Post by Dean Winchester on Feb 10, 2015 11:53:54 GMT -5
ooc; SEASON THREE. EPISODE THREE.
The Impala was cruising down a dark street. Inside, the Winchester brothers were in the middle of an argument. "Because Demon, Sam, that's why." Dean slapped the steering wheel hard. "I mean the second you find out this Ruby chick is a Demon you go for the holy water! You don't chat!" Sam sighed patiently. "No one was chatting Dean." Dean wasn't sure exactly what Sam's definition of chatting was, because from what he'd told him, it sure sounded like they'd been chatting. "Oh yeah" he challenged. "Then why didn't you send her ass back to Hell?" "Because - Because she said she might be able to help us out" Sam finally admitted. Dean flicked his eyes sideways at Sam and then returned them to the road. "How?" Sam said nothing. Genuinely curious as to what kind of line the demon had fed Sam, Dean repeated the question in its long form this time. "No really, Sam, how? How could she possibly help us?" Sam's voice was quiet. "She told me she could help you, ok...help you out of the crossroads deal." Dean's jaw unhinged for two reasons. For one thing, he couldn't believe Sam was still trying to break the deal even after Dean had expressly forbid him from that course of action. And for another thing, his brother was not that stupid. He couldn't be. "What is wrong with you, huh" he exploded. "She's lying, you gotta know that, don't you? She knows what your weakness is – it's me."
Sam sounded mildly offended. "Look I'm not an idiot Dean, I'm not talking about trusting her, I'm talking about using her. I mean we're at war, right? And we don't know jack about the enemy; we don't know where they are, we don't know what they're doing. I mean, hell, we don't know what they want. This Ruby girl knows more than we will ever find out on our own. Now yes, it's a risk, I know that, but we need to take it." Dean glanced sideways again in concern. "You're okay right, I mean you're feeling okay?" "Yes I'm fine" Sam sighed heavily. "Why do you keep asking me that?" Dean took one hand off of the wheel to massage his temples wearily. "Gee, I don't know, maybe because you're suddenly lunching it up with some demon." Before he could come up with an answer that sounded less snarky than the one currently in his head, however, the distant sound of a phone ringing caught both their attentions.
Sam held up his silent phone. "Not mine." Dean reached one hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out his also silent phone. "Nope. Check the glove compartment; it's probably Dad's." Sam reached for the glovebox with a curious frown. "Dad's?" Dean stuffed his phone back into his pocket and placed both hands on the wheel. "Yeah, I keep it charged up in case any of his old contacts call" he explained. Sam shrugged, opened the glove box, pulled out John's ringing phone, opened it and placed it to one ear. "Hello? Yes... this is Edgar Cayce..." He made a face at Dean who shrugged. Sam listened hard for another minute and then said quickly, "No! No, no, no, don't – don't call the police, I'll handle this myself. Thanks. You know, can you just uh, can you just lock it back up for me? Great. Uhm, I- I uh, I don't have my - my book in front of me..." He nudged Dean in the arm and mimed writing. Dean understood instantly and produced a pen which Sam then poised above his palm. "...do you- do you have the address so I can... Sure, OK. Go ahead." He scrawled the address down on his hand and capped the pen. "Right, thanks a lot." Sam hung up. "Dad ever tell you he kept a container at a storage place?" Dean's eyes widened marginally. He'd never mentioned it. "No way." Sam replaced the cell phone with a serious nod. "Yeah. And someone just broke into it."
~~~
"Man..." Dean breathed, staring at the storage facility they were approaching. Sam looked sideways at him. "What?" Dean gave a laugh that was half amused, half bitter. "Just Dad. You know...him and his secrets. Spend all this time with the guy and it's like we barely even know the man." He couldn't help the fraction of resentment that crept into his voice. He'd idolized his Dad with everything he possessed. Did absolutely everything in his power to be exactly like him. Had done everything he'd ever asked and more. And still...he clearly wasn't important enough to John to be filled in on this little hideaway he had. Swallowing these feelings down and burying them, he followed Sam down another twisting dark corridor to the proper unit.
