The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean //

Sam Winchester
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The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 10, 2015 10:34:27 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Dec 10, 2015 10:34:27 GMT -5

ooc; SEASON FIVE. EPISODE SEVEN.

"What do we tell him if there's nothing here" Sam wanted to know as he and Dean got out of the Impala outside of the local morgue, dressed to impress in their crisp black suits. "I don't know." Dean closed the driver's side door with a shrug. "But look, Bobby was pretty certain this was our kind of thing. So we"- "-owe it to him to check, I know" Sam finished, closing his own door. Checking to make sure they each had their fake CDC badges rather than fed or something else, they made their way inside and up to the receptionist desk where they were met by Dr. York, who eyed their badges with something close to suspicion. "You expect me to believe you're CDC?" Keeping a straight face, Sam tilted his head to one side. "Excuse me?" "It's just that you're a day early" Dr. York went on, shaking her head with an exasperated smile. "First time in history I haven't sat on my ass waiting for you people." Sam let out a small breath of relief, masked by his still impassively neutral expression. Beside him, Dean was saying, "new administration. A change you can believe in" with a thumbs up. "Right." Dr. York stared at him for another minute, then led both boys over to a large freezer-like storage unit, opened it and pulled out the middle drawer which contained the corpse of what appeared to be an eighty year old man. "Meet Xavier" Dr. York introduced. "Date of birth, April third..." She paused and then finished with, "nineteen eighty-four." The brothers swapped befuddled looks. Even Dean, whose math skills were not top notch, realized that someone born in 1984 should not look like that.

Dr. York caught their exchange of glances and nodded her agreement. "I know. But I ran the DNA twice. That's definitely him." Dean moved closer, studying the corpse. "Well, he wasn't big on the sunscreen, huh" he quipped dryly after a minute. Sam took a less sarcastic route, turning to address Dr. York. "So what's your theory?" Dr. York shook her head, stumped. "All I know is, decedent's male, twenty-five years old...and he died of old age." Sam furrowed his brow. Well it wasn't much of a theory.

But it certainly sounded like a case.

Dean Winchester
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Our lives are weird, man.

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The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 10, 2015 12:39:01 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Dec 10, 2015 12:39:01 GMT -5

"You were right about this one." Dean leaned up against the motel room wall, conversing on his cell phone with Bobby. "It's definitely a job." "Thought so." Bobby sounded pleased with himself. "Any other stiffs in town?" "Just the one body" Dean informed him, switching his phone to the other ear. "Anything else" Bobby wanted to know next. Dean shrugged. "Couple missing persons, but usual for a town this size." "Well check 'em out" was Bobby's reaction, earning a curious, "you think they're connected" from Dean. "Call it a hunch." Bobby's hunches were usually pretty good, Dean noted with a confident nod. "You got it." He paused, then added casually, "and, by the way, how you doing?" "Doing" Bobby echoed as though he wasn't quite following the question. "Yeah. You know, just...in general" Dean threw out evasively, not wanting to come right out and ask about the wheelchair and Bobby's paralysis. He wasn't THAT stupid.

But Bobby seemed to get the message anyway. "Oh you mean my legs" he wondered rhetorically, drawing out the last word. "Well, I'm just weepin' in my Haagen-Dazs." His tone was heavily laden with sarcasm. "Idgit." Dean opened his mouth but the line went dead. Sam pushed through the motel room door, holding a take-out bag from the local Chinese restaurant. He noticed the phone in Dean's hand and the expression on his face, needing only one guess as to who he'd been talking with. "Bobby?" Dean tossed his phone loosely onto the bed and nodded with a tight smile. "Yeah." Sam set down the food. "How's he doing?" "He's..." Dean took a seat at the table, trying to select the best choice of words to sum up Bobby and landed on, "Bobby." Sam smiled in understanding. That pretty much said it all.
~~~

"This is the most recent picture of Cliff" Mrs. Whitlow informed the boys tearfully, handing over a framed photograph of her husband, one of the missing people in town. Sam took the picture and Dean peered at it over his shoulder. Cliff was about seventy or so in the picture, holding a golf club in one hand, a military tattoo prominent on his club-wielding arm. Sam handed the picture back. "So how long has he been missing?" Mrs. Whitlow smiled sadly. "Oh, I knew right away when he didn't come home Tuesday night." "Is there someplace he likes to go after work, maybe" Dean wanted to know, fishing for some place they might be able to go scope out for clues. "A favorite bar?" Mrs. Whitlow shook her head, looking down at the picture of her husband fondly. "No. Tuesdays, he always worked a bit late, but he always came straight home." The boys exchanged a subtle look, Sam raising one eyebrow every so slightly. Dean made a barely perceptible nod in return before addressing Mrs. Whitlow. "May I use your facilities, ma'am?"

The bathroom was up the stairs next to the bedroom. Dean ducked into the latter of the two rooms, checking under the bed and in the closet. He rifled through a pile of bills and other paperwork on the desk. Nothing unusual. On his way back towards the door, Dean noticed Cliff's coat hanging on the back of it and searched its pockets, coming up with a crumpled receipt. It was for a place called Madame Liu's Golden Palace and it totaled over $250. Dean smirked.

"Working late my ass."

