abraxasnet | to; all

Entry tags:

to; all

i've never made one of these so sorry if it's wrong

but if you knew Nero- i know he's been here a long time so there's probably a lot of you. you deserve to know.

he's gone.
and not back home or into the pond or however the other places bring us all here
he's gone gone.
dead. died. not coming back.

just thought everyone should know.
if you need to know details and shit i can tell you
i was there
so
yeah

fuck

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

not really sure if drinking fake beer's gonna help anything
but sure- an hour?

[ whether or not dean replies that it's okay, and whether or not steve actually thinks it'll help, he does go. it feels a little like he's sleep walking, like he's expended every other emotion out of him and he's just kind of wistlessly walking around, but he is here. he makes it.

he doesn't knock when he walks through the front door, eyes scanning the dive bar that is the roadhouse like he hasn't been here before (he has). ] Hello?

Fake beer helps everything, but it's not for that.

( Well, not just for that, anyway.

At any rate, there's no immediate answer when Steve walks in. The bar's quiet, uncharacteristically empty, and Dean is nowhere to be found — at first. Until the door labelled Doctor Badass Is Out swings open, and he pokes his head out to whistle sharply. )

This way. C'mon, down here. Shut the door behind you.

( And he darts back through the doorway again.

Uncommon knowledge to anyone outside of the Winchester or Witcher families, that doorway leads not to a room, but to a reinforced set of concrete steps that descend underground to the far larger, more expansive structure beneath. Steve is welcomed into the list of the elite few who get to see the Men of Letters bunker. Hopefully the Vibe down there is different enough that it doesn't inspire any creepy torture bunker flashbacks; this one's better furnished, better lit, and it's playing Fleetwood Mac from— somewhere. )

whatever you say, man

[ steve doesn't mean to sound defeatist about it all, but honestly? he's feeling a lot like he's running on empty from every direction. he goes because he does want to see dean, is curious about whatever it is that he wants to show him, even if he doesn't think he'll have the energy to appreciate it.

he does go, though - that pull in him stronger than the voice that says he should just stay back - and when he finds the empty bar, that voice gets a little louder. tells him to turn around. he must have misunderstood, or maybe he's at the wrong dive bar, or-

despite himself, he jumps a little out of his skin at the whistle, not realizing how wound up some part of him still is. he lets out a long breath as he turns to where dean's poked his head out the door just in time to watch him disappear back behind it again. steve feels... well. he would feel a lot more off-kilter, if he had the extra energy to spare. as it stands, he kind of looks around as if making sure he's the only one there that dean could be referring to, and then sort of shrugs to himself and heads through - taking a couple of seconds and making sure to close the door behind him, too.

what he sees is not what he, or probably anyone who had been a casual roadhouse goer, respects - and he very nearly slips down the first step down. steve pauses for a second, looking down the set of stairs and then back to the door he just stepped through, wondering... well. actually. no. he's confused, sure, but there isn't a whole lot he's worried about. a very large part of him simply trusts dean, and that is kind of where it ends. the stairs don't trigger any sort of direct comparison for steve (he's trauma has to do with elevators, thank you) and the sound of fleetwood mac makes him think of hawkins - in the comfortable, nostalgic sense.

he runs a hand back through his hair as he descends, still not sure what he should be expecting. part of him wonders if it's some kind of gun range, and he prepares a sort of excuse for why he's not really feeling like blowing anything up right now. then his thoughts shift off as he reaches the end of the stairs, thinking about all the people he remembers everyone talking about back home. the bunkers everyone built back in the fifties, when they were convinced russia was gonna drop a bomb. ]

Uh- Dean? [ he calls out as he descends the last step. ] Is this some kinda war bunker?

( Beneath Steve's feet, the bunker opens up into something altogether more inviting than what he might expect. The heavy blinking machinery ends at the entrance lobby, where rich wood and bookshelves take over the space. Library tables with warm lamps, marble floored hallways beyond. It's definitely not your standard-fare fifties fallout shelter, but all the same, Dean glances around the space and shrugs, offering an absent: )

Yeah, sure, somethin' like that. Are you comin' or what? It's like the world's slowest walker solo competition back there. Come on.

( A little vague shit-giving to keep the mood light because that's his Default Mode. It worked on Sam, it worked on Ben, he sticks with what he knows.