Using his lockpick tools, Dean jimmied open the padlock, allowing them entrance with their flashlights at the ready. An enormous devil's trap covered a large portion of the floor which was the first thing their eyes jumped to. "No demons allowed" Sam remarked while Dean's focus had strayed to something else. Several bloody footprints. "Check this out." He knelt to run a broken trip wire, connected to a hidden shotgun, through his fingers. Clearly whoever was trying to break in hadn't seen it and had set it off, earning themself a nice parting gift of a bullet in some part of their body. Sam had reached the same conclusion. "Whoever broke in here got tagged." Dean let the wire slip through his fingers, straightening with a grin. "Dear old Dad." He pointed at the dusty floor, prints easily visible. "I got two sets of boot treads here. Looks like it was a two-man job. And our friend with the buckshot in him looks like he kept walking."
The boys continued searching the place, picking up an occasional object or two for inspection. Dean picked up a trophy and wiped some of the dust free. "1995" he read aloud, which was the only bit of the inscription he could decipher. Sam came hurrying over to take it from Dean with a beaming smile. "No way! That's my Division Championship soccer trophy. I can't believe he kept this." It was too easy not to say. "Yeah... It was probably about the closest you ever came to being a boy." Sam was not amused. Dean clapped him on the shoulder before his eyes landed on something else on the next shelf over and lit up. "Oh, wow! It's my first sawed-off. I made it myself. Sixth grade." He pumped the shotgun enthusiastically. "Hey Dean, check this out." Sam's voice was distant. Dean looked up from his gun to see that the younger Winchester had wandered off into a back corner of the storage unit and was pointing to three metal boxes covered in weird looking marks. Dean joined him. "See these symbols" Sam went on. "That's binding magic. These are curse boxes." Dean surveyed the boxes warily. "Curse boxes? They're supposed to keep the evil mojo in, right, kinda like the Pandora deal?" Sam nodded, shining his flashlight over the boxes. "Yeah, they're built to contain the power of the cursed object." His light stopped on a rectangular dust-free portion of the shelf. "One box is missing... Great." Dean weighed this over in his mind, shrugging as hopefully as he could manage.
"Well maybe they didn't open it."
The Impala was cruising down a dark street. Inside, the Winchester brothers were in the middle of an argument. "Because Demon, Sam, that's why." Dean slapped the steering wheel hard. "I mean the second you find out this Ruby chick is a Demon you go for the holy water! You don't chat!" Sam sighed patiently. "No one was chatting Dean." Dean wasn't sure exactly what Sam's definition of chatting was, because from what he'd told him, it sure sounded like they'd been chatting. "Oh yeah" he challenged. "Then why didn't you send her ass back to Hell?" "Because - Because she said she might be able to help us out" Sam finally admitted. Dean flicked his eyes sideways at Sam and then returned them to the road. "How?" Sam said nothing. Genuinely curious as to what kind of line the demon had fed Sam, Dean repeated the question in its long form this time. "No really, Sam, how? How could she possibly help us?" Sam's voice was quiet. "She told me she could help you, ok...help you out of the crossroads deal." Dean's jaw unhinged for two reasons. For one thing, he couldn't believe Sam was still trying to break the deal even after Dean had expressly forbid him from that course of action. And for another thing, his brother was not that stupid. He couldn't be. "What is wrong with you, huh" he exploded. "She's lying, you gotta know that, don't you? She knows what your weakness is – it's me."
Sam sounded mildly offended. "Look I'm not an idiot Dean, I'm not talking about trusting her, I'm talking about using her. I mean we're at war, right? And we don't know jack about the enemy; we don't know where they are, we don't know what they're doing. I mean, hell, we don't know what they want. This Ruby girl knows more than we will ever find out on our own. Now yes, it's a risk, I know that, but we need to take it." Dean glanced sideways again in concern. "You're okay right, I mean you're feeling okay?" "Yes I'm fine" Sam sighed heavily. "Why do you keep asking me that?" Dean took one hand off of the wheel to massage his temples wearily. "Gee, I don't know, maybe because you're suddenly lunching it up with some demon." Before he could come up with an answer that sounded less snarky than the one currently in his head, however, the distant sound of a phone ringing caught both their attentions.
