Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 5, 2017 20:41:25 GMT -5
ooc; SEASON SIX. EPISODE SEVENTEEN.
Dean and Sam leaned against opposite sides of the doorframe of Bobby's library, watching him drink his way through about his third bottle of scotch. That day. Dean glanced sideways at Sam and found him staring back at him. The younger Winchester inclined his head at Bobby and mouthed, "say something". "No" Dean mouthed back. "You." "NO" Sam mouthed impatiently. "You!" Dean held out one fist, wordlessly implying they should use their age old standard of 'rock paper scissors' to decide who had to venture a conversation with Bobby. Sam held out his own fist, they shook them three times and then fired their shots. Dean's scissors beat Sam's paper and he grinned triumphantly. Sam pulled a face at his defeat, then cleared his throat. "Uh..." "You two just gonna stand there like the ugly girl at the prom, or you gonna pitch in" Bobby demanded gruffly, flipping a page in the topmost book of his stack. "This so-called Eve, mother of whatever, ain't gonna gank herself." At their silence, he glanced up. "What's wrong with you two?" Dean pushed off of the doorframe, taking a step forward with concern clouding his expression. "Bobby...you haven't slept in days."
"I sleep" Bobby objected, pouring himself another glass of scotch and staring into it moodily. "What are you, my wife now?" Dean refrained from pointing out that he was actually being a lot less pushy about his wellbeing than Ellen. Instead, he tried a different approach, keeping his tone casual. "I'm just saying that, you know, taking five might be a good thing." Bobby downed the shot and poured another, demanding "for who??" in a clipped tone. Despite having won the rock, paper, scissors content, Dean had been doing all the talking these last few minutes and was getting nowhere so he glanced over one shoulder at Sam for help. The younger Winchester abandoned his post at the door to wander a few steps closer hesitantly. "Look, Bobby, it was – it was tough for all of us, seeing Rufus go like that." Bobby looked up sharply. "You think this"- He cut himself off, taking a deep breath and calming down enough to keep his voice at least a little level when declaring, "this ain't about Rufus." "Bobby he wasn't just a poker buddy" Dean pointed out, taking another step forward. Bobby slammed the book's cover closed aggressively. "You know when I knew Rufus was done for" he snapped. "The day I met him. The only question was, who first – him or me? Now, you want to stand there and therapise, or you want to get me some coffee? Make it Irish." After exchanging a long look, the boys headed for the kitchen. Dean sighed heavily, his tone laden with sarcasm. "Well he's doing fantastic."
Sam rolled his eyes in agreement, his tone equally sarcastic. "Yeah, this isn't about Rufus at all." "Well, what do you want to do" Dean whispered while Sam powered up the coffee machine. "I mean, we can't just sit here and watch him poop out his liver." And for a seasoned alcohol drinker like Dean to say you knew Bobby was way out of control. "Well, we could get him out of the house" Sam suggested, also in a whisper, as he pulled out a coffee mug from the cabinet over his head. "There's a job." "Really?" Dean raised an interested eyebrow. "What you got?" Sam glanced back into the library to make sure Bobby was still distracted with research and then put down the coffee mug and pulled a news clipping from an inner jacket pocket, passing it over. "Chester, Pennsylvania. Three people got kicked off in the last week, all freaky" he summarized. "Last guy got karate-chopped by his garage door." He paused to let that sink in before finishing with, "and these are all blood relatives." Dean arched an eyebrow in consideration, thinking it over. "What are you thinking, family curse?" "Could be." Sam shrugged and Dean mimicked the action. "Alright." He raised his voice, calling over one shoulder, "hey grumpy, you want to"- He turned around mid-question and gave a start, finding Bobby mere inches behind him instead of back at the desk. "I don't want to do crap" Bobby refused, taking the coffee cup from Sam's outstretched hand and heading back for his desk, griping, "just get out of my house, both of you" as he went. "You're driving me nuts." "Bobby..." Dean stared at his retreating back, wounded. It was hard to pretend the order didn't sting a little. All they were trying to do was help him after all. Bobby whirled back around, looking tired and frustrated. "Now! For the love of Pete!" Dean held up his hands, backing off. Sam took the newsclipping back. And they left.
~~~
"Not a bleep." Dean held up his silent EMF detector in the garage door victim's garage as he and Sam scoured it for clues. "So not a vengeful spirit" Sam ruled out, aiming his flashlight in multiple directions as he walked. "No sulfur, no hex bags" he listed off. "No demons, no witches" Dean listed back, pocketing his detector and wandering around aimlessly, finding nothing strange or amiss. "We still on family curse then? Unless you got something else?" He leafed through an open book on the nearest workbench. "Huh." Sam's bemused voice met his ears and Dean turned back around, shining his flashlight at the strand of golden thread Sam was lifting off of the ground. Dean moved closer, furrowing his brow. "What's that? Tinsel?" "I don't know." Sam straightened, bringing the thread over to a clay pot on the workbench and dragging it in a straight line, leaving behind a trail of gold. "It's gold" Sam breathed in awe. Dean stared, stunned. "Like gold gold?" Sam nodded his confirmation of this fact, frowning in deep thought. "Why would a handyman have gold just lying around in his garage?" "I don't know" Dean admitted, eyeing the gold cynically. "But there is definitely a skeleton in this family's closet. I mean, accidents don't just happen accidentally." He felt Sam's incredulous stare before he saw it and rolled his eyes.