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

Sam Winchester
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The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 10, 2015 17:34:41 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Dec 10, 2015 17:34:41 GMT -5

"Well at least he's consistent." Sam glanced down at the room number written on a scrap of paper the manager had given them. He'd recognized Cliff's name immediately. "Same room every Tuesday night." "Hope I got that kind of kick when I'm his age" Dean mused as they approached the room. "Yeah, like either of us will live that long" was Sam's grim, yet honest assessment of the facts. Dean nodded with half a smile. "True." Stopping outside the door marked 44, Sam prepared himself. "So...what do you think's in there?" Dean made a face. "A wrinkly, gooey corpse." Not far off from what Sam was assuming, he inclined his head, pulled out his lockpick kit and selected two. Before he could start working the lock, however, a man's voice issued from inside the room. "Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh! Oh, God!" Sam stuffed the tools back into his pocket while Dean kicked down the door in one fluent motion.

Rushing inside, they were greeted by the sight of a naked man and two women in bed. "Hey" the man yelped, yanking the covers up high. "What the-" "Oh" Sam interrupted, flustered. Dean took a step back. "God." "Well it's gooey" Sam remarked. "Sorry" Dean added, hastily retreating. "Uh, got the wrong room." "Close the door" the man shouted at them, waving one arm. Dean was already in the hallway. Sam was about to do as requested and close the door when his gaze latched itself onto the waving arm, a military tattoo present, matching Cliff Whitlow's exactly. "Hey." Sam pushed the door wide open again, striding back into the room. "Nice tattoo. You happen to know a guy by the name of Cliff Whitlow?" The man shook his head quickly. "Never heard of him." "Well that's weird." Sam reached into the pocket of a set of pants lying abandoned on a chair by the bed and fished out a leather wallet which he quickly opened to double check the ID. Cliff Whitlow, the same Cliff Whitlow from the golfing picture at his house, stared back. Sam held it up with a flourish.

"'Cause you're carrying his wallet."

Dean Winchester
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Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 10, 2015 17:58:23 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Dec 10, 2015 17:58:23 GMT -5

Dean, who'd made his way back into the room by this point, headed for the bed briskly, yanking up the covers and checking things out. "Huh." He dropped the sheet again, crossing his arms. "Your wife told us about your, uh, birthmark there. That's nice." Cliff hung his head, obviously trapped, but said nothing. Dean gave his head a sarcastically impressed shake. "Well, you look great, Cliff. Did you get some work done?" Cliff sighed, grabbed his robe and tied it on quickly, then handed a wad of cash to one of the two girls, both of whom were also robed now. "Could you give us some privacy please" he asked them with a smile. Of Asian descent, they bowed before exiting the room. Cliff closed the door behind them and immediately rounded on the brothers in a panic. "Please don't tell my wife!" Dean held up his hands. "Slow down." But Cliff just kept rambling. "I'm begging you. As far as she knows, I'm dead. For the love of God, let's keep it that way." Dean was still having trouble processing the fact that the man in front of them was the same one from the picture they'd seen earlier. "I'm sorry but how can you possibly be Cliff Whitlow" he demanded. Cliff bit his lip. "I can't tell you." It wasn't a hard shell to crack. Dean hooked one thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door. "Well, either you tell us or we tell the missus."

Just as expected, Cliff nearly had a heart attack, pouncing verbally on the end of Dean's threat. "Ok!!" Taking a few deep breaths, he repeated the consent, slower. "Ok. It was a game." The boys exchanged a look. Sam frowned curiously. "Like...Xbox?" Now it was Cliff who frowned curiously. "What's Xbox?" Without waiting for an answer, he shook his head and explained. "No. Poker. High stakes. Instead of cash, you play for years." Dean was having trouble following this. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Look, I know it sounds crazy" Cliff admitted, beginning to pace. "Guy comes up to me at a bar, invites me to play. Gives me twenty-five of these weirdo poker chips, right? Chants some mumbo humbo over them, says now they're twenty-five years. I'm laughing at first, but then I come out up. And look at me." He stopped pacing, throwing his arms wide in display. "What was he chanting" Sam wanted to know. Cliff laughed. "How should I know? All I know is, my bad hip's good, I threw away my glasses and one of those ladies was here for free! Man's some kind of miracle worker." "Well what does this miracle worker look like?" Dean tried not to sound too cynical when quoting Cliff's "miracle worker" description. He was sure that to a guy like Cliff, this certainly did seem miraculous. Cliff shrugged uncertainly. "Just a guy. Maybe thirty-five, brown hair. Irish accent. His name was Patrick." "Alright" Dean consented, nodding. "And where's this game at?" "He said he likes to keep moving" Cliff explained. "Never stays in one bar long. And he finds you." This seemed to be all the information they were going to get out of him. Dean nodded once more. "Well thank you Cliff." He and Sam headed for the door. Nearly there, Dean paused, throwing a final compliment the "old" man's way. "Oh, and, uh...stay classy."
~~~

"It sounds crazy right??" Dean had called Bobby with this new information the second they were back on the street. "No." Bobby didn't sound perplexed by the news in the slightest. "There's lore on it" he continued. "Goes back centuries. Traveling card player pops into town. You beat him, you get your best years back." There was a heavy pause. "'Course, most folks lose." "Well, that would explain the crunchy corpse" Dean concluded, nodding at Sam to indicate Bobby had a theory that sounded good. "Supposedly, this player's a hell of a card shark" Bobby finished. "Got a lot of years in the bank. You find the bar he's working in yet?" "There's a lot of dives in this town" Dean pointed out defensively. "We're gonna have to split up." "Well then what are you doing still talking to me" Bobby asked crossly before hanging up without giving Dean a chance to counter. Dean exhaled slowly, reminding himself that Bobby was under a lot of stress and depression thanks to the wheelchair. Pocketing his phone, Dean gestured at Sam. "Alright so you go east, I'll go west." Sam nodded in agreement and they moved off in opposite directions.
