Obligatory football comment.
Jun. 13th, 2006 12:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keire_keI admit I'm not a football fan, but the World Cup is endless amusement, now that they are trying to blame the defeat it on everything in existence, apart from the fact that their hearts weren't really in it. We lost the very first game to Ecuador 2:0. I'm not particularly happy we lost, but I am grinning when I think I guessed the result in advance.
I did that Supernatural drabble a while ago, and it kind of expanded. *ponders* Slight wincest implications, of the blink-and-miss-it kind.
They arrived in town around eight pm. They agreed a while ago that it was the perfect hour to arrive. The dusk hid most of the uncomfortable things, like Dean’s affinity for rummaging in the trunk of his beloved car, propping the loose floorboard with a not quite inconspicuous gun, or the occasional suspicious wound.
“So do you have anything specific, or are we fumbling in the dark here?” Dean asked, completely immersed in what to Sam looked as counting bullets.
“I told you all I know. Becca’s older cousin was complaining about some sort of weird things happening in her house, but the most I could get is that her daughter is deathly afraid of the monster in her closet.” That earned him a look.
“Dude. Aren’t we a little old, to be chasing the closet monsters?”
“Considering how deep in the closet we are, I don’t think it’s gonna be much of a problem,” Sam muttered, opening the passenger door.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Whatever. She promised us a place to crash and a meal, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Does she know?”
“Uh. Vaguely.” The pause earned him another long look. And a raised brow.
“I take it what she heard was along the lines of ‘well, I know you have no idea what’s going on, but trust me, these guys can help’?”
“I think so.”
“Awesome. Is she hot?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“She’s your friend’s cousin.”
“Whatever.”
“Man, we gotta work on your conversation skills. At least until you start doing the Jean Grey thing.” Typical Dean. Find the touchy subject and hammer it in.
“Fuck off.”
“Exactly what I’m talking about.” Dean’s face stretched into his best easy going grin, as he pressed the doorbell button. They didn’t wait long for an answer. It seemed almost surreal, to both of them, to be able to enter a house legally, without either a sob story, a leverage or a fake ID, even if their host was a little sceptical.
“Becca was saying something about you being able to help, but truthfully, I wouldn’t exactly say I have a problem. I mean, the house is old, there’s nothing to it. Old houses have quirks.”
Sam could see the “yeah, especially when they get up and try to kill you, that can get pretty quirky,” painted across his brother’s face. In neon pink. By some miracle, however, the remark remained unsaid.
Beth led them to the living room, where a plate of cookies was already waiting on the table.
“I wasn’t sure when exactly will you get here, so dinner will be a little late. I hope you don’t mind,” she said apologetically.
“Not at all,” Dean replied with a cheery grin. Sam groaned. Beth was indeed hot. And married with a child. Sam sincerely hoped that would deter the bastard.
“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back in a minute, with some tea.” Despite the not quite understanding, Beth was a great host. She laughed, she flirted with Dean, she talked about college stuff with Sam – and the homemade cookies were delicious. Sam half-suspected his brother, at this point, would agree to go celibate, in exchange for the cookies. Dinner, as it turned out later, was equally good. Then again, a lifetime of take-outs, fast-food and cheap diners, anything home-made was bound to taste like a slice of heaven.
Later they moved back to the living room, with yet another batch of cookies and more tea. The conversation was slowly but surely been steered in the direction of “so, seen any unexplainable phenomena lately?”, when the lights in the hall flickered on. There was a series of very soft thumps, then a soft sniffle and the lights flickered off again.
There was a little girl standing in the door, clutching a plush turtle to her chest.
“The monster is scaring me, mommy,” she said very quietly.
“Sweetheart, it’s late. You shouldn’t be up at this hour,” Beth admonished gently.
“The monster woke me up.”
Sam was quiet, looking at the frightened girl. Obviously she wasn’t making up the fact the she was scared. This much he could see. Whether the monster was real, was another matter altogether. It was likely, considering that they were here – the universe tended to deal them the spooky cards, most of the time. Closet monsters were pretty much unthreatening unless provoked, which meant that there was very little danger to the house or the girl. Except of course that it fed on her fear.