All the same, he'll slow his pace down finally, and carry on at a leisurely amble as soon as Steve's in companionable proximity. Together, they head down one of the handsome, door-lined hallways toward the bunker's massive under-ground garage. It's where Dean parks the Impala and, often, where Geralt parks his motorcycle when he's coming by for Car Stuff. )

If you want the real truth of it, ( He explains as they walk, ) this whole thing was built by a secret society that called themselves the Men of Letters. Stupid name, I know, don't look at me, I didn't get a vote. Basically they were just the pretentious college nerds of monster hunting. Totally got themselves wiped out in 1958, which is what happens when you screw around with stuff you don't understand.

[ it is more open than he expects, more warm and almost inviting than anything steve is used to seeing in the psa's they'd give everyone in class, the old movies he used to watch. the machinery is more updated than he was expecting, beyond even what he's used to thinking up himself, but it's the wood and lamps and decorations that leave him with wide eyes. ]

Uh- oh. Yeah. [ he was definitely not distracted, not at all. he keeps walking, following dean down whatever hallway, even if he doesn't particularly pick up his pace either. he's not trying to be combative, he really just doesn't have it in him - but it's easier to match pace when dean is walking with him, glancing to dean when he starts talking and then back to the door-lined hallway.

men of letters gets a halfhearted snort out of steve as they walk, agreeing with the stupid name comment. ] Why's it your Horizon? Were you one of them? [ even if steve's pretty sure dean is from the future? or, past future? from later than steve and eddie and dustin, that's for sure.

finding out someone else is marty mcflying back in their home world is hardly the weirdest thing steve's learned as of late, so he tries to keep himself up for anything. ]

No. Well- ( He backpedals, correcting himself in the same breath. ) Not exactly. We were supposed to be, but uh- there was this whole thing with a time-traveling demon. It's a long story. The short version is, our grandfather was. Me and my brother found this place a few decades after the wipe-out, and we took it over. It's been our home base ever since.

( Which is the even shorter version of the short version, and it's definitely not a story he expects Steve to have the attention span to retain. Not now, not while he's grieving. )

But I didn't bring you here for the history lesson, I brought you here...

( DRAMATIC. PAUSE.

And then he swings the garage door wide open, holding it in place for Steve to pass. )

For this.

( Cars. Just. So many classic, badass cars. It's a dudebro paradise of cars. Ehh?? How's that for a distraction??

Look, he only knows two coping mechanisms: murder monsters, and do car stuff. The latter seemed like the better choice. )

Time-traveling demon. [ steve ends up repeating back, deadpan. there is some lingering part of steve that recognizes all of this is insane, that any part of this that has happened or is happening is beyond any real, normal realm of understanding. but in that same breath he also knows, understands, that... well. with everything he's seen, done, felt, heard, and generally experienced recently, he can't find it in him to be all that surprised. ] Sure.

[ home bases steve can understand, and he supposes this is a pretty comfortable one at that. still, he doesn't know what dean's brought him down to show him, and as steve comes to a stop in front of the garage door, brows up and hands in his jacket pockets waiting for dean's dramatic pause to take its course.

then it's open, dean holding it for steve to walk through (which he does). he doesn't know if dean plans for the brief moment of adjusting to the light, the almost movie-like quality of walking from a hallway into another room and being overwhelmed with the majesty of it, but...

well. that's how steve feels. he takes two steps inside the door and then has to stop because his brain can't possibly process movement and all of this at the same time. he scans the room, eyes roaming over the multitude of beautiful, majestic, incredible, perfect machines. a lot of them he recognizes, some he doesn't, but even then that doesn't matter because they're all in pretty perfect condition and laid out and- ]

Holy shit. [ he breathes, still staring around the room, almost forgetting dean is there with him. ]

( Well thank god that worked, otherwise this would've been a real awkward moment. It was totally, completely possible for Dean to have pegged this kid all wrong, it could've turned out he wasn't a car guy. Instead, he gets the unbelievable satisfaction of having impressed a teenager, which is frankly a little more gratifying than he will ever willingly admit.

Hell yeah. Nailed it.