~~~

Two hours later, Dean's feet were starting to get sore from all the walking. Not a single bar had revealed itself to be the location of this mysterious game, even when the bartenders were bribed with money. As he approached what had to be his twentieth bar of the evening, his phone rang. Fishing it out of his pocket and pressing 'talk' he held it to one ear without saying anything. Sam's voice rang clearly over the line. "Find anything?" "Yeah a whole bunch of squat" Dean returned, frustrated. "You?" "Not a thing" Sam admitted. Dean pushed through the bar's entry-way, sighing. "All right. Well, you come up dry, circle back to the motel in another two. Your turn to grab dinner." "Usual" Sam half-asked, half-stated. "Extra bacon." Dean hung up, his stomach growling at the thought. Taking a seat at the bar, he flagged down the bartender. "Can I get a beer?" "Sure." The bartender reached beneath the counter, lifted a beer bottle, twisted off its cap, and set it on the counter in front of Dean. Dean took a swig, then casually asked, "you wouldn't happen to know of a poker game going on in back, would you" before the bartender could wander off. "It's a bar, not a casino" the bartender replied flatly. Same kind of responses as the other bars. Dean moved to the next part of his spiel. "My friend Ben told me you'd know." "Don't know any Ben" the bartender came back with, un-interested. "Sure you do" Dean insisted. "You know, balding, smart-ass, real ladies' man?" The bartender was starting to look a little annoyed. "Listen, pal, I told you, I don't know any Ben. I don't know nothing about a game." "You sure?" Dean pulled a crisp 100 dollar bill, complete with the picture of Ben Franklin, from his wallet, placed it flat on the bar and slid it across with two fingers. "Cause, uh, he sure seems to know you." The bartender glanced down at the money for a few seconds, impassive, then reached forward and took it, lowering his voice. "'Round back. Take the elevator down." Dean hopped from his stool with a grateful nod, pleased that he had at long last found the right place. It had sure taken long enough.

He'd barely reached the elevator, however, when the doors opened of their own accord, and out wheeled Bobby. Dean did a double-take. "Bobby? What the hell are you doing here?" "Planting daisies" Bobby deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "What's it look like? Came in on the case." Dean raised an eyebrow. "And you beat me here??" "Well, brains trumps legs, apparently" Bobby returned gruffly. Dean gave a tight smile, moving past the jab. "So, you found the game?" "Yep." Bobby began to wheel past Dean. Something about the way he'd said that didn't sit right with Dean, who frowned suspiciously. "Did you stop it?" Bobby kept wheeling. Dean adopted a warning tone. "Bobby..." The wheelchair slowed to a halt. Bobby turned back around, looking slightly guilty. "Not exactly" he hedged. "Well then what "exactly" did you do" Dean demanded, getting a bad feeling about this. "I played, ok" Bobby finally admitted. Dean's bad feeling tripled. "And" he prompted. Bobby heaved a long sigh. "I lost."

Dean stared openly. "Are you freaking kidding me" he exploded after a few seconds of pure silence. "You played some—some he-witch?" "Don't you take that tone with me" Bobby snapped, but Dean, not listening, wasn't done. "You idiot!" "They're my years" Bobby argued intensely. "I can do what I want!" "How many did you lose" Dean wanted to know sharply. For a minute Bobby looked like he wasn't going to answer but Dean's warning stare made him change his mind. "Twenty-Five." No sooner had the words left his mouth than he began to age in front of Dean's eyes, gaining a faceful of wrinkles, grey hair and a lung-hacking cough. Dean shook his head in exasperation and pointed hard at Bobby. "We're not done." He strode furiously into the elevator, taking it down three flights. The room he was deposited in was large and open with fancy chandeliers overhead. At the bar, three people were talking. An older man and his companion, a young beautiful woman, were across from a man about Dean's age, perhaps a bit older, with brown hair. Dean made a bee-line for him, reaching out to touch his arm. "Hey man. Excuse me. Can I borrow you for a sec?" He kept his tone light and friendly, but when Patrick turned to face him, he made sure to adjust his jacket a little so that Patrick could see the handle of his gun. Patrick glanced down at the gun, then up at Dean, smiling pleasantly. "Oh, yeah. Of course. Great. Good to see you." He followed Dean to a table across the room after a parting, "would you two please excuse me" to the couple. "Sorry to cut you short with Mr. and Mrs. Easy Marks over there" Dean apologized, taking a seat. Patrick chuckled. "No big." He held up a gold wristwatch, clearly taken from the older man without his knowledge. "Wasn't a total loss." Under the table, Dean pulled out his gun, pointing it at Patrick's crotch. Patrick took a toothpick from his pocket and began chewing it lazily. "Look, I don't know what it is you think I did to your wife, girlfriend, mother, or sister, but, uh, I just want you to know, my feelings were real." Dean narrowed his eyes, the grip on his gun tightening. "That ain't my problem, man-witch. You owe my friend some years." Patrick leaned back in his seat, smiling understandingly. "Oh, that's what this is. I'm sorry. He lost. Them's the breaks." "Well then un-lose him" Dean ordered, cocking the gun with an audible click. Patrick flicked his gaze south and then straightened it again with an amused smile. "Oh, go ahead and shoot me, if it makes you feel better. Besides, I could use a good...you know...tickle. You want years? Great." Taking the toothpick from his mouth, he tossed it onto the table. "Play me for 'em."