Sam held up his silent phone. "Not mine." Dean reached one hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out his also silent phone. "Nope. Check the glove compartment; it's probably Dad's." Sam reached for the glovebox with a curious frown. "Dad's?" Dean stuffed his phone back into his pocket and placed both hands on the wheel. "Yeah, I keep it charged up in case any of his old contacts call" he explained. Sam shrugged, opened the glove box, pulled out John's ringing phone, opened it and placed it to one ear. "Hello? Yes... this is Edgar Cayce..." He made a face at Dean who shrugged. Sam listened hard for another minute and then said quickly, "No! No, no, no, don't – don't call the police, I'll handle this myself. Thanks. You know, can you just uh, can you just lock it back up for me? Great. Uhm, I- I uh, I don't have my - my book in front of me..." He nudged Dean in the arm and mimed writing. Dean understood instantly and produced a pen which Sam then poised above his palm. "...do you- do you have the address so I can... Sure, OK. Go ahead." He scrawled the address down on his hand and capped the pen. "Right, thanks a lot." Sam hung up. "Dad ever tell you he kept a container at a storage place?" Dean's eyes widened marginally. He'd never mentioned it. "No way." Sam replaced the cell phone with a serious nod. "Yeah. And someone just broke into it."
~~~
"Man..." Dean breathed, staring at the storage facility they were approaching. Sam looked sideways at him. "What?" Dean gave a laugh that was half amused, half bitter. "Just Dad. You know...him and his secrets. Spend all this time with the guy and it's like we barely even know the man." He couldn't help the fraction of resentment that crept into his voice. He'd idolized his Dad with everything he possessed. Did absolutely everything in his power to be exactly like him. Had done everything he'd ever asked and more. And still...he clearly wasn't important enough to John to be filled in on this little hideaway he had. Swallowing these feelings down and burying them, he followed Sam down another twisting dark corridor to the proper unit.
Using his lockpick tools, Dean jimmied open the padlock, allowing them entrance with their flashlights at the ready. An enormous devil's trap covered a large portion of the floor which was the first thing their eyes jumped to. "No demons allowed" Sam remarked while Dean's focus had strayed to something else. Several bloody footprints. "Check this out." He knelt to run a broken trip wire, connected to a hidden shotgun, through his fingers. Clearly whoever was trying to break in hadn't seen it and had set it off, earning themself a nice parting gift of a bullet in some part of their body. Sam had reached the same conclusion. "Whoever broke in here got tagged." Dean let the wire slip through his fingers, straightening with a grin. "Dear old Dad." He pointed at the dusty floor, prints easily visible. "I got two sets of boot treads here. Looks like it was a two-man job. And our friend with the buckshot in him looks like he kept walking."
The boys continued searching the place, picking up an occasional object or two for inspection. Dean picked up a trophy and wiped some of the dust free. "1995" he read aloud, which was the only bit of the inscription he could decipher. Sam came hurrying over to take it from Dean with a beaming smile. "No way! That's my Division Championship soccer trophy. I can't believe he kept this." It was too easy not to say. "Yeah... It was probably about the closest you ever came to being a boy." Sam was not amused. Dean clapped him on the shoulder before his eyes landed on something else on the next shelf over and lit up. "Oh, wow! It's my first sawed-off. I made it myself. Sixth grade." He pumped the shotgun enthusiastically. "Hey Dean, check this out." Sam's voice was distant. Dean looked up from his gun to see that the younger Winchester had wandered off into a back corner of the storage unit and was pointing to three metal boxes covered in weird looking marks. Dean joined him. "See these symbols" Sam went on. "That's binding magic. These are curse boxes." Dean surveyed the boxes warily. "Curse boxes? They're supposed to keep the evil mojo in, right, kinda like the Pandora deal?" Sam nodded, shining his flashlight over the boxes. "Yeah, they're built to contain the power of the cursed object." His light stopped on a rectangular dust-free portion of the shelf. "One box is missing... Great." Dean weighed this over in his mind, shrugging as hopefully as he could manage.
"Well maybe they didn't open it."