It’d be tough to work with a terrified kid hanging onto your arm. Would require probably enlightening Becca, getting them both out of the house – sure, closet monsters were generally no threat, but when cornered they could muster a bite or a scratch.
Considering his train of thought, Sam was most surprised when, with a grunt and squelch of the couch (it was one of these couches, which could swallow up a person), Dean got up, snatching up a cookie as he went.
Childcare wasn’t exactly a pastime the Winchesters indulged in. Sam felt like scratching his head with a completely dumbfounded expression. Sure, part-time jobs were encouraged (because their father was a decent man, the credit card scams were buying them the necessities, and only the necessities. The extras required self-financing), but somehow none of them had ever taken up baby-sitting. So when Dean kneeled in front of the girl, Sam didn’t quite know what happened to his reality.
“Hey, don’t cry. No need to cry.” She clutched her plushie tighter. “How about this. You’ll munch on this cookie here,” Dean offered the not-so-small treat, “And I’ll go and whack the closet monster into submission. How does that sound?”
“But mommy says there is no closet monster,” the child protested, taking the cookie nevertheless. Dean grinned.
“Ah, but you’re still afraid of it, aren’t you?” The girl worried her lower lip.
“Is it scary?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “I haven’t seen it yet. Still, let’s just see how scared can it be, hm?” He sauntered to the fireplace and casually selected a poker. Sam watched the sparkles light up in the girl’s eyes as his brother expertly whirled the utensil in the air and grinned. The turtle was now only loosely circled by her arms.
Sam was fluctuating between totally bewildered and not at all surprised, when Dean held out his hand and the little girl grasped it tightly and allowed herself to be led back to her room, through the dark staircase.
“He’s really good with kids,” Beth remarked, smiling. “I wish my husband was this good with Alice.” Sam shook his head, trying desperately to stop the choking laughter from surfacing. Dean? And kids?
In which alternative universe?
“He’s a big kid, really,” he said, by the way of explanation, and changed the subject. He hoped it’d be sufficient. Beth seemed to be intent on the kids issue, but Sam managed to keep it just out of reach. Until a muffled thumping sound could be heard from above, followed by a yelp which could only originate from Alice’s throat, which effectively killed any and all conversation. Both of them jumped up.
“Was that a ‘wow’?” Beth marvelled. She walked to the door and flicked a switch. The dark stairs turned out to be painted in bright, cheerful colours – it was the kind of stairs that the worst thing one could imaginable happening was someone tripping with a plate of spaghetti. Sam followed the woman upstairs, to a room which looked like the room the catalogue people took photos of, to show to their superiors. In the middle of the room was Alice, staring intently into the half-open closet, from which Dean was just emerging.
He was tense, Sam noted. Very. He also took notice of how the door were being held closed.
“See? No reason to be afraid,” Dean said with a wide grin. Alice was vibrating with excitement. “Now, off to be with you.” Without further ado, the girl climbed between the sheets (pink, with a bunny print) and curled into a little ball.
“Good night honey,” Beth called, leaning against the doorframe.
“Good night!”
Dean yawned theatrically. “Man, this closet monsters sure are feisty,” he muttered. Beth started.
“Right. I’ll go and get the sheets. You’ll be staying in the next room over.”
“Thanks.” The woman hurried off. Dean waited several seconds, until she was safely out of whispering range and waved at his brother.
“Open the window.” He moved back into the closet, tripping over something.
“Need a hand?” Same asked casually, securing the window panes.
“Yeah. The sucker is heavy!” The very same moment “the sucker” bounced up on its hind legs, hitting Dean squarely on the chest, and jumped out of the closet. It turned frantically in the middle of the room, clearly panicked.
“I’m sorry!” it squealed and took a leap through the window. Sam looked after it, grinning. Then he looked at Alice. She was smiling too.
“Not a word,” he warned and walked to the closet. “Dean? Move your ass out.”
