1867/Wayward Son

From United Heroes MUSH
Revision as of 06:56, 14 August 2017 by Altair (talk | contribs)
(diff) ← Older revision | Latest revision (diff) | Newer revision → (diff)
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Wayward Son
Date of Scene: 07 August 2017
Location: Croton, New York
Synopsis: Dean Winchester goes in search of the Winter Soldier, and certainly finds him.
Cast of Characters: Dean Winchester, Winter Soldier
Tinyplot: Tayaniye


Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean had left SHIELD, burger in hand, and had taken the Impala home to get ready--without Sam in tow. Well, as ready as he could be. He'd outfitted with the lightweight clothes-armour May had provided the brothers Winchester, concealed multiple weapons in his arsenal, and had taken to the road after leaving a vague note on the fridge for Sam: 'Went out. Back in a week or less. Don't get kidnapped.'

He got some provisions, and then he'd set out to make good on his promise.

He'd started not far from where he'd parked the Impala only days before. Dean was smart enough to avoid exploring the area they'd seen the hydra, and instead sought any trail he could he could find; camping when night had fell, and then continuing at first light the following day.

But the trail went cold.

Completely cold.

Dean sits on a log in the middle of nowhere without a map.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The forest is calm around Dean Winchester. Much of the cleanup at the dam has already been completed. The important things that needed to be cleared out have already been cleared out, meaning that whatever activity there was left to find around the area is activity only of the most banal sort. None of those trails lead anywhere.

In the end, even a tracker and hunter like Dean Winchester is left with nothing except the emptiness of descending dusk, and the clamour of wildlife all around.

Eventually, there comes a point the birdsong and the cricket chirps stop. Animals always know.

"There's not going to be anything for you to find," a voice drifts down a few moments later, from behind Dean and overhead. The source is a shadow half-visible in the crook of an oak's spreading branches, a shadow that watches Dean with curious blue eyes.

"You really ought to go home. You got what you wanted."

Dean Winchester has posed:
Animal silence puts Dean on edge. Years of hunting has made him too-aware of silence and what it brings. The voice causes Dean to stand and turn in its direction. His head tilts to the side. "I've had girlfriends who couldn't begin to understand what I want. Reckon you couldn't do better," Dean replies evenly. But his expression doesn't meet the cavalier way he manages to speak. His nostrils flare. His lips tighten grimly. His wrists already work to grasp at the weapon hidden in his sleeve.

His jaw works around at something. "What'd you give him?" his chin lifts and green eyes narrow expectantly. His lips purse like he's sucked on something sour. "And why?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
The Winter Soldier smiles. It's a brief baring of white teeth in the dark. He leans forward in his perch, balanced thoughtlessly, his left arm slinging across his knees. He doesn't look armed, but that means nothing.

"You weren't clear enough with your girlfriends, if that's the case," he says. "I've never had trouble getting my point across to a woman."

His head tilts. He watches as Dean tenses, in that telltale way that longs for a weapon. He himself does nothing.

He only shrugs as Dean asks his questions. "You're asking the wrong guy," he replies, his colloquial English and easy cadence surprising on a purported Russian operative. He talks like a native New Yorker. "I wasn't the one giving him shit, nor the one making decisions on why."

The Winter Soldier leans back again, a mocking smile crossing his features. Hard to say who he's mocking. "I just retrieve."

Dean Winchester has posed:
A curl of Dean's lips offers a not-smile, grim and cold. "Like Claire?" His lips hitch up on one side, "I prefer not to kidnap my company." He winks to punctuate the point.

"So," humour reflects in his eyes, "you're saying you're just a delivery boy?" his eyebrows lift comically. He takes a single step back, and the weapon slides into his grasp. The light reflects from he glint of metal from the hunter's knife.

He tests the balance of the weapon in his grasp, knowing full-well he's given away that he's carrying, "You give him all those pretty bruises or was that someone else too?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
Like Claire? Dean taunts. He prefers not to kidnap his company--

The Winter Soldier is silent. The leaves around him move more than he does. His cold eyes reflect back the image of Dean's drawn dagger without betraying any indication of what he is thinking, nor how he will respond to that barb about a certain nurse.

"Shouldn't talk about things you don't know the first thing about," he eventually replies.

Then he is down from the tree, crossing the empty space between them, as silent and quick as one of the stray moonbeams flickering across the forest floor. He pulls a .45 as he moves, and when he stops it is precisely out of Dean's easy knife reach, with the pistol aimed between Dean's eyes.

"That was Anastasiya," he remarks. "She's a cunt."

Dean Winchester has posed:
The barrel of the gun pointed at his head actually causes his eyebrows to lift. Anastasiya is a cunt: "Obviously." He swallows hard. And in an instant, the ghosts of the past argue for vastly different actions.

But memory, both muscle and otherwise, goes into autopilot. A decision had already been made a day earlier. "Never touch Sammy again. I don't care what the cunts order."

His jaw shifts when he looks down the barrel of the gun, and instead of having the good sense of trying to dodge or run away from the gun, he steps forward, taking a single, slow step, not aiming to get out of the weapon's crosshairs. "And here I thought you weren't a coward." His eyebrows draw together. "Too scared to dance, Soldier?"

Winter Soldier has posed:
The Winter Soldier's mouth curves in a scimitar grin. "Little Nastenka wishes she got to order me," he dismisses. "It was her job to beat your brother because I had better things to do."

