing a watch so he had no idea what time it actually was outside of the general description of "dawn". "I must be early." Elkins raised an eyebrow right back. "Or you're the only greenhorn dumb enough to go chasing after a ghost." "What are you talking about" Dean scoffed. "The sheriff's tough as nails. He'll be here." There was a sudden distant shout. "Oh god, the sheriff's dead!" Dean pulled a face, retracting his seconds-earlier statement. "Or not."
~~~

The sheriff's body lay in smoldering ash about a quarter mile from the saloon. "Great." Dean exhaled sharply, his breath coming out in little puffs of air in the chilly morning. "Well who's the sheriff now?" They needed a new head of the posse. Someone else he could follow in the charge against Finch. Elkins knelt beside the pile of rubble, extracting the sheriff's gold badge and straightening. "Congratulations..." He pinned it to the front of the startled Dean's vest. "Sheriff." Alright. Well apparently he was following himself.
~~~

The way Dean saw it there was only one more person left on Finch's hit list before he blew town and they lost their chance to kill him, obtaining his ashes to fight Eve. And he didn't really have a backup plan. So off to the deputy's house he went. Well aware that the deputy would be on edge and nervous…and with good reason…Dean readied his gun as he knocked. Sure enough, the voice that answered from the other side of the door was shaky as all get out. “H-h-hello?” “Candygram for Mongo” Dean announced in a phony, high pitched voice nothing like his own. The door opened, Deputy Mongo pointing a gun straight at his face, looking spooked. Dean pointed his own gun back calmly. “Howdy pilgrim.”

Mongo’s expression pinched up, offended. “I ain’t no pilgrim” he protested. “Alright, back up.” Ignoring him, Dean twitched his gun, backing the deputy into his room and closing the door with one foot. They stared each other down for another minute before Dean used his gun-free hand to move aside his coat, revealing the sheriff’s badge on his vest with a flourish. “That anyway to, uh…greet your new boss?” Mongo’s expression and posture both relaxed a little as he holstered his weapon, returning to the bed where he was packing a suitcase. “Missed you at the posse this morning” Dean went on with a scoff, holstering his own gun. “I was a one man wolf pack thanks to you…” He inclined his head at the clothes he was hastily stuffing away. “Going somewhere?”

“I’m going to visit my sister” Mongo informed him, reaching for another shirt. Dean could see the visible nervous tremors in the deputy’s hand and snagged the shirt away from him, tossing it to the floor. “Well she’ll have to wait.” “B-But if I don’t-” Mongo began, his voice cracking as he made a move for the fallen shirt. “Finch said he was coming back for the former sheriff, Judge Mortimer and you” Dean listed off, stepping between Mongo and the shirt, holding up a finger for each of the names as he spoke them. “Now that’s two down, one to go.” “Then just let me go” Mongo exclaimed, attempting to brush past Dean, who caught onto his upper arm on the way past, hauling him back. “You really think you can outrun him??” Dean shoved Mongo towards the bed, placing himself in the deputy’s direct line of sight, his expression remorseless. “He is going to kill you!” He let that terrifying thought sink in for half a minute before making an addition to it. “Unless…” “Unless what” Mongo pressed hopefully, his whole body quivering like a stray leaf in fall. “Unless we gank him first” Dean finished, setting his jaw with determination. “Gank?” Mongo blanched, looking lost. “What’s gank??” Appearing to pick up on its meaning without any help aside from the look on Dean’s face, he backed up a step, nearly toppling over onto his bed as his legs hit the edge of it. “Mister, you’re crazy. No way. You’re on your own.” “I am not asking you to throw down with him” Dean insisted, rolling his eyes. “I’m asking you to play your part.” Mongo swallowed uneasily. “My part?” “Yeah.” A muscle ticked in Dean’s jaw, his eyes narrowing in focus.

“Bait.”

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

Post by Sam Winchester on Jan 11, 2017 22:28:13 GMT -5

Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 12, 2017 22:30:46 GMT -5

Post by Sam Winchester on Jan 14, 2017 20:30:57 GMT -5

Post by NPC on Jan 14, 2017 21:00:41 GMT -5

Post by NPC on Jan 14, 2017 21:49:23 GMT -5

Post by NPC on Jan 14, 2017 22:12:44 GMT -5

Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 16, 2017 22:19:37 GMT -5

Post by NPC on Jan 16, 2017 22:22:13 GMT -5

Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 16, 2017 22:56:46 GMT -5

Post by Sam Winchester on Jan 17, 2017 19:04:52 GMT -5

Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 17, 2017 19:20:32 GMT -5

Post by Sam Winchester on Jan 17, 2017 20:01:49 GMT -5

Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 17, 2017 20:04:54 GMT -5

Post by NPC on Jan 17, 2017 20:11:27 GMT -5

Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 18, 2017 23:19:29 GMT -5

Quick Reply

Our Affiliates