Preferred Name: Siehn
Chatango Tag: Siehn
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DEAN WINCHESTERFULL NAME:
Dean WinchesterNICKNAMES: AGE:
Dark blonde/brown hair; green eyesBODY:
6’1" and 175lbs. Dark gold wings, tainted and stained from his stint in Hell. Wingspan is about 30ft.DEFINING CHARACTERISTICS:
Anti-possession tattoo on the chest; red, angry hand-print scar on the right shoulder.FACE CLAIM:
Dean loves classic rock, and classic cars; he eats greasy diner food, and drinks an unhealthy amount of alcohol. Even with his entire world turned upside down, he is still, at his core, Dean Winchester. The Impala is his home, and his default setting is still ‘watch out for Sammy.’ It probably always will be; twenty-nine years of life as himself isn’t going to disappear just because he’s remembered who he really is. In fact, that part, the millennia-old Archangel who Fell for reasons Dean still doesn’t remember; that’s the part that feels surreal, and he’s still having a hard time believing it’s all true. With the voices of Angels in his head, however, and weird dreams waking him up in the middle of the night, it’s a little hard to completely deny what he knows is true, but there’s a part of him that’s part of Michael that doesn’t want to remember either. He doesn’t want to go through another war with his family, and he’s so tired of watching everything he knows crumble around him.
Those forty years in Hell are still so vivid in his mind, always just under the surface, and with this newfound knowledge of who he was, Dean can’t help but wonder how God could let that happen to one of his Angels, Fallen or not. But then he remembers that God abandoned them all a long time ago, left them to fend for themselves, and left Michael alone to watch it all shatter around him, and it hurts
because angels are supposed to be creatures of Faith, but Dean never had any, and Michael’s was lost with the knowledge of what was to come; what God was going to allow his children to do to humanity. There are times when its easier to understand the parts of himself he’s regained; the selflessness, and the need to protect the innocent aren’t all that different from the way he is now, and it makes him wonder if he really changed all that much when he Fell, or if he kept all of the core essentials that make up who he is.
He can feel the other elements too, the ones he remembers feeling just before he made the decision to Fall; ancient, world-weary, and a sense of relief that maybe he could finally stop it all, and it would be over. Of course, now there’s the crushing, shocked disbelief that they tricked him, and he Fell for nothing, other than to be an instrument in setting everything into motion. Overall, he knows who he is now, in the sense of realizing that there’s no way he can deny being Michael, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to accept everything that entails. Mostly, he just wants this to be over, and can’t help but wish that everything would go back to normal, or at least what’s passed for it the last twenty-nine years. Dean failed at everything he set out to do in a spectacular fashion; Winchesters never do anything by halves, after all, and he never should have been brought up from Hell.
He doesn’t deserve another chance.MOTHER'S NAME:
Mary WinchesterFATHER'S NAME:
When the Archangel Michael first got wind of Lucifer’s plan, he kept it to himself, and made inquiries of his own. He looked into certain demonic activities on Earth, and gathered what information he could on what his brother was planning. What he found out was…Unsettling, to say the least. That Lilith and Azazel were involved didn’t surprise him in the least, but he didn’t exactly what Lucifer was doing, or when he would implement his plans. At least, until he got word of Azazel seeking out families, searching for a mother to bear a certain, special child. Michael had no reason to doubt the information’s veracity, and he knew he could not allow this plan to come to fruition.
So, armed with the knowledge that the deal required the firstborn son, and likely could not be made again too easily, the Archangel knew what he had to do. It was not, by any means, an easy decision, but with his faith in his Father lost to him, all that remained was the faith he had in humanity, and the charge he’d been given to protect them. The lesser Angels would be looked after, Raphael would see to that, and Michael could let go with the knowledge that he was doing the right thing. So he ripped out his Grace, endured the agony of it as well as he could, and Fell to the Earth.