Whatever he was expecting Dean to do with a gun in his face, however, it wasn't to step forward and keep sassing. His brows lift slightly as the older Winchester dares the muzzle of his weapon and asks him if he's too scared to dance.

"A man needs to be alive to enforce his ultimatums, Dean Winchester," he says softly, almost instructive. "You children, these days..."

His trigger finger leaves the trigger guard, sliding up to lay straight along the frame of the pistol, and he whips the weapon itself in a violent crack for Dean's jaw. "No sense!"

Dean Winchester has posed:
The force of the pistol-whip creams Dean on the ground. And as his body twists, he crumples further, pushing his chest downwards. He can hear the crack of the bones beneath his weight. This was a bad idea. He spits on the ground and a spray of red follows the action.

But he can't stop sassing. He groans, curling into himself. "Better... " he forces the words, "...things... like... keeping... company... with... women.. you kidnap... because... no one would... stay by choice?" He gasps for air and forces himself upwards. The adrenaline allows him to stand. This was a really bad idea.

He rolls on the ground, clutching the knife tightly and forces himself to his feet. Disjointedly, he takes a swipe at the soldier.

Winter Soldier has posed:
The Winter Soldier does not press his advantage or step forward after he sends Dean careening to the ground. He only holds his position, standing above the other man, waiting to see if any sense has been beaten in yet.

None has, it seems. Dean rolls back, slowly, to a stand, and he keeps talking. The things he says make the Soldier's eyes flare with fury.

Dean forces himself forward again, despite his aggravated injuries. His blade lashes out, slicing the air-- and the Winter Soldier reaches to catch it in his steel left hand. Its mechanisms whir as he shuts his grip, metal screaming as it grinds against metal, the Soldier aiming to fold the blade in half in his palm. Then to push, and snap it in two.

His dispassionate expression does not alter, nor does his gaze leave Dean's.

"You think I've had the luxury of time for that? They couldn't choose me even if they wanted." His mouth curls in something almost bitter at that-- bitter, but frigidly proud. "You fucking Americans. I was busy making sure you lost Vietnam before your parents ever even conceived of you."

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean forces himself to straighten. His body cries out against the motion, but he forces it anyway. His lips hitch up higher on one side, exposing a row of bloodied teeth behind them. He takes a deep breath while he watches the soldier destroy the knife.

"So... you //do// kidnap company," he observes before spitting blood on the ground again. "You're //that// asshole," he sputters.

He sniffs hard. "That all you got?" He coughs around the lump in his throat. He's in rough shape--injury on injury means he's likely already bleeding internally. "I..." in inhales again as he balls his hands into fists, "...could do this all day."

Winter Soldier has posed:
Dean draws his conclusions. The Winter Soldier considers them, very generously, though the gradual narrowing of his blue eyes suggests he emphatically does not like what he is hearing. He steps forward--

--and Dean says something.

The Winter Soldier halts. The phrase seems to mean something to him, a vague recognition flickering in his eyes... up until it suddenly doesn't. His gaze goes abstract and impersonal as a wolf's stare on prey. His expression vacillates between confusion and rage, up until the fact there's confusion at all twists his mental setting squarely towards rage.

The shriek of articulating metal is the only perceptible warning Dean gets before steel cannons dead center towards his already-abused chest, the Soldier striking with enough force to send the man careening back against the trunk of a tree.

"Like I said," he says, as he approaches at a slow pace, "shouldn't talk about things you don't know the first thing about, unless you want to die wrong. I saved her life. Me."

The arm strikes again, snake-quick, sinking into the bole of the tree two inches to the left of Dean's head with a catastrophic crack of wood. Splinters fly. The Soldier leans in close. "How big a fool are you?" he muses. "I'm starting to question the logic..."

Dean Winchester has posed:
The thud against the tree echoes in Dean's mind along with a chorus of cracks and pops and another lower, more pained, groan. His shoulders draw towards one another. And for the first time when the strike comes against the tree, he actually flinches.

He groans again. His eyes close and his breath exhales as a near laugh--a hollow emission of air; humourless and empty, but still there. "Now I know," he clears his throat to get rid of the metallic taste in his mouth; he fails, "your weaknesses... nurses and snark." At that he actually smirks. "Dead men have no logic. But if you touch Sammy again," he groans while shifting against the tree, clearly in distress, "I will make every deal with purgatory, heaven, and hell to come back and haunt your ass." He doesn't wipe the blood from his face, and instead remains pasted in place.

And the Winter Soldier this close, he does the only thing a Winchester can: he spits blood at the Soldier.

His eyes lid again.

Winter Soldier has posed:
Spit blood hits the Soldier just beneath the eye. The crimson drools down the side of his face, running the line of his jaw. He doesn't wipe it away. He is used to wearing blood.

"Now I know yours," the Winter Soldier snorts. "Putting up a fight worth the time."

He wrenches his arm from the tree in another shower of splinters and torn bark. "You are lucky I'm told there's some use to you yet. Though I don't see what."

He turns away. Dean's parting words, however, pause him in his stride, and he slants a look back over his shoulder. His blue eyes are indifferent, passionless.... desensitized, after decades of sowing war.

"Thousands of ghosts are already following me," he says, and turns away again. "I won't even see you among them."