He wanders in after Steve, letting the doors swing shut behind him and planting his hands on his hips in a very, very stereotypical Middle-Aged Dad In A Garage stance. Look, Simba. Behold. Everything the light touches, etc. )

Yup.

( His answer is pleasant, proud agreement. )

All these bad boys came with the garage — except this one. ( He strolls over to fondly pat the hood of the Impala. ) This one's mine. The rest of them, though? Just... left behind. Mint condition. Needed a little gas, obviously, but uh... they all still run.

( You know. If you're interested in any test-drives. Just sayin'. )

[ oh buddy, oh pal, don't worry. to say he hit the nail on the head would be an understatement - because while steve might not be a hot rod guy, might not be one of those who supes up cars and drives around town just to show it off, he does have a deep, solid appreciation for the actual machine of it all.

for all his parents might have been wealthy, he's the one who bought his car. he's the one who picked her out. who kept her going. and that also means that he knows what it takes to really put these kinds of machines together - he's not mechanic, don't get him wrong, but time and effort goes into these things.

and now dean is showing him... well. dean is showing him an art exhibit. a personal look at masterpieces.

dean is... well, honestly, steve's kind of honed into the cars. dad-stance or no, he's a little distracted, only partially listening when he talks about the garage and bad boys and... oh, oh he's walking over to a specific one. steve's attention turns to the impala, eyes still wide and mouth still parted, partially, in a wide smile. ]

You've got good taste. [ steve says, eyes roaming over the impala's frame, the hood, the tires. impeccable shape, really, for being from the sixties. still, beautiful, and steve takes a step closer to really get a better look when he stops mid-step at dean's suggestion.

they all still run. steve looks at him, like he's making sure he understands what he's saying, before steve turns back around to the rest of the garage. ]

All of them? They... run? They're not just for show?

( Just for show — have one look of telegraphed, profound disgust. )

What do I look like to you, a joke? Dude.

( As if he'd ever just have these around for show, non-functional, useless and broken. He's a fixer, okay. He fixes. A lot of 'em needed some work to get them to crank again, but whenever he had free time on his hands and a need to distract himself, he was out here, meticulously tending to them like some kind of weird metal vegetable patch.

The impatience in his voice is all for show, entirely phoned in, when he tacks on: )

Come on, are you gonna pick one or not?

[ the profound look of disgust does something to Steve - in a good way, if you take the whole picture into focus. because Dean says dude and Steve's reaction is automatic, a fully teenage eye-roll accompanying a side-muttered comment of: ]

How was I supposed to know?

[ but now Steve is looking, not just for show, not just to see, but with the newly introduced fact that he apparently gets to pick one. he starts walking further into the garage, now that whatever invisible barrier that had kept him near the door seems to be gone.

he makes a full circle, really thinking about it. his eyes linger on the impala, drawn to the fact that it's dean's and how something about it feels familiar, loyal, dependable. it's probably just dean's horizon providing all that for him, but-

no. asking to drive someone's car feels a little too intimate. like he'd be pushing a little too far. so instead Steve pulls his eyes away and lands on the next best thing - a 1969 red mustang. he very nearly rushes over, leaning down to take a peek through the driver's window. it's... a beautiful car. pristine. clean. he glances back to dean, definitely not smiling already. ]

Keys inside?

( The way he figures it, the eye roll is absolutely a good thing. If he's breaking through that- that fog, that haze, that weighted blanket of apathy or emptiness that comes with grief, he's doing exactly that he intended to do with this whole thing. Amusement, or annoyance, or that teenage compulsion to ensure that adults understand just exactly how uncool they are, that's something else. That's less bad, that's easier, that's relief, of a kind.

So yeah, the eye roll is good.

And then there's that brief moment where he can visibly see Steve contemplating on asking to drive the Impala out of all the cars, and he has- like, a moment. Like a little moment, that's only twelve-ish percent panic at the prospect of some new teen driver behind the wheel. The rest is a strange kind of pride, a swelling approval, a weird- feeling that he isn't going to dwell on right now, that's uncomfortably close to how he felt the first time he put Sammy behind the wheel in a run-down parking lot in the middle of Texas when his brother was hardly tall enough to see over the dash.

Something to think about later.

He beams his approval, slaps the hood on his way around toward the passenger's seat, and nods. )

You betcha. Solid choice, good man.

