Here You Are, Stick Figure and a Busted Grin [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

The first thing that the dreamers of Manhattan might notice is that the ground is a good deal closer than it normally is. The second thing they might notice is that their surroundings are larger than they might expect. The playground looks almost daunting. Of course, there are other ways for the dreamers to occupy themselves on this hot summer day: a charming fountain bubbles away a little distance from the playground. There's an ice cream stand with treats free for the taking. Beyond the paved area is a meadow, covered in wildflowers and dominated by a huge, sprawling tree, perfect for climbing.

It's all prime entertainment for children. So really, it's just as well that 'children' is what the dreamers will find themselves to be - once more, for those who had childhoods, or for the first time, for those who didn't.

Perhaps you'll remember everything: the Rift, Manhattan, the friends (and enemies) you've made since your arrival. Or perhaps you'll only remember who you were when you were young, and find this an opportunity to forge new friendships - or new (and probably pettier) animosities. Run around, get dirty, have a good time. It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

[ooc: usual dream party rules apply. All are welcome, whether they've been apped to the game or not. Characters will remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. Mental and emotional regression is optional, but physical regression is mandatory: your character is in the body of a little kid - human, or human-ish - regardless of who or what they are in the waking world.]

Comments

[unpurify]

He shakes his head but the action feels numb.

"You don't know that." It doesn't, it can't. Everything it's saying could be a lie. He bets it is. It probably is a lie. Trying to catch him off guard, or keep him in an emotional chokehold, or something. This is monster-hunting basics. They always try to get the best of you. "You don't know my brother, or me."

So why do you pray, Sammy? Why do you pray to the angels sometimes?

He falters.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"I know that you love him more than anything. I know that he takes care of you, that he keeps you safe, that he teaches you everything you need to know."

He's Sam's Michael, the older brother that he loves like he loves nothing else. Samael knows what it's like, having a sibling that you love with such fierce fervency that it outshines supernovae, a love more steadfast and stable than the bones of the Earth.

"I have one too, Sam. My big brother's name is Michael."

[unpurify]

"I don't care," Sam says, desperately, hands fisting into his hair, but there's an ice in his blood he can't shake. Anyone could say that about anyone's brother, right? Of course Dean loves Sam, of course he keeps his little brother safe, it's his job and it's what he does.

"Everyone's big brother does that," he insists. "I'm not chosen or different or - "

- or a freak in any way besides the ways he already knows he is. He knows he's different, and doomed to be different because he knows how to load a shotgun and make a salt line and sharpen a knife. But he's not meant for anything. He's not meant for anything besides running away.