“Am alive, thanks for asking. Ouch.” Sam rolled his eyes and pulled his brother to his feet and helped him out of the narrow space. As soon as they were out, Dean pushed him to the side and offered the little girl a winsome grin.
“See how scared it was?” Alice nodded enthusiastically. “And why was it so scared?”
“Cause we stood up to it!”
“That’s right. Closet monsters cannot live in your closet, if you are not afraid of them. Now, pillow. Sleep.”
“Yes, Mr Dean!”
“And not a word about it to your mum. Or dad.”
“Okay.”
“Goodnight.” Dean pulled the pink covers up around her shoulders. He turned around and picked up the turtle from the floor and set it on the desk, before walking to the door and flicking the light off.
Sam closed the door behind the two of them and followed Dean into the next room, where he sat on the wide bed heavily.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. The bastard almost dislocated my shoulder.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t shoot it.”
“Ah. Forgot the .45,” Dean muttered evasively and tried to shrug. Not a good idea. “Fuck, my shoulder,” he groaned. Sam shook his head and walked over. His big brother could be such a little baby, sometimes. Then again, an almost dislocated shoulder was not a pleasant experience, he knew that. Mostly because of that knowledge, he helped Dean out of his jacket and then grabbed the hem of the t-shirt. “Whoa, I don’t need help with that.”
“Whatever,” Sam replied and started tugging the grey cotton up.
“I’m bloody seriously, let me go, you idiot,” Dean hissed. Sam ignored him and continued pulling on the t-shirt. As it usually happens on such occasions, when two people have opposite ideas about the location of an item, things get tangled. Exactly how they’ve managed it with something as simple as a t-shirt, was a mystery. Suffice to say the shirt was somewhere around Dean’s neck, whose good arm was out, miraculously, but its place was taken by both of Sam’s hands.
“Good work. I can see the college education shining through.” Sam wondered briefly if a headbutt would turn the sarcasm off.
“Well, if you weren’t struggling so much, we could’ve avoided it,” he retorted, trying to untangle his arms. It was just a bloody t-shirt, how in the seven hells they managed to get this tied up!
“Sure, blame the wounded.”
“It’s hardly a wound,” Sam snorted, bending over to inspect the injury. A wince made it onto his face. The bruise would be very inspiring in a few moments. Dean wasn’t going to be comfortable with driving for a while.
Coming to think of it, Dean wasn’t exactly comfortable now. “Jesus, Sam!”
It was one of these moments. Not exactly a Kodak moment, because no single camera would be enough to capture it. No, at least three camcorders would be required, to give someone a full and accurate impression.
It started, as mentioned above, with Sam bending over to inspect his brother’s shoulder. Dean was facing him, so he really had to make an effort. Since Dean wasn’t exactly a poster boy for coddling and hugging, his first instinct was to push away, which, considering the t-shirt still wrapped around his neck, was not a good idea. The third Newtonian law made an appearance, and the boys tumbled down.
Now, to get a full picture, it is important to note that Beth had found the sheets and towels, and was at the door just as Sam was about to inspect the bruising.
“Don’t mind me,” she said, her voice disturbingly normal, as she toed the door open. “Here’s the sheets, and the towels. Bathroom’s down the hall. Um. Have a good night. Just keep it down please, Alice just fell asleep. Next door.” And then she was gone.
Both brothers stared after her. Somehow, the insinuations always managed to catch them by surprise. “Oh, fuck. Not again!” Dean groaned, once the dots formed a picture. Sam nodded his agreement. The silence was brief.
“This is all your fault!” they hissed simultaneously.
xxx.XXX.xxx
Dean had been quiet for the past twenty seven miles, ever since they’d left Beth’s house. The goodbyes were warm and not at all awkward (which Dean would have preferred, if truth was to be told. Then again, a Dean Winchester was best known among Sam’s friends for a murder, several attempted ones and his death, so their best excuse just went out the window). It was what irked him about this morning. The complete understanding, of the “I get it, my nephew is gay too” kind. Another thing that irked the hell out of him, was that Sam didn’t seem at all disturbed. Embarrassed, yes. Disturbed, no.
