While Dean sorted knives and poked through boxes of ammo, Sam opened the back door and started folding blankets. There wasn't actually any trash, just a jumble of stuff that Dean probably used a lot, things he wouldn't want on top of his guns. Sam kicked clumps of mud off a couple of short-handled shovels, coiled rope and poured the contents of three half-empty cans of kerosene into one. By the time he was finished, Dean was leaning against the side of the car, watching him with a little smirk on his face.
"Having fun, June?"
=D
I love neat freaks. They make my life so much easier.
He rubbed his gloved hand over the deep score marks that ran down the car's side. "What happened?"
"Stick Indian," Dean said, and Sam made an inquiring face. "Skanicum. It's a kind of Bigfoot, they steal women sometimes. Had to hunt it down up around Puget Sound."
That's gotta be some excellent backstory. Worthy of a prequel, if you will.
Dean leaned down and rubbed over the marks himself, little frown on his face. "I know a gypsy tinker over in Kansas, guess I should get him to tap that dent out...sand those scratches down and put some primer on there 'til I can repaint in the spring. Wouldn't want her to start rusting." His exploring touch turned to a caress and he had a little smile on his face that made Sam want to laugh.
"Guess I'll just...give you two a moment alone, then?"
"Shut up," Dean muttered, but he was grinning.
And such is the magic of Sam. Dean's gonna fix his baby up. Maybe only a little at a time, but it's a total snowball effect. And they've got banter. ::bounces::
Of course the angel's probably gonna drop down and eff everything up. Do I have to make the Puppy Eyes of Doom to get a happy ending?
"This crazy stuff he makes called Scrumpy. Made from apples."
"Huh." Sam contemplated Bobby making alcoholic apple cider. It was oddly fitting.
From Snakes And Ladders! Is that a real drink? It is, right? Do you have a recipe? If so, you should post it. Contribute to the delinquency of me.
It's powerful cold in NY State right now, ma'am.
"Hey, Dean."
"Lisa – good to see you." Dean had his hands shoved in his pockets and he nodded at the woman, body a little stiff. She gave him the same back, friendliness dialed down about five notches. Sam wondered what was between them, to make them so uneasy with each other.
I guess I am prejudging, but--Dean's got good people sense. I know Bobby does, too. But who doesn't like Dean?
I'll try to reserve the little judgment I haven't yet heaped on her.
"I'm Sam –"
"He's my brother," Dean said abruptly, and Sam felt a bubble of delight bloom in his belly, warm and curling. Dean bumped him with his shoulder and Sam pushed back, ducking his head to hide his grin.
Warm. Fuzzies.
But in the best way. When Dean accepts someone, he doesn't do it half-assedly.
Lisa raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "He is?"
"Yup."
"Huh." Lisa stared at Sam for long moment and then she shrugged, dismissing him.
Part of my, um, not-like of her was the dismissal of Dean's long lost brother, but I guess under the circumstance--
"It's still in somebody," Dean said. He looked down at the duffel, loathing on his face. It was grimy with dirt, and when he manhandled it off the tail-gate and to the ground, Sam could see a stiff, black stain along the bottom. Blood.
"Christ, Lisa."
Lisa walked to the back of the truck, pulling her gloves off and stuffing them into her pocket. Her hands were scuffed across the knuckles, red and sore-looking. "Had to shoot the knees out – damn thing wouldn't quit kicking."
Dude--that's just gruesome. You know it's dead, but then--there was Meg, and the real girl was still alive, witnessing all the awful stuff, probably in pain.
"Yeah. But the body's dead. Neck's broke, looks like it took a good fall. Once we get that demon outta there, that body's so much cooling meat." She pushed once with her toe, expressionless, and Sam turned away. Walked away fast, heading for the barn – the wall – somewhere. Anywhere but near that squirming, silent, blood-stained bundle.
The YED's spawn possessed Meg just before the moment of death. The what-ifness of this whole thing is . . . gruesome.
no subject
"Having fun, June?"
=D
I love neat freaks. They make my life so much easier.
He rubbed his gloved hand over the deep score marks that ran down the car's side. "What happened?"
"Stick Indian," Dean said, and Sam made an inquiring face. "Skanicum. It's a kind of Bigfoot, they steal women sometimes. Had to hunt it down up around Puget Sound."
That's gotta be some excellent backstory. Worthy of a prequel, if you will.
Dean leaned down and rubbed over the marks himself, little frown on his face. "I know a gypsy tinker over in Kansas, guess I should get him to tap that dent out...sand those scratches down and put some primer on there 'til I can repaint in the spring. Wouldn't want her to start rusting." His exploring touch turned to a caress and he had a little smile on his face that made Sam want to laugh.
"Guess I'll just...give you two a moment alone, then?"
"Shut up," Dean muttered, but he was grinning.
And such is the magic of Sam. Dean's gonna fix his baby up. Maybe only a little at a time, but it's a total snowball effect. And they've got banter.
::bounces::
Of course the angel's probably gonna drop down and eff everything up. Do I have to make the Puppy Eyes of Doom to get a happy ending?
"This crazy stuff he makes called Scrumpy. Made from apples."
"Huh." Sam contemplated Bobby making alcoholic apple cider. It was oddly fitting.
From Snakes And Ladders! Is that a real drink? It is, right? Do you have a recipe? If so, you should post it. Contribute to the delinquency of me.
It's powerful cold in NY State right now, ma'am.
"Hey, Dean."
"Lisa – good to see you." Dean had his hands shoved in his pockets and he nodded at the woman, body a little stiff. She gave him the same back, friendliness dialed down about five notches. Sam wondered what was between them, to make them so uneasy with each other.
I guess I am prejudging, but--Dean's got good people sense. I know Bobby does, too. But who doesn't like Dean?
I'll try to reserve the little judgment I haven't yet heaped on her.
"I'm Sam –"
"He's my brother," Dean said abruptly, and Sam felt a bubble of delight bloom in his belly, warm and curling. Dean bumped him with his shoulder and Sam pushed back, ducking his head to hide his grin.
Warm. Fuzzies.
But in the best way. When Dean accepts someone, he doesn't do it half-assedly.
Lisa raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "He is?"
"Yup."
"Huh." Lisa stared at Sam for long moment and then she shrugged, dismissing him.
Part of my, um, not-like of her was the dismissal of Dean's long lost brother, but I guess under the circumstance--
"It's still in somebody," Dean said. He looked down at the duffel, loathing on his face. It was grimy with dirt, and when he manhandled it off the tail-gate and to the ground, Sam could see a stiff, black stain along the bottom. Blood.
"Christ, Lisa."
Lisa walked to the back of the truck, pulling her gloves off and stuffing them into her pocket. Her hands were scuffed across the knuckles, red and sore-looking. "Had to shoot the knees out – damn thing wouldn't quit kicking."
Dude--that's just gruesome. You know it's dead, but then--there was Meg, and the real girl was still alive, witnessing all the awful stuff, probably in pain.
"Yeah. But the body's dead. Neck's broke, looks like it took a good fall. Once we get that demon outta there, that body's so much cooling meat." She pushed once with her toe, expressionless, and Sam turned away. Walked away fast, heading for the barn – the wall – somewhere. Anywhere but near that squirming, silent, blood-stained bundle.
The YED's spawn possessed Meg just before the moment of death. The what-ifness of this whole thing is . . . gruesome.