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[iamwinchester.livejournal.com]

[Of all the places Dean figured he’d wake up, submerged in a freaky Matrix-style pod filled with liquid wasn’t one of the top contenders. He’s woken up in far worse situations before and though that should be a comfort it’s not. All of this is supposed to be over...

What follows his rude re-entry into consciousness is a slick (literally) routine, old habits and what he knows mix, eyes, ears and hands checking out the entire medical bay. The scalpel he ends up with is more chance than anything and, though he’s got nowhere to stash it yet without risking serious injury, he keeps his grip on it tight. He has nothing else to go by aside from an itch inside his arm and it’s not until he twists it over to scratch that he reads the number tattooed into his skin. 124.

Another minute passes as he tries to figure out how stopping the apocalypse has anything to do with this, and he half considers the idea that he’s actually dead at least three times before the number and the lockers suddenly make sense. He finds 124 and opens it, stares inside at the weirdass Star Trek uniform and tries not to react to the keys he can see very clearly next to a lighter, a pack of beef jerky and his hunting knife. He’s not going to think about his baby, alone in a graveyard without him.

Once the uniform is grudgingly pulled on, his own belongings concealed in various places around his body, the device he doesn’t recognize is scooped up and flipped over twice in his hands, powered up and snorted at when it tells him to go to the blue lift. That ain’t happening anytime soon. Instead he’s messing around with every single button until he’s told he’s broadcasting to a network. Awesome.]

Who the hell’s in charge around here? And who wants to explain why I’ve got a number tattooed into my goddamn arm? I swear to that douche upstairs, if this has anythin’ to do with any of you feathery assholes I will kick your asses from here to... whatever.

I have no idea how I got here. I have a number in my arm and right now, for all I know, I’m in some kinda concentration camp for guys who the universe thought it hadn’t crapped on hard enough or long enough. Anybody with answers? I’ll trade you strips of my beef jerky for information. Maybe.

[The feed cuts out here, though anybody who’s anywhere close when he realizes where he is? Be prepared for expletives like you’ve never heard before.]

Comments

[unparental]

Okay, that I can answer. I did the sheep thing, took the blue lift to the passenger quarters. I mean, first I tried to break this stupid thing but after that didn't work, I thought 'why not'.

[iamwinchester.livejournal.com]

What's down there? [Actually, he's shaking his head no, eyes flicking up from the device and feed wobbling because he's walking. He's clearly checking out the lift again, frowning at it before the background behind him changes to the inside of a lift.]

Guess 'm gonna find out.

[unparental]

Believe it or not, pretty much what it says. Dorms, if college was a little more space age. I think a few other things, but I'm taking a break to lay on a bed and try to breathe slowly.

[iamwinchester.livejournal.com]

College was never my thing. College girls, though... [It's all the information he offers up before he's looking distracted by his surroundings. That hunting knife has been carefully concealed in his uniform, but that doesn't mean he can't get at it as and when he needs to. He trusts nothing and no one.]

These're all just rooms?

[unparental]

Ah. One of those, huh? [ she's not judging, dean. really. in fact, she's dated quite a few of 'those'. ask her about hustling pool sometime. ]

One for every number-- [ she holds up her forearm ] from what I can tell.

[iamwinchester.livejournal.com]

One of what? [He's half-grinning when he's not checking the number on his arm and staring at the numbers on the doors. He's got a walk. He did glimpse the number on her arm, though.]

016. Shame. Mine's 124.

[unparental]

The scruffy boys who liked to hang out in college bars and tell me that I didn't want a frat boy, I wanted a real man. [ ah, good memories. ]

If you find booze, I'll make the trek.

[iamwinchester.livejournal.com]

Deal. [Again with the making deals thing... Dean's going to pretend like that's not significant at all. He's also going to bite down on the next comment on the tip of his tongue. It's not for polite company he's only just met on board a spaceship.]

If I find any you'll be the first to know. Cross my heart.

[unparental]

Same goes if I stumble over a stash first.

[ jenna may have a boyfriend, but flirting is always free game. ] Jenna, by the way.

[iamwinchester.livejournal.com]

[Ahahaha, Dean doesn't care about your boyfriend, Jenna. Not one little bit.]

Dean. Most people call me Dean. There's a couple other names but... not civilized, apparently.

[unparental]

[ YOU GUYS WOULD P BE BROS JS. ]

Dean works for me. If we find that booze, you can share the other ones then.

[iamwinchester.livejournal.com]

If we find that booze? Pretty sure other people're gonna get to those before I do.

[unparental]

I won't tell if you won't.

[iamwinchester.livejournal.com]

Not a word.

[unparental]

Then I'm glad I met you, Dean.

[iamwinchester.livejournal.com]

Almost as glad as I am. [He quirks his eyebrows and then breaks out into a less predatory grin before he's clearing his throat and regrettably getting his ass back to business.]

If I find out anythin' else I'll uh... I'll send you a message.

[unparental]

I'm in the book.

[ pause for thought. ] If there is a book.

[ she holds up her wrist, flashing the nifty new tattoo. ] If all else fails, now you know my room number.

[iamwinchester.livejournal.com]

[He's clearly taking the number in before nodding and holding his up in return. Now isn't the time to keep that particular piece of information to himself. Not when he's showing it to a hot chick who likes whiskey. That he can deal with.]

I'll catch you later.