But all of that paled in the face of the *other* thing that irked him this morning.
Sam would occasionally glance his way, snigger and return to contemplating the ever-flat landscape. Led Zeppelin did their best to fill the established silence, aided by the surprisingly powerful speakers.
“You know she didn’t mean anything bad. It was a compliment,” Sam said eventually, once he was sure the sniggers were under control. Dean’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. He insisted on driving, despite the rather unsightly bruising. “Seriously, I’m sure she appreciated your help. She liked you. Of course, she was only eight, but still.”
Dean grunted, his eyes fixated on the road.
“And that was some awesome poker work. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a closet monster get out so quickly on its own. Tail between its legs, man! It even apologised. You can’t blame the kid for being impressed.” The expression on Dean’s face, as he turned to look at him, told a different story, however. This expression Sam would treasure forever and ever.
“Almost. As good. As. Susan[1]?”
[1] Susan Sto Helit, the granddaughter of Death from the Discworld series. In The Hogfather she was a governess who dealt with the monsters in the closet by whacking the with a poker.
I did that Supernatural drabble a while ago, and it kind of expanded. *ponders* Slight wincest implications, of the blink-and-miss-it kind.
They arrived in town around eight pm. They agreed a while ago that it was the perfect hour to arrive. The dusk hid most of the uncomfortable things, like Dean’s affinity for rummaging in the trunk of his beloved car, propping the loose floorboard with a not quite inconspicuous gun, or the occasional suspicious wound.
“So do you have anything specific, or are we fumbling in the dark here?” Dean asked, completely immersed in what to Sam looked as counting bullets.
“I told you all I know. Becca’s older cousin was complaining about some sort of weird things happening in her house, but the most I could get is that her daughter is deathly afraid of the monster in her closet.” That earned him a look.
“Dude. Aren’t we a little old, to be chasing the closet monsters?”
“Considering how deep in the closet we are, I don’t think it’s gonna be much of a problem,” Sam muttered, opening the passenger door.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Whatever. She promised us a place to crash and a meal, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Does she know?”
“Uh. Vaguely.” The pause earned him another long look. And a raised brow.
“I take it what she heard was along the lines of ‘well, I know you have no idea what’s going on, but trust me, these guys can help’?”
“I think so.”
“Awesome. Is she hot?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“She’s your friend’s cousin.”
“Whatever.”
“Man, we gotta work on your conversation skills. At least until you start doing the Jean Grey thing.” Typical Dean. Find the touchy subject and hammer it in.
“Fuck off.”
“Exactly what I’m talking about.” Dean’s face stretched into his best easy going grin, as he pressed the doorbell button. They didn’t wait long for an answer. It seemed almost surreal, to both of them, to be able to enter a house legally, without either a sob story, a leverage or a fake ID, even if their host was a little sceptical.
“Becca was saying something about you being able to help, but truthfully, I wouldn’t exactly say I have a problem. I mean, the house is old, there’s nothing to it. Old houses have quirks.”
Sam could see the “yeah, especially when they get up and try to kill you, that can get pretty quirky,” painted across his brother’s face. In neon pink. By some miracle, however, the remark remained unsaid.
Beth led them to the living room, where a plate of cookies was already waiting on the table.
“I wasn’t sure when exactly will you get here, so dinner will be a little late. I hope you don’t mind,” she said apologetically.
“Not at all,” Dean replied with a cheery grin. Sam groaned. Beth was indeed hot. And married with a child. Sam sincerely hoped that would deter the bastard.
“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back in a minute, with some tea.” Despite the not quite understanding, Beth was a great host. She laughed, she flirted with Dean, she talked about college stuff with Sam – and the homemade cookies were delicious. Sam half-suspected his brother, at this point, would agree to go celibate, in exchange for the cookies. Dinner, as it turned out later, was equally good. Then again, a lifetime of take-outs, fast-food and cheap diners, anything home-made was bound to taste like a slice of heaven.