[ Steve's not usually one to be the petulant child of the group - he's graduated, after all. has been responsible for way too many feral kids. has to be the realistic and older one of the group, no matter how little he's prepared to take on pretty much any of it. but right now? this? he doesn't really care. doesn't have enough energy to care.

it's also probably why when dean beams, with his answer, Steve snorts and is already opening the driver's side door, sliding in and appreciating the view. he assumes that dean is going to join him, so he doesn't bother inviting him, checking around the console until he pulls open the mirror above him and the keys fall into his lap.

when the machine comes to life, Steve's eyes light up again - because it hasn't fixed anything, it hasn't changed what's happened, but Steve is also feeling a little bit like simply letting go. feels like he might actually have the opportunity to run. the car's engine makes a visceral sort of noise, something between a rumble and a purr, and Steve feels it in his fingertips where they are wrapped around the wheel. ] Oh, that's pretty. [ he checks the stick, the various mirrors, the gas tank, and then is checking in with dean - if he's ready, if he's got anything to say before Steve puts the car into drive. ]

( Steve fiddles with the mirrors, with the pre-flight check — meanwhile, Dean assumes control of the radio, because the rules don't apply to him, and he'll do whatever he wants. That little comment about the engine earns a glance and a sideways smirk, because yeah, it is pretty, ain't it? There are precious few people who can appreciate the sound of a good engine, and he's pleased to count Steve among them.

A little tweaking, and with the power of ~*Imagination*~, he stuffs a tape into the tape deck. Music begins to play, low and easy, and then he gives the go-ahead signal. )

You're gonna wanna wing a left, and if you go straight out through that tunnel it'll take you up to the road.

( The long stretch of it that leads to the Roadhouse, a winding country backroad that goes nowhere in particular.

It occurs to him, with the suddenness of being plowed down by a coal truck, that he's done this recently. Been in the passenger's seat recently, with someone simultaneously older and younger than Steve depending on how you like to measure age. He swallows the hollow pang of guilt, of regret, of missing someone. Masks it by turning his face toward the passenger window to stare out at the landscape of the Horizon. Taps his hands on the window frame in time with the beat, plasters a smile on his face, and resolutely does not think about the son he failed.

This is good. They're doing something good right now. )

[ the music starts and Steve feels grounded. in this car, in this weird ass garage underground, in this moment. dean gives the go-ahead and Steve just sort of nods, letting out a breath that releases a little more than stress out with it, before he nods, once, to himself and puts the car into gear.

dean may be expecting a casual kind of start to this. a moment where Steve would simply put the car into drive and start out of the garage, out into the horizon itself. usually, that is exactly what Steve would have done - especially if this were his own car.

but Steve's also still feeling a little frayed, a little too loosely patched together. the car he's got is too beautiful, too strong, for an easy midnight drive. so, instead, Steve presses down on the clutch and shifts the gear again and all but slams his foot on the ignition. the wheels spin, surely leaving streaks on the clean garage floor, but it doesn't matter. the car comes to life, then, wheels spinning for just a second, maybe two, before the entire body takes off.

he wings the left like dean tells him (though it's possible that he drifts a little more than he needed to), picks up enough speed in the tunnel to put the car into the next gear. the car comes barreling out of the tunnel and down that country road, and Steve cheers at the feeling of it, laughs as the car roars, picking up more and more speed as he takes off into the backroad.

he doesn't see the stillness in dean at this point, though some part of him knows there's more to this drive than his own grief, his own haze. it's a few more moments before he starts to slow to a more reasonable speed, a little out of breath when he does. ]

Damn. This is rad. [ he looks over to dean, then, still grinning. ] How do you stay out of that garage? I'd be spending every day in the Horizon with these.

( And then, very abruptly and with incredible passion, he is extremely glad they didn't take the Impala. He jolts, slamming his foot on an invisible brake pedal in the passenger's side footwell, one hand grabbing at the free space along the open window's frame.

He'll grant Steve this: those sad sack thoughts are gone in a freakin' flash, replaced with a rush of adrenaline so strong he very nearly Witchers out by accident. )

What the hell-

( Tires scream on the smooth concrete floor as they drift left, and the garage door just barely opens up enough to allow them clearance to shoot out unscathed.