Dean Winchester was born January 24, 1979 to Mary and John Winchester. He was named for his maternal grandmother, and the first four years of his life were normal. He had a mother who loved him, and a dad who treated him like a kid, not a soldier. Then his little brother, Sam, was born, and six months later Dean‘s world went up in flames. Mary died, John became a Hunter, and Dean suddenly found himself taking care of his brother when he couldn‘t even find his own words.
Such would be the theme of his life, and the reason for all that happened after. Dean learned to hunt after he learned to shoot a gun, and how to fight hand-to-hand; he took to it like a duck to water. Hunting was in his blood, more than any of them really knew, and it was a life he enjoyed. They moved from place to place, switched schools more often than military families, and John taught his boys what he thought they should know. While his brother railed against their life, and his father obsessively hunted the demon responsible for their mother‘s death, Dean tried, unsuccessfully most times, to mediate the disputes between the other two. They fought over the smallest things because they were so alike, while Dean was always more like Mary.
So he hunted, and tried to protect Sammy any way he could, until Sam just up and left for Stanford. Dean bore the brunt of John‘s anger when he came home to find his youngest son gone, and he still remembers his father‘s words to this day. It was, and will always be, one of the worst nights of his life. After that, John began to focus more on the demon, and Dean began, tentatively, going on solo hunts, though they were few and far between while John watched, and waited to see if he could trust his oldest with this life on his own. Dean was John‘s perfect soldier, and for a long time, he was proud of that.
While taking care of a job in New Orleans, Dean discovered his father was missing, and the only clue he had was a cryptic phone message with garbled noise, and the faint voice of a dead woman. He headed to California, and enlisted his brother‘s help in tracking John down. They found the Woman in White, and John‘s motel room, but their father was long gone, and Sam insisted he needed to get back to Stanford. Dean, of course, obliged despite his better judgment, and dropped his brother off at the apartment he shared with Jessica. Ten minutes after pulling away, Dean’s instincts told him to turn around, and he did so without hesitation, only to find himself pulling his little brother out of a fire for the second time. He took Sam with him, kept him at his side, where Dean could keep an eye on him, and look out for him. Sam became just as obsessed with finding the demon as their dad was, Dean humored him, while also taking them on regular hunts as well.
They finally found their father while hunting a brood of vampires, and he told them about the Colt. They killed most of the vampires, and John left them again, until the demon resurfaced, and possessed him, and Dean almost died.
When Mary made that deal with Azazel all those years ago, it set up a theme for the Winchester men, and ultimately led to Dean being dragged into the Pit by Hell hounds, and the eventual regaining of his memories. When John died to save Dean, signing his soul away to Azazel, Dean finally stopped seeing him through the blinders of an imperfect son, as he had all his life. He would never forgive John for leaving him with that burden, or for the last words his father said to him, and his illusions were broken.
Dean went on hunting, tired, and breaking a little more each day. Then Sam was possessed by Meg, and he disappeared to a ghost town with the other ‘children’ Azazel chose. Dean tried to find him, with Bobby’s help, and received a vision of the town’s bell courtesy of those trapped there. They made it just in time for Dean to watch his little brother get stabbed in the back, and die. Of course, he couldn’t stand for that, and devastated and desperate, he went to the Crossroads, and sold his soul for his brother’s life. One year, and Hell would come or him.
He spent that year on one night stands, drinking, and hunting while trying to pretend he wasn’t terrified of what he’d done. Not that he wouldn’t do it again, if he had to. Dean went down a year later, when Lilith set the Hounds on him, and they ripped his body to shreds while dragging his soul into the Pit. Dean found himself bound by hooks piercing his flesh, and his ears echoed with the screams of damned souls. He yelled for Sam, for as long as he could. He screamed for thirty years.
Hell. The Pit.
It was worse than anything anyone could ever imagine, even in their darkest nightmares. Every second, of ever day for thirty years straight, Dean was at the mercy of Alastair. He was tortured on the rack; unspeakable things that he would never forget, and he learned through his agony. Alastair taunted him, incomprehensible things about Grace, and Fathers, and prodigal Sons sinking low, while painting symbols on his soul that burned
, but Dean had no idea what the demon meant. Finally, when he could take it no more, Dean Winchester broke, shattered into a million pieces, and he told Alastair, “Yes.”