Later they moved back to the living room, with yet another batch of cookies and more tea. The conversation was slowly but surely been steered in the direction of “so, seen any unexplainable phenomena lately?”, when the lights in the hall flickered on. There was a series of very soft thumps, then a soft sniffle and the lights flickered off again.
There was a little girl standing in the door, clutching a plush turtle to her chest.
“The monster is scaring me, mommy,” she said very quietly.
“Sweetheart, it’s late. You shouldn’t be up at this hour,” Beth admonished gently.
“The monster woke me up.”
Sam was quiet, looking at the frightened girl. Obviously she wasn’t making up the fact the she was scared. This much he could see. Whether the monster was real, was another matter altogether. It was likely, considering that they were here – the universe tended to deal them the spooky cards, most of the time. Closet monsters were pretty much unthreatening unless provoked, which meant that there was very little danger to the house or the girl. Except of course that it fed on her fear.
It’d be tough to work with a terrified kid hanging onto your arm. Would require probably enlightening Becca, getting them both out of the house – sure, closet monsters were generally no threat, but when cornered they could muster a bite or a scratch.
Considering his train of thought, Sam was most surprised when, with a grunt and squelch of the couch (it was one of these couches, which could swallow up a person), Dean got up, snatching up a cookie as he went.
Childcare wasn’t exactly a pastime the Winchesters indulged in. Sam felt like scratching his head with a completely dumbfounded expression. Sure, part-time jobs were encouraged (because their father was a decent man, the credit card scams were buying them the necessities, and only the necessities. The extras required self-financing), but somehow none of them had ever taken up baby-sitting. So when Dean kneeled in front of the girl, Sam didn’t quite know what happened to his reality.
“Hey, don’t cry. No need to cry.” She clutched her plushie tighter. “How about this. You’ll munch on this cookie here,” Dean offered the not-so-small treat, “And I’ll go and whack the closet monster into submission. How does that sound?”
“But mommy says there is no closet monster,” the child protested, taking the cookie nevertheless. Dean grinned.
“Ah, but you’re still afraid of it, aren’t you?” The girl worried her lower lip.
“Is it scary?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “I haven’t seen it yet. Still, let’s just see how scared can it be, hm?” He sauntered to the fireplace and casually selected a poker. Sam watched the sparkles light up in the girl’s eyes as his brother expertly whirled the utensil in the air and grinned. The turtle was now only loosely circled by her arms.
Sam was fluctuating between totally bewildered and not at all surprised, when Dean held out his hand and the little girl grasped it tightly and allowed herself to be led back to her room, through the dark staircase.
“He’s really good with kids,” Beth remarked, smiling. “I wish my husband was this good with Alice.” Sam shook his head, trying desperately to stop the choking laughter from surfacing. Dean? And kids?
In which alternative universe?
“He’s a big kid, really,” he said, by the way of explanation, and changed the subject. He hoped it’d be sufficient. Beth seemed to be intent on the kids issue, but Sam managed to keep it just out of reach. Until a muffled thumping sound could be heard from above, followed by a yelp which could only originate from Alice’s throat, which effectively killed any and all conversation. Both of them jumped up.
“Was that a ‘wow’?” Beth marvelled. She walked to the door and flicked a switch. The dark stairs turned out to be painted in bright, cheerful colours – it was the kind of stairs that the worst thing one could imaginable happening was someone tripping with a plate of spaghetti. Sam followed the woman upstairs, to a room which looked like the room the catalogue people took photos of, to show to their superiors. In the middle of the room was Alice, staring intently into the half-open closet, from which Dean was just emerging.
He was tense, Sam noted. Very. He also took notice of how the door were being held closed.
“See? No reason to be afraid,” Dean said with a wide grin. Alice was vibrating with excitement. “Now, off to be with you.” Without further ado, the girl climbed between the sheets (pink, with a bunny print) and curled into a little ball.
“Good night honey,” Beth called, leaning against the doorframe.
“Good night!”
Dean yawned theatrically. “Man, this closet monsters sure are feisty,” he muttered. Beth started.
“Right. I’ll go and get the sheets. You’ll be staying in the next room over.”
