(no subject)

[hopeitsworthit]

So this is --

He'd say nice, but really it's weird as shit.

Mom's alive, which is great. Jess is alive, which is -- also great, plus she and Sam are engaged, which is --

Great. It makes Sammy happy at least, and Dean'll take what he can get.

But --

"You mind holding down the fort while I go -- "

Angie smiles at him sidelong, small and warm. "Escape the madhouse? Yeah. Sure. Go. I'll distract everyone with tales of our adventures in Vancouver, or something."

He hesitates, because there's some things it ain't right to do, and abandoning ship when your --

Yeah, that's weird as shit, too. Still.

"Too bad we didn't take any pictures. You could keep 'em distracted for hours. But I'll be right back."

There's time to shoot Sammy one quick look before he heads out past the kitchen and into the men's lounge or whatever. Too bad this Sam's probably not gonna pick up his cue.

Goddammit.

Comments

[gavemea_45]

"Really glad you're happy?" What the hell, Dean?

Sam watches after his brother as he leaves the table. He's not even aware of his slight frown, but Jess is. She trades a look with Mary Winchester, then leans over and murmurs in Sam's ear,

"Do you want to go after him?"

He hesitates, then sighs.

"Maybe. I guess. Make sure he's not--" He breaks off there, with a quick look across the table.

"Anyway, I probably should."

Sam pushes back his chair.

"Excuse me."

[hopeitsworthit]

It'd be really, really nice if Dean could pace out in here, but it's just gonna make people look at him. That's pretty much the dumbest thing to do, here. Everywhere, really.

Especially --

There's a persistent itch between his shoulderblades, a sensation that's a lot more familiar than most of the rest of this weirdass world, and Dean bites back a reflexive 'Hey Sammy', as he turns toward his brother.

Because apparently that would be even more awkward.

Fuck.

[gavemea_45]

"What are you doing, Dean?"

It takes all his willpower not to look sideways toward the bar. Instead, he keeps his eyes on his brother.

[hopeitsworthit]

"Taking a breather? What, don't I ever do that anymore, either?"

It's snappish and just this side of mean.

Dean'd pull it back, but fuck, maybe this is the kinda shit this Dean and Sam get up to all the time.

"And I'm not drinking, okay? So just fucking relax."

[gavemea_45]

Not yet you're not.

He bites it back; the last thing he wants to do is cause a scene here, now, tonight.

Especially not tonight.

"Not on Mom's birthday, you don't. God, Dean, would it be so hard to just--"

Sam breaks off there, breathing heavily, his jaw tight and set.

[hopeitsworthit]

"Hey," Dean says, holding up his hands.

"I thought I was playin' happy families and shit, you're the one that started -- "

He bites that back, too, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath.

"Hey, man. I'm trying, okay? You wanna meet me at least halfway for the next hour or whatever?"

It'd be a start.

[gavemea_45]

"Sure. Whatever you say."

Just like always.

Sam lets out a sound that's halfway between a laugh and a cough, and summons a smile.

"It's fine. Just -- what do you say we get back to the table, okay?"

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean huffs out a sharp little breath.

Yeah. Whatever he says.

Sure.

"You gonna stop with that pissy, constipated look every time I open my mouth? Because if you go with 'no' on that one, I think I'm just gonna hang out here a while longer."

[gavemea_45]

His smile goes fixed for an instant, but now's really not the time.

A quick glance over his shoulder's enough to show him that the three women they'd left at the table are watching them from across the room, with varying expressions of worry. Sam gives them a different smile, a reassuring 'everything's-fine-here' smile, and turns back to Dean with it firmly in place.

"Guess I must have been looking weird because we were tense about making the big announcement. But now that we've done that -- no problem."

[hopeitsworthit]

And Dean's got this really awesome bridge for sale, too.

Right.

"Yeah. Guess that musta been it. Good thing you're here to set me straight, man. What'd I do without you."

And then Dean pastes on his own smile, the bright flash of bitterness quickly hidden as he turns to look at his mother, at Jess, at Angie.

Yeah, it's gonna be a long night.

Tomorrow ain't looking to good, either.

He has got to figure out what the shit is going on.

He's got to.

[gavemea_45]

The rest of the evening goes okay, at least. There aren't any more real awkward moments at the table, and Mom's smiling when they get back to the house -- and had luckily headed off to bed before Dean had started in with his 'celebration' idea.

Sam's still not sure where the hell that had come from, or what's behind his brother's sudden desire to be all warm and fuzzy, but whatever. He and Jess will be headed back to California soon enough, and things will go back to the way they usually are.

Won't they?

Still wondering about it, he finally drifts off to sleep -- only to be startled awake by a sound from downstairs.

[hopeitsworthit]

This house officially sucks monkey balls.

Dean has no goddamn idea where anything is, and all this crap's just way too weird for his equilibrium to be anything like normal.

Which means that his plan to sneak out of the house to deal with the fucking djinn is --

Less than stellar at this moment. Goddammit.