The elevator doors opened, revealing Bobby, who wheeled his way over. Dean spared a glance for Bobby, un-cocked the gun, and tucked it away, staring hard at Patrick. "Fine." "Dean, no" Bobby objected, not needing to have heard the whole conversation to know what was going on. "They're my years" Dean reminded him with a pointed look, echoing what Bobby had said earlier. "I can do what I want." Bobby began to cough violently. Dean glanced at him in worry and then addressed Patrick with confidence. "All right, all right. Come on. Let's do this." "You understand the terms?" Patrick set a red case on the table, opening it to reveal several stacks of plastic red and white chips. Dean nodded in response to his question. Patrick removed one stack of red chips, passing them to Dean. "Buy-in's twenty-five years." Dean narrowed his eyes. "Make it fifty." Patrick placed another toothpick in his mouth with an impressed smile. "I like the cut of your jib." He pulled out another stack and slid them across the table. Closing the case and putting it away, he then proceeded to chant something in Latin, holding his hands over the chips. The designs on the top of each stack shimmered with light momentarily and then faded away. Dean immediately counted out half of the chips in his pile and pushed them back in Patrick's direction. "Twenty-five. That's twenty-five years. They go to him." He inclined his head at Bobby. "And he's cashing out." Bobby's jaw unhinged. "Dean!" "Bobby" Dean countered firmly, leaving no room for argument or discussion. Patrick eyed Dean. "You sure?" Dean didn't even have to think twice about it. He nodded once, his jaw set. "Yes."

Patrick nodded, chanted something else in Latin over these chips and they turned to ash, blowing away with a gust of wind. By the time this had settled down, Bobby was back to normal, Dean observed with relief. "That's twenty-five years you just pissed away" Patrick pointed out. "Better be sure you can win them back." Dean pointed at the deck of cards. "Shuffle and deal" he commanded. Patrick chuckled darkly.

"This is going to be fun."

Last Edit: Dec 19, 2015 12:43:54 GMT -5 by Dean Winchester

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

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The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 11, 2015 16:06:40 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Dec 11, 2015 16:06:40 GMT -5

Sam, after another two hours of combing the city with nothing to show for it, doubled back to the motel, with a quick pit stop at the nearest burger joint first. "Dean?" Pushing through the door to their room with one elbow, his hands full with a take-out tray of sodas and a bag of burgers, he called out for his brother. "You find anything?" "Uh..." An old man in a bathrobe shuffled in from the bathroom. "You might say." Alarmed, Sam set down the food, drew his gun and trained it on the intruder. "Who the hell are you?!" "Dude, relax" the old man scolded with a very familiar manner. "It's me." Sam lowered the gun, squinting at him. "Dean???" The old man smiled sheepishly. "Hi." Sam set his gun on the table, staring at his eighty year old brother. "What the hell happened??" "I, you know...found the game" Dean supplied, crossing to take a burger from the bag and unwrap it. "You found-" Sam's eyes widened incredulously. "I thought you said you were g-good at poker!" "I am." Dean took a violent bite of the burger. "Shut up." After chewing and swallowing, he frowned. "So, you were just gonna shoot some old guy? Is that it?" "I didn't know who you were" Sam countered defensively, giving Dean a once-over. "I mean, have you seen you?? You look like-" "The old chick in Titanic" Dean interrupted, his mouth full of burger, looking repulsed. "I know. Shut up." Sam's lips twitched. "I was gonna say Emperor Palpatine."

The door thud open before Dean could say anything else and Bobby rolled in. "I see you met John McCain there" he deadpanned, inclining his head at Dean. "Yeah." Sam gave his head a bemused shake. "Either of you want to tell me what happened?" "Bobby's an idiot, that's what happened" Dean scowled. "Hey nobody asked you to play" Bobby reminded him irritably. Dean rolled his eyes. "Right, I should have just let you die." "And for damn sure, nobody asked you to lose" Bobby went on as though Dean hadn't spoken. The two of them glowered at each other. Sam couldn't help chuckling. "It's like Grumpy Old Men." Bobby and Dean, without breaking stride or looking his way, spoke in unison. "Shut up Sam!"

Far from being offended, Sam just went right on grinning.

Dean Winchester
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The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 13, 2015 20:48:59 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Dec 13, 2015 20:48:59 GMT -5

"What the hell were you thinking" Dean snapped, waving the burger around in one hand. "He's a witch. He's been playing poker since guys wore tights." Bobby's expression crumpled slightly, looking off to one side. "You just don't get it." "Yeah, I get it, Bobby" Dean assured him with a shake of the head, putting down his burger. It wasn't hard to guess where Bobby's head was at on this one. "You saw a chance to turn the hands of the clock back and get out of that damn chair. Pretty tempting. I can imagine." Bobby straightened his head again, staring straight at Dean, his voice quiet but firm. "No you can't." Dean made a face. "You got me. I never been paralyzed. But I'll tell you something" he went on, staring Bobby down. "I've been to hell, and there's an archangel there wanting me to drop the soap. Look at me!" He picked up his burger, took another large bite, and then flung his arms wide. "My junk's rustier than yours! You hear me bellyaching? Huh?" "Uh, actually, yeah" Sam piped up from across the room, still looking as though he was enjoying himself. Dean pointed sharply at him, opening his mouth in preparation to tell him exactly where he could shove his opinion, when his chest exploded in pain. "Oh! I'm having a heart attack!" He sank into the closest chair, groaning. Sam, no longer smiling, looked worried. Bobby shook his head and scoffed. "No you're not." "So what is it" Dean wheezed, clutching his chest with the burger-free hand. "Acid reflux" Bobby supplied promptly. "Guys your age can't digest certain foods." He looked at Dean's burger-wielding hand pointedly. "You're gonna need to put down that cheeseburger." Dean's expression was more akin to someone who'd just been told they needed to stop breathing.