He makes absolutely no effort to disguise the alarm on his face, shooting furtive, bewildered glances between Steve and the windshield. In his head, a steadying mantra begins to play on a loop: no consequences, this isn't real, no consequences, this isn't real, this teenager can't kill us, no speeding tickets, no consequences-

When they start to slow, his muscles begin to relax, one by one, incrementally, untrusting. He shakes his head, and something just a touch wry starts to creep in with the rest of the assault on his senses. If the kid's grinning, maybe he can let this go. A little. Just this once. )

It's a struggle, but after the heart attack you're about to put me through, it might be a little easier.

[ dean’s reaction really only serves to push steve that much further, that fragile, fraying part of him now feeling free. it’s possible dean’s just over-reacting to get another laugh out of steve, and if that’s the case, it does work. the expressions, the gripping of the car, the panic - and the truth is, steve would have never driven like this if he’d been behind the wheel of the impala. he knows that one’s important, knows what someone’s car means to them.

this one? it’s beautiful, it runs like a dream, but it’s impersonal - like it was taken right from a magazine. and so steve handles it like it’s meant to be handled, even as they slow to a normal highway speed and dean comments on his recent heart attack and steve snorts. ]

C’mon, old man. You’re seriously telling me you’ve got all these cars in great condition and you’ve never really driven them for real? [ he looks over to dean with a kind of you’re not serious expression, shifting gears now that they’re somewhere under the hundred mph range. ] You’re the one who made a face when I asked about taking them out.

Edited 2024-06-29 23:08 (UTC)

( Come ON you guys, what is it with these teenagers calling him old man? He's not even that old. As a matter of fact, technically speaking, thanks to the weird way stupid Abraxas memories ship in from back home, his body's a solid five years younger than his brain, so. Suck it.

Old man shakes fist at clouds.

He won't say this much out loud, but: he is, reluctantly, acknowledging the fact that Steve has some modicum of skill at driving. Like, an ounce. More than Jack had, and arguably better than Castiel has managed to pick up during his few short years driving instead of flapping — nobody tell Cas he said that. )

Hey, look, I've driven them — out there, in the real world, back home. Here, not so much. If I wanna drive, I take my baby, otherwise...

( Big Shrug. What's the point? And then, very abruptly, he backpedals with a scoff and a flounder of: )

Wa- what- You know what- why- why am I justifying myself to you, you tiny baby toddler, shut up and keep your eyes on the road.

[ in this situation particularly, steve's referring to dean's mind, so the description of old still counts. especially with the way dean's currently clutching onto the car like there's anything to even crash into out here.

part of Steve thinks about punching it again, just so he can get out of dean's horizon, so that he can find the winding, forest-thick roads of his own home town. but something about the idea of getting out of this flat country landscape starts to wind tightly around his chest, so he files that away for maybe later.

he's not sure he's ready to break whatever bubble has found itself around them. not sure if he's prepared to really face anything but what's inside this car, inside this little slice of the horizon. ]

Your baby would do better than this would on those drives. [ which... may or may not be true, Steve doesn't know, but if the impala he'd seen is really dean's actual car, he can imagine it feels a bit more real, more grounded, more accurate to how these things are supposed to go.

Steve does actually laugh at dean's backpedaling. ] Nice comeback. [ and then his eyes are back on the road and he's humming briefly to the music as it plays. it feels... almost normal. almost like they're not doing this in some mind-scape version they all share. Steve, despite himself, starts to relax into the illusion of it - like they could be just driving, just road tripping out west, maybe headed to California, just like he'd always planned to do with his own family one day.

he's going to be content to be quiet for a little while, so unless dean has something else to say, they'll be listening to the radio for a bit more. ]

Edited 2024-07-01 14:17 (UTC)

You're damn right she would.

( Let him just eradicate any doubt about what his baby's capable of — we stan the Impala in this house. One day, Steve will see for himself.

But not today. Today, they have time, and no hurry, and nowhere to be but here. Quiet lapses between them, with no pressure to maintain conversation, and nothing instigated on his part except a fond, comforting slap on Steve's shoulder before he settles his eyes out the passenger window again.

The radio plays.
And for as long as Steve needs, there's nothing but peace. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

to; all

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

wrapping; 😭