Having learned much from his own time on the rack, Dean was an apt pupil, eager, and willing to inflict the pain he had to endure for so long on others. He cut into damned souls, did to them all that had been done to him, and worse, and he enjoyed it. For ten long years he tortured, and reveled in the pain and blood, as close to a demon as he would ever get.
An Angel took him from Hell; gripped him tight, and raised him through the flames of Perdition. Castiel tore him right out of Alastair’s grasp, and left him to dig himself out of his own grave. He was gone, dead, for four months, and no one had salted and burned his body. He went to Bobby, and they found Sam, who denied being the one who brought Dean back. They went to the psychic, Pamela Barns, and after ‘Castiel’ burned out her eyes, Dean was expecting some kind of powerful demon, not the tax accountant wannabe that appeared in the old barn, blowing the lights, and ignoring their weapons. He claimed to be an Angel, and showed Dean his wings, leaving the resurrected Hunter with no choice but to believe.
In the four months that followed, Dean began to have strange dreams; visions of another life, and strangers that he didn’t know. Hell was always close to the surface, and the demonic whispers never really left him, but there were other voices in his head; Angels, he would find, and he could understand them with an ease that no human should have ever been able to. He doesn’t know what any of it means, if it means anything at all, and he’s determined to ignore it until he can’t anymore.ROLEPLAY SAMPLENovember 13, 2008
"Cas. No. Wai--."
Dean heaved a sigh as soon as the world righted itself again, and he couldn’t feel the two fingers pressed to his forehead anymore. He should have known ‘she’s real’ would equate to ‘I should send you there’ to Cas. Fucking angels and taking everything too literally. They should all spend a little time as humans, maybe they’d learn something; of course, they’d probably all make shitty humans, too. Just look at him; obviously, he made a real fine example of why they shouldn’t Fall. God, they should all just stay the fuck away from Earth, and mind their own business. It’d probably be better off that way, and as far as he could remember, jumbled as everything was in his head right now, Heaven was in some dire need of TLC, or maybe just someone in charge not hell-bent on fucking everything up. Sometimes he was tempted to say ‘the Hell with it’ just to be able to rip Zachariah’s goddamned wings off. Dean was kind of ridiculously proud of himself for not flinching at the blasphemy. "Take that, you sanctimonious dicks," he muttered, finally pulling his focus into the here-and-now to check out his surroundings. He wasn’t actually worried, fairly sure that Castiel wouldn’t have just thrown him into danger and left, no matter how annoying he’d been lately.
Dean had been standing, before his friend had decided to send him via Angel Express, in a dingy motel room with ugly, stupidly-patterned wall-paper, and a stain he would have sworn was blood spreading out from a corner on the left side of the room. Pretty standard Winchester digs, for the most part; the blood stain was a little disturbing, and he was avoiding the black mold in the shower, but he’d been going for ‘seedy’ when he went looking, so he really couldn’t complain when he found it. Now, however, he was standing in front of a TV, staring down a small blonde woman who was disturbingly familiar. Even after Cas had popped in and informed him the woman he’d been dreaming about and hearing was, in fact, real, he hadn’t actually believed him. Yet here she was, sitting in front of him; he thought she might have been eating lunch, given the food, and, wow, he didn’t even know what time it actually was.
"You’re real," he muttered, stupidly, and stared down at her. He just...It was fucking creepy, and weird, and kind of awesome to meet her after he’d been seeing her for weeks inside of his head. He’d been grateful for the reprieve from the nightmares of Hell, but he’d had no idea why he’d been dreaming about a woman he didn’t even know. Not that he had any objections to dreaming about women, obviously, but he still didn’t know why he was doing it, and given the other facts he’d learned about himself lately, he really didn’t want to get into more self-sharing time. He’d let it go at her being real, and apparently at a...Hospital? He blinked, looking around curiously. "Are we at a hospital?"
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