With a heavy heart and a heavier sigh, Dean surrendered his burger to the trash can, staring after it longingly. "So, you want to keep emoting, or you want to talk about solving this little issue of yours" Bobby asked rhetorically after a minute, continuing without an answer. "It's got to be about the chips." Dean thought back to his encounter with Patrick. "I slid 'em across, Patrick did his little witchy number, and you prettied up in a hurry." Sam moved closer, joining the discussion. "I mean, what are you all thinking? Some kind of magic chips or something?" Bobby nodded in agreement. "Definitely." Sam took a seat at the table. Dean leaned towards Bobby hopefully. "You remember what he chanted?" Bobby's answering smile was confident. "Every word." Sam rose to his feet. "All right, then let's find out where he stashes his chips." "And steal me fifty" Dean finished emphatically. "Benjamin Button me back into burger shape. What do you think?" Bobby gave him a shrewd once over. "I think you ought to put some clothes on." Dean rolled his eyes.
~~~

With this task complete, Dean moved to open the motel room door. Standing on the other side of it, with one hand up, poised to knock, was a very pretty young maid, holding an armload of towels. "Ready for housekeeping sir" she wanted to know pleasantly. Dean leaned up against the door frame, with a broad grin. "Born ready." The maid chuckled fondly. "You're just like my grandfather. He hits on anything that moves too." Dean's smile faded. The maid walked past him into the room. "You're adorable" she added in the kind of tone that is usually followed by the pinching of cheeks. "And dangerous" Dean informed her, straightening up. "Awww." The maid headed for the bathroom, shaking her head with an amused smile. On the other side of the room, Sam and Bobby were smirking in pure delight. Dean scowled. "Can we just go?"
~~~

Tailing Patrick from the bar wasn't hard. He walked a few blocks, then checked his watch, and stepped out into the street without looking. An expensive, fast, silver Mercedes came around the corner, slamming headlong into Patrick, who crumpled to the ground in a heap. The driver of the car jumped out and rushed around to check Patrick's injuries, which appeared fatal. In a panic, he hurried over to a construction crew working nearby, shouting, "guys, get some help! He came out of nowhere! Right out in front of me!" He turned to gesture wildly. But instead of a bleeding, near dead man on the pavement in front of the car, the Mercedes was whizzing past them, Patrick in the driver's seat, completely fine, saluting the car's baffled owner with a little beep of the horn. Dean chuckled appreciatively.

"I got to say, I kind of like the guy."

Last Edit: Dec 19, 2015 12:26:13 GMT -5 by Dean Winchester

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

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The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 19, 2015 12:43:00 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Dec 19, 2015 12:43:00 GMT -5

The three hunters trailed Patrick in Bobby's van, ending up at a fancy high-rise apartment complex. Patrick went in and then after about twenty minutes, left again. "Let's do this" Sam informed the other two, as all three piled out of the van. After a quick word with the front desk to find out which room Patrick was staying in, they headed for the elevators. They'd only gone about two steps when Bobby sighed and stopped rolling himself along. "Well I'm out." He tipped his head at the "out of order" sign plastered across both sets of elevator doors. "Ok, well let's go Dean." Sam gestured from his brother to the stairway entrance, jogging up the first flight with no difficulty whatsoever. Reaching the landing, he paused to look back at Dean who was gasping for breath, still only about three quarters of the way up. Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation and pointed with emphasis to the number TWO. "Dude."

Dean took a deep breath, then nodded with determination. Sam rolled his eyes again and continued upwards. And by the time he had been sorting through lockpicks in front of door 3701 for about five minutes, Dean came staggering up, coated in sweat. Sam selected the right tools, gaining them entrance. "Try and find the chips" Dean whispered, still out of breath, going in one direction. Sam went in the other.

After a few minutes of searching, he heard his name being called. "Sam." He found his brother in front of an open armoire which held a hidden safe. "Dime-store model" Dean announced triumphantly. "Piece of cake." He began to turn the dial back and forth, squinting. Sam sighed impatiently. "It's like Mission: Pathetic" he commented dryly, shouldering his brother out of the way. "Watch out." In just a few seconds, there was a click and the door swung open, revealing stacks upon stacks of chips. "I coulda done that" Dean griped. Sam clapped him on the shoulder.

"Sure you could have."

Dean Winchester
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Our lives are weird, man.

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The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 19, 2015 13:13:02 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Dec 19, 2015 13:13:02 GMT -5

Sam's tone was so patronizing Dean didn't even know how to respond. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on which way you look at it, he didn't need to come up with anything to say. "What are you doing?" A young blond woman appeared, eyeing them both suspiciously. Dean tilted his head to one side, recognizing her as the young woman who had been with the older gentleman Patrick had been conversing with when he'd first approached him. "Aren't you the chick from the bar?" "I'm a lot more than that" she corrected, narrowing her eyes, holding up a clenched fist and twisting it. Dean doubled over in instant pain. Beside him, he could hear Sam choking, gasping for breath. Out of nowhere, Patrick came hurrying over, placing a hand on her arm. "It's all right, sweetheart" he assured her. "It's all right. They're harmless." She released the spell by dropping her hand back down to her side. Dean straightened up, breathing hard.