“Thanks.” The woman hurried off. Dean waited several seconds, until she was safely out of whispering range and waved at his brother.
“Open the window.” He moved back into the closet, tripping over something.
“Need a hand?” Same asked casually, securing the window panes.
“Yeah. The sucker is heavy!” The very same moment “the sucker” bounced up on its hind legs, hitting Dean squarely on the chest, and jumped out of the closet. It turned frantically in the middle of the room, clearly panicked.
“I’m sorry!” it squealed and took a leap through the window. Sam looked after it, grinning. Then he looked at Alice. She was smiling too.
“Not a word,” he warned and walked to the closet. “Dean? Move your ass out.”
“Am alive, thanks for asking. Ouch.” Sam rolled his eyes and pulled his brother to his feet and helped him out of the narrow space. As soon as they were out, Dean pushed him to the side and offered the little girl a winsome grin.
“See how scared it was?” Alice nodded enthusiastically. “And why was it so scared?”
“Cause we stood up to it!”
“That’s right. Closet monsters cannot live in your closet, if you are not afraid of them. Now, pillow. Sleep.”
“Yes, Mr Dean!”
“And not a word about it to your mum. Or dad.”
“Okay.”
“Goodnight.” Dean pulled the pink covers up around her shoulders. He turned around and picked up the turtle from the floor and set it on the desk, before walking to the door and flicking the light off.
Sam closed the door behind the two of them and followed Dean into the next room, where he sat on the wide bed heavily.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. The bastard almost dislocated my shoulder.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t shoot it.”
“Ah. Forgot the .45,” Dean muttered evasively and tried to shrug. Not a good idea. “Fuck, my shoulder,” he groaned. Sam shook his head and walked over. His big brother could be such a little baby, sometimes. Then again, an almost dislocated shoulder was not a pleasant experience, he knew that. Mostly because of that knowledge, he helped Dean out of his jacket and then grabbed the hem of the t-shirt. “Whoa, I don’t need help with that.”
“Whatever,” Sam replied and started tugging the grey cotton up.
“I’m bloody seriously, let me go, you idiot,” Dean hissed. Sam ignored him and continued pulling on the t-shirt. As it usually happens on such occasions, when two people have opposite ideas about the location of an item, things get tangled. Exactly how they’ve managed it with something as simple as a t-shirt, was a mystery. Suffice to say the shirt was somewhere around Dean’s neck, whose good arm was out, miraculously, but its place was taken by both of Sam’s hands.
“Good work. I can see the college education shining through.” Sam wondered briefly if a headbutt would turn the sarcasm off.
“Well, if you weren’t struggling so much, we could’ve avoided it,” he retorted, trying to untangle his arms. It was just a bloody t-shirt, how in the seven hells they managed to get this tied up!
“Sure, blame the wounded.”
“It’s hardly a wound,” Sam snorted, bending over to inspect the injury. A wince made it onto his face. The bruise would be very inspiring in a few moments. Dean wasn’t going to be comfortable with driving for a while.
Coming to think of it, Dean wasn’t exactly comfortable now. “Jesus, Sam!”
It was one of these moments. Not exactly a Kodak moment, because no single camera would be enough to capture it. No, at least three camcorders would be required, to give someone a full and accurate impression.
It started, as mentioned above, with Sam bending over to inspect his brother’s shoulder. Dean was facing him, so he really had to make an effort. Since Dean wasn’t exactly a poster boy for coddling and hugging, his first instinct was to push away, which, considering the t-shirt still wrapped around his neck, was not a good idea. The third Newtonian law made an appearance, and the boys tumbled down.
Now, to get a full picture, it is important to note that Beth had found the sheets and towels, and was at the door just as Sam was about to inspect the bruising.
“Don’t mind me,” she said, her voice disturbingly normal, as she toed the door open. “Here’s the sheets, and the towels. Bathroom’s down the hall. Um. Have a good night. Just keep it down please, Alice just fell asleep. Next door.” And then she was gone.
Both brothers stared after her. Somehow, the insinuations always managed to