"You know what I mean."
Dean and Sam leaned against opposite sides of the doorframe of Bobby's library, watching him drink his way through about his third bottle of scotch. That day. Dean glanced sideways at Sam and found him staring back at him. The younger Winchester inclined his head at Bobby and mouthed, "say something". "No" Dean mouthed back. "You." "NO" Sam mouthed impatiently. "You!" Dean held out one fist, wordlessly implying they should use their age old standard of 'rock paper scissors' to decide who had to venture a conversation with Bobby. Sam held out his own fist, they shook them three times and then fired their shots. Dean's scissors beat Sam's paper and he grinned triumphantly. Sam pulled a face at his defeat, then cleared his throat. "Uh..." "You two just gonna stand there like the ugly girl at the prom, or you gonna pitch in" Bobby demanded gruffly, flipping a page in the topmost book of his stack. "This so-called Eve, mother of whatever, ain't gonna gank herself." At their silence, he glanced up. "What's wrong with you two?" Dean pushed off of the doorframe, taking a step forward with concern clouding his expression. "Bobby...you haven't slept in days."
"I sleep" Bobby objected, pouring himself another glass of scotch and staring into it moodily. "What are you, my wife now?" Dean refrained from pointing out that he was actually being a lot less pushy about his wellbeing than Ellen. Instead, he tried a different approach, keeping his tone casual. "I'm just saying that, you know, taking five might be a good thing." Bobby downed the shot and poured another, demanding "for who??" in a clipped tone. Despite having won the rock, paper, scissors content, Dean had been doing all the talking these last few minutes and was getting nowhere so he glanced over one shoulder at Sam for help. The younger Winchester abandoned his post at the door to wander a few steps closer hesitantly. "Look, Bobby, it was – it was tough for all of us, seeing Rufus go like that." Bobby looked up sharply. "You think this"- He cut himself off, taking a deep breath and calming down enough to keep his voice at least a little level when declaring, "this ain't about Rufus." "Bobby he wasn't just a poker buddy" Dean pointed out, taking another step forward. Bobby slammed the book's cover closed aggressively. "You know when I knew Rufus was done for" he snapped. "The day I met him. The only question was, who first – him or me? Now, you want to stand there and therapise, or you want to get me some coffee? Make it Irish." After exchanging a long look, the boys headed for the kitchen. Dean sighed heavily, his tone laden with sarcasm. "Well he's doing fantastic."
Sam rolled his eyes in agreement, his tone equally sarcastic. "Yeah, this isn't about Rufus at all." "Well, what do you want to do" Dean whispered while Sam powered up the coffee machine. "I mean, we can't just sit here and watch him poop out his liver." And for a seasoned alcohol drinker like Dean to say you knew Bobby was way out of control. "Well, we could get him out of the house" Sam suggested, also in a whisper, as he pulled out a coffee mug from the cabinet over his head. "There's a job." "Really?" Dean raised an interested eyebrow. "What you got?" Sam glanced back into the library to make sure Bobby was still distracted with research and then put down the coffee mug and pulled a news clipping from an inner jacket pocket, passing it over. "Chester, Pennsylvania. Three people got kicked off in the last week, all freaky" he summarized. "Last guy got karate-chopped by his garage door." He paused to let that sink in before finishing with, "and these are all blood relatives." Dean arched an eyebrow in consideration, thinking it over. "What are you thinking, family curse?" "Could be." Sam shrugged and Dean mimicked the action. "Alright." He raised his voice, calling over one shoulder, "hey grumpy, you want to"- He turned around mid-question and gave a start, finding Bobby mere inches behind him instead of back at the desk. "I don't want to do crap" Bobby refused, taking the coffee cup from Sam's outstretched hand and heading back for his desk, griping, "just get out of my house, both of you" as he went. "You're driving me nuts." "Bobby..." Dean stared at his retreating back, wounded. It was hard to pretend the order didn't sting a little. All they were trying to do was help him after all. Bobby whirled back around, looking tired and frustrated. "Now! For the love of Pete!" Dean held up his hands, backing off. Sam took the newsclipping back. And they left.
~~~
"Not a bleep." Dean held up his silent EMF detector in the garage door victim's garage as he and Sam scoured it for clues. "So not a vengeful spirit" Sam ruled out, aiming his flashlight in multiple directions as he walked. "No sulfur, no hex bags" he listed off. "No demons, no witches" Dean listed back, pocketing his detector and wandering around aimlessly, finding nothing strange or amiss. "We still on family curse then? Unless you got something else?" He leafed through an open book on the nearest workbench. "Huh." Sam's bemused voice met his ears and Dean turned back around, shining his flashlight at the strand of golden thread Sam was lifting off of the ground. Dean moved closer, furrowing his brow. "What's that? Tinsel?" "I don't know." Sam straightened, bringing the thread over to a clay pot on the workbench and dragging it in a straight line, leaving behind a trail of gold. "It's gold" Sam breathed in awe. Dean stared, stunned. "Like gold gold?" Sam nodded his confirmation of this fact, frowning in deep thought. "Why would a handyman have gold just lying around in his garage?" "I don't know" Dean admitted, eyeing the gold cynically. "But there is definitely a skeleton in this family's closet. I mean, accidents don't just happen accidentally." He felt Sam's incredulous stare before he saw it and rolled his eyes.
"You know what I mean."