"You boys want chips?" Patrick looked between the two boys, smiling. "Take 'em. They're just chips, Einsteins. It's showmanship." He reached into an inner pocket, pulled out a toothpick and began to chew on it lazily. "This may come as a shock, but the magic does not lie in a pile of crappy plywood or in any phony abracadabra" he explained, chuckling. "It's in the nine-hundred-year-old witch. You boys want years? Score 'em the old-fashioned way. Texas hold 'em." "Fine." Dean set his jaw. "Let's do it." Patrick studied him for a minute, then pulled out a single card from his pocket. "What card am I holding up?" Dean squinted as hard as he could, trying to make the number out but even from just a few feet away, it was impossible. So he said nothing.

"That's what I thought." Patrick pocketed the card again with a knowing smile. "If your eyesight's that bad, what about your memory? I'm not a murderer." He turned his attention to Sam with interest. "You, on the other hand..." "No, Sam" Dean objected before the younger Winchester could even have time to think about it. Sam opened his mouth, most likely to protest, but Dean shot him down with one cold stare. He was not letting his brother go up against this age-stealing he-witch. "What, Sam not much of a player" Patrick wanted to know curiously. When neither Winchester answered him, he shrugged indifferently. "Okay, well, happy trails, Dean. Enjoy the twilight of your life." He paused, then gestured at Dean's chest. "Should have taken better care of that ticker, though." Opening the front door, he gestured them both through it. "You're free to go." Taking the hint, Dean stepped through the open doorway. "Oh but Sam..." Patrick placed himself between the brothers. "Your brother's situation—that's punishment enough, but I can't let you leave without a small parting gift." Dean tensed up, ready to jump back in there and defend Sam should the need arise but all that happened was Patrick lifted his hands and clapped three times slowly before moving to one side, allowing Sam to pass. "What did you do" Sam questioned, rooted to the spot. Dean had to admit, he didn't see anything different. Sam seemed perfectly fine. "You'll find out soon enough." Patrick waved them off, closing the door.

Going down the million stairs was much easier than going up. He didn't need to stop for rest and he and Sam reached the bottom at the same time, rather than having a five to ten minute gap like the reverse direction. His breathing was also stable and there was no fire in his chest or river of sweat. In fact, it seemed to be the other Winchester in distress this time, as every few steps he would stop to shake out his legs or scratch at the inside of his thighs, his expression one of true discomfort. It didn't take too long for Dean to put two and two together. "Dude..." He held out a hand to stop Sam from walking any further, unable to help the chuckle that escaped.

"I believe that he-witch gave you the clap."

Last Edit: Dec 19, 2015 14:00:41 GMT -5 by Dean Winchester

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The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 19, 2015 13:35:41 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Dec 19, 2015 13:35:41 GMT -5

The next day, the boys and Bobby were heading back to the motel after having gone out for breakfast at some local pancake joint. Sam and Dean were walking ahead, both lost in their thoughts. "A little help here" came Bobby's distressed call, unable to roll his wheelchair up the incline. "You know, I still think I should play the guy" Sam pointed out as he doubled back to push Bobby uphill. Dean waited at the top, shaking his head with vigor. "No, no, no. You're not good enough, Sam. I'm better. Bobby's way better. We both lost." Sam felt slightly stung by the "you're not good enough" crack. "So, what" he challenged, releasing Bobby's chair once they were on flat ground again. "I don't get a say in this anymore?" "Sammy, when you get to be our age" Dean began wisely, which Sam interrupted with an exasperated, "You're THIRTY, Dean!" Crossing his arms, he stared his brother down, trying to get his point across. "Look, I've watched you hustle plenty of poker"- "Knowing the game is not enough, Sam" Bobby piped up before Dean could. "It's not about playing the cards. It's"- "It's about playing the other guy" Sam finished firmly. "I know that."

"Well, hooray for you." Bobby's tone was heavily sarcastic. He took a beat and then pushed on. "All I'm saying is, I played this guy. I know his style. I can take him." "No, Bobby" Dean objected instantly. "You don't have enough years in the bank." "I got enough" Bobby countered, staring at the ground. "No." This time it was Sam who objected, shaking his head with worry. "You'll die if you lose, Bobby." There was a moment of silence and then Bobby looked up, his expression one of grief and misery. "So what if I do, huh? What exactly am I living for?? The damn apocalypse? Watching men die bloody while I sit in this chair, can't take a step to help 'em?" He slapped the arms of his wheelchair in frustration. Sam and Dean exchanged a look over his head. "Bobby" Dean began hesitantly but Bobby spoke over him. "No, no. It's the facts. I'm old...and broke down...and I can't..." He took a second to breathe, pulling himself back together before finishing. "I ain't a hunter no more. I'm useless. And if I wasn't such a coward, I'd have stuck a gun in my mouth day I got home from the hospital." Dean looked almost physically ill by this statement. He had very little color left in his face. Sam swallowed hard. "Bobby, you are not playing again." He'd never been more serious about something. His voice shook slightly with emotion. "I'm...I'm not letting you do that. There's another way out of this. There's got to be." He nodded with confidence.

"And I'm gonna find it."

Dean Winchester
Hunter.

Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 19, 2015 14:00:00 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Dec 19, 2015 14:00:00 GMT -5

While Sam went off to try and find another way out of this predicament, Dean and Bobby returned to the motel. Dean pushed open the door, allowing Bobby to wheel himself inside, and then followed. Stopping short a few paces in, he was taken aback to find the young woman witch from the bar sitting on the closer of the two beds. The thought to reach for his gun had only barely flitted into his mind when she was standing, holding out a piece of paper. "Take it. It'll help you." Bobby accepted the paper, frowning as he scanned it. "What is it?" "The most powerful reversal spell you've ever laid your eyes on" the witch informed them both. Dean took the paper from Bobby, running his eyes over it quickly. "And it reverses what?" "Patrick's work" she supplied promptly. "All of it." Dean's heart did a little flip of anticipation. "You—you saying I could be normal again?" The witch nodded, confirming this fact. "You and everyone else he's ever played....who's still alive anyway." A small smile escaped before Dean caught himself and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why the hell should we trust you?" She gave an indifferent shrug, moving towards the door. "Trust me, don't trust me. I don't care. The spell is real."

"If it zaps everyone, don't that include your man" Bobby wanted to know while Dean returned his focus to the paper in front of him, memorizing the spell. "And me too" the witch clarified with a nod. "I look good for my age." Bobby wasn't convinced. "Lady, this don't add up for squat. Why would you want that?" "I have my reasons." She glanced down at a silver locket hanging around her neck sadly, then looked up again briskly, giving them one final piece of instruction before exiting. "Do it quick. We leave town tomorrow."

"It looks real to me." Dean set the scrap of paper down on the kitchen table, leaning his back up against the wall and crossing his arms. Bobby rolled over to the table, taking another visual pass at the spell. "Most of the ingredients shouldn't be too hard to come by on our own" he pointed out. "But...it says we need some of Patrick's DNA. How are we supposed to get that?" "Well..." Dean exhaled slowly. "There is one way." The easiest thing to do would be to have one of the three of them go back to the bar and ask Patrick to play them again. Patrick was always chewing one of those toothpicks; they could swipe it for the spell. But Patrick had already refused to play Dean again and Dean refused to let Bobby go back in there, especially in his current "doesn't matter if I die" mindset.

So that left...

Last Edit: Dec 19, 2015 15:03:03 GMT -5 by Dean Winchester

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The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 19, 2015 14:18:03 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Dec 19, 2015 14:18:03 GMT -5

Sam walked through the bar, his footsteps seeming to echo loudly with each step. Set up at a far table was Patrick, and an old man in the midst of a hand of poker. "Bet" the old man said nervously, tossing a few chips into the middle as Sam approached. As far as Sam can see he only has one pair, and not a very high one at that. And the pile of chips in front of him was dangerously low, somewhere around ten. "I sense you've got me by the jewels on this one, Hesh" Patrick announced gaily, tucking his cards back into the deck without showing them. "I fold." Hesh collected his winnings, adding them to the pile to his left. Patrick began to shuffle the cards, but didn't deal them yet. "What are you up—like thirteen years there, Hesh?" He nodded at the small pile. "What do you say we call it a day?" Hesh's face lit up with relief and joy. "Thanks Patrick." "Hesh here is gonna live to see his granddaughter's bat mitzvah" Patrick explained to Sam over Hesh's shoulder. "Isn't that right, Hesh?" "Thanks again Patrick." Hesh pulled on his coat and hat, turning to leave. "Shalom, my friend." Patrick put down the deck of cards and lifted a hand in farewell. "Shalom."

Sam studied Patrick carefully, pretty sure that he'd had a better hand than Hesh that last go round but had folded nonetheless. "That was nice of you" he commented, coming closer. "I'm a nice guy" Patrick returned with a smile, picking the deck of cards back up and resuming his shuffling. "So what can I do for you Sam?" Exhaling slowly and with determination, Sam took a seat opposite Patrick, folding his hands and resting them on top of the table. He leaned forward an inch or so.

"Deal."

Dean Winchester
Hunter.

Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 19, 2015 14:35:09 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Dec 19, 2015 14:35:09 GMT -5

All the other ingredients, minus the DNA and jawbone of a murderer were acquired. Which left Dean and Bobby in the local graveyard, Bobby sitting in his chair at the edge of a grave while Dean dug. "Jawbone of a murderer." Dean rammed the shovel into the soft dirt, heaving another load out. "Great." Another few shovelfuls of dirt were added to the growing pile. "You know, this really sucks" he complained, wiping sweat and dirt from his forehead with the back of one hand. "How do we even know her spell's gonna work?" "We don't" Bobby agreed with a shrug. "But we ain't got a Plan B. Now, less flappin' and more diggin'." Dean rolled his eyes and moved to scoop another load. Something cracked. "Oh god" he cried out in pain. "My elbows! I'm all creaky." "Hurry up, you crybaby" Bobby insisted remorselessly. "Pound it up your ass, Ironsides" Dean countered, grumpy. Bobby rolled his eyes. "One little grave" he mocked. Dean glared. "Then you do it." "Fine, I'll "hop" right in" was Bobby's sarcastic come-back. "Well, least your legs are numb" Dean grumbled, leaning up against the shovel's handle for a little rest. Bobby was having none of it. "Shut up and dig, Grandma."