"Shit."

[gavemea_45]

He manages to get out of bed and out of the room without waking Jess. Sam grabs a baseball bat from the closet where Mom still keeps all their old sports stuff, and sneaks down the stairs as best he can.

The sounds are coming from the dining room.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean bites back another grunt as he stubs his toe for the third time.

So much for hunter instincts.

Today has definitely been a shitty, shitty day.

And great.

Now gigantor himself is making his way down the stairs.

Just perfect.

[gavemea_45]

He flattens himself against the wall beside the hallway door, working his hands up and down the handle of the bat as he takes a couple of deep breaths.

Then it's into the room, toward where there's a dark-blurred shape, maybe a thief, and swing--

[hopeitsworthit]

This is just pathetic.

Dean doesn't have time to indulge in the sharp pang of missing his real brother before muscle memory takes over and he's got this half-familiar stranger on his back on the floor, one of Dean's arms pressed against his throat.

"Dude. That was frickin' pathetic. Come on."

[gavemea_45]

"Dean?"

Sam gapes at him.

"What the hell are you doing?"

[hopeitsworthit]

"If I say 'snag a midnight snack, because the food at that restaurant was kinda shitty', will you give me the bitchface? Because I'm about done with that today, I'm telling you."

Understatement.

[gavemea_45]

He shoves at his brother, hard.

"Get off me. Now."

[hopeitsworthit]

"Whatever you say, Sammy."

Dean obliges, trying to stuck away the silver knife in his hand as he does so.

No sense getting Sam even more riled, now is there.

"Looks like goin' to the gym's not doing shit for your actual skills, huh?"

[gavemea_45]

"Well, I'm not usually wrestling with someone in Mom's dining room--"

He gets to his feet and stalks over to the wall, snapping on the light switch.

"--speaking of which, what do you think you..."

Sam trails off there, staring from Dean to the open silverware chest and back again.

"Tell me this isn't what it looks like."

[hopeitsworthit]

"Yeah, like you'd believe me even if I tried."

He's tired of fighting losing battles.

(They're all losing battles.)

"So let's just skip it this time. Here, I'll even help you out. No, Sam, you're right. This is exactly what it looks like."

Dean gives sarcasm a bad name.

[gavemea_45]

The bitter twist of disappointment in his gut is all too familiar, as is the acid taste in the back of his throat.

"You're stealing Mom's silver." The look Sam's giving Dean is half disbelief, half confusion.

"Why are you stealing Mom's silver?"

[hopeitsworthit]

"To get more money to feed my drinking habit, what do you think?"

Again Dean fails at convincing delivery.

"You really want me to lay it out for you, Sam? You sure?"

Dean'd like to deny he's dreaming about backup, but --

It'd be a damn nice change of pace hereabouts.

[gavemea_45]

"Not even you could possibly drink that much," Sam snaps at him. "So yeah, I really do. Tell me, Dean. What is this about? What the hell could be so important that you'd steal from your own mother?"

[hopeitsworthit]

My mother's dead.

Dean doesn't say it, but it's -- even here, it's still the truth.

"I'm pretty sure something out there's trying to kill me, Sam."

[gavemea_45]

"Kill you? Why? What could be trying to kill you?"

He'd thought it was bad when Dean had drunk-dialed him the night before, babbling something about gin and not knowing who Angie was, but this is worse.

This is crazy.

Maybe there's something really wrong with him -- paranoid delusions, something--

[hopeitsworthit]

"You ever -- ?"

Yeah, okay, that's not gonna work.

"You ever think the things that go 'bump' in the night are real, Sam?"

(It may not work, but it's pretty much all Dean's got.)

[gavemea_45]

"What?"

Sam stares at him.

"Dean, you're starting to worry me here."

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean bites back a snort and a reflexive question of 'starting?'

"I'm gonna take that as a good sign, Sam. But I ain't lying. And I'm not crazy."

There's a sharp set to Dean's features -- a hardness that has nothing to do with a shitty life and a lot of drink.

"You need me to prove it?"

[gavemea_45]

"Okay."

Sam crosses his arms in front of himself and looks steadily at Dean. He's only dimly aware of the slight ache from how hard his jaw is set, and has no idea of the way the look in his eyes makes it seem as though he's braced for some kind of blow.

"Not that I know how you could prove it, but whatever. Things that go bump in the night it is."

Beat.

"So?"

[hopeitsworthit]

"So -- "

Dean sweeps his hand in the direction of the front door.

"Your chariot awaits."

Ass.

It could be more of a dare if Dean tried.

Maybe.





But probably not.

[gavemea_45]

I'm gonna regret this in the morning, he thinks, but there's no way he's backing down from this.

Sam glances up the stairs towards where Jess is still sleeping peacefully, then stalks past Dean and out the front door.

[hopeitsworthit]

Someday Dean will do a victory dance over this moment.

Yeah right.

But for now, it'll do.

And soon he'll be out of this fucked-up place.

Thank God.