Dean heaved a long sigh and returned to digging. For a minute it was silent, but then a spasm of pain rocketed through his spine and he doubled over. "Oh! Now it's my back!" "Can you straighten up" Bobby wanted to know without a second of concern. Dean did so, frowning. "Yeah, but a little sympathy wouldn't hurt." "Butt cheek tingling" Bobby went on. Dean looked off to one side. "Well that's kinda personal." "So yeah" Bobby concluded. "It's sciatica" he diagnosed flatly. "You'll live. Keep digging." Dean stabbed the dirt sharply with his shovel.

"You know, Bobby, killing you is officially on my bucket list."

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

Sam Winchester
Hunter.

Posts: 958

The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 19, 2015 14:54:29 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Dec 19, 2015 14:54:29 GMT -5

The game had been going on for awhile and Sam's pile of chips was far smaller than Patrick's. Five cards were on the table, two in front of each player, as was the custom for Texas Hold 'Em. Patrick had a glass of whiskey, nearly empty, in front of him, and a toothpick in his mouth. Sam fiddled with two chips while studying his cards. Patrick took the toothpick out of his mouth, pointing to Sam with it as he spoke. "I like you, Sam. I do. You're smart, and your heart's clearly in the right place." Sam said nothing. Patrick tossed down his toothpick, picked up the whiskey and took a swig. "I can tell a lot about a guy by looking" he went on, placing the glass next to the toothpick. Sam's eyes flit to the pick and then back to his cards. "You mean you're psychic?" "No." Patrick waved this off dismissively. "That'd be cheating. I'm talking about good old-fashioned intuition." "Right." Sam nodded tightly. "Let's just play."

"We are playing" Patrick pointed out, leaning back in his chair comfortably. "By the way, does your big brother know you're here?" "Bet five" was Sam's answer, keeping a straight face as he tossed five chips into the middle. "Didn't think so." Patrick smiled calmly, straightening in his chair and adding an extra five to his own bet. "I raise." Picking up his toothpick and beginning to chew on it again, he shook his head. "Here you are, right? Trying to clean up their mess, and they still want to sit you at the kiddie table." Taking the toothpick out of his mouth once more, Patrick tossed it down beside his whiskey glass. Sam's eyes followed it. "You're not the little brother anymore, Sam." Lifting his gaze, Sam added another five to the middle. "Call." "Then again, maybe you are." Patrick went on speaking as though the game was of little import. He toyed with a few of his chips, threading them through his fingers effortless. "You're in over your head here, Sam. I mean, you can keep making these moves—you know, playing it cautious, playing the percentages. But I'm still gonna kick your ass into the nursing home." Sam's heart was racing but in a measured tone, all he said aloud was, "does this armchair-psychology routine usually work for you?" "You tell me." Patrick smirked.

"You're the one who's losing."

Dean Winchester
Hunter.

Our lives are weird, man.

Posts: 2,165

The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 19, 2015 15:00:56 GMT -5

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Post by Dean Winchester on Dec 19, 2015 15:00:56 GMT -5

Dean waited anxiously by the back entrance to the bar. Sam came bursting out of there like a house on fire, breathing deeply and looking unsettled. "How's it going in there" Dean wanted to know in concern. "How do you think it's going" Sam scoffed, shaking his head. "We're taking a ten minute break. What about you? You have everything you need?" "We still need a little he-witch DNA" Dean reminded him. Sam pulled the toothpick from his pocket and held it up with a flourish. "He was chewing it." Just like they'd suspected he would be. Dean checked his watch. "Ok, well it's almost been ten minutes. I'm going to get this to Bobby for the spell. You get back in there." "Hurry up Dean" Sam begged. "Please."

"All right" Dean promised. "Just keep him busy. And, Sammy..." He swallowed hard.

"Don't lose."

We hunt monsters....you know who does that? Crazy people!

Sam Winchester
Hunter.

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The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester. // Dean // Dec 19, 2015 15:16:14 GMT -5

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Post by Sam Winchester on Dec 19, 2015 15:16:14 GMT -5

Taking a few deep breaths, Sam returned to the table, about a minute before Patrick did. The young female witch stood behind Patrick, observing. Patrick brought out the cards and began to shuffle. Sam kept his eyes on Patrick, waiting for him and his companion to start turning to corpses or ash or something, to prove the spell had worked. After a few minutes of nothing, Patrick put down the cards without dealing them. "Question" he threw out casually, pulling another toothpick from his pocket. "Is this what you meant to give your big brother?" Sam refused to let his expression change. "The one you gave him never passed my lips" Patrick explained, flinging it down onto the table with narrowed eyes. "Won't do a scrap of good." Sam scraped back his chair, starting to rise, recognizing the warning signs but Patrick was too fast for him. "I don't like cheating, Sam" he growled, lifting one clenched fist and twisting it. Sam collapsed back into his seat, gasping for breath, holding his throat.

"Patrick, let him go!" The female witch grabbed at Patrick's hand, tugging it desperately. "Stop it!" "He tried to kill us, Lia" Patrick snapped, his expression still twisted with rage. "I did it" Lia admitted, still grasping his clenched fist. "I gave him the spell!" "What??" So shocked by this news, Patrick released Sam, who sat breathing deeply, listening to the rest of the exchange. Patrick stood to touch Lia's face tenderly. "Why...why would you do that?" "You know why." Lia touched the locket around her neck sadly. "You know." Patrick stared at her, looking almost hurt, for another minute, then returned to his seat, snatching up the deck of cards. "Keep. Playing" he demanded in a low voice.

Sam knew better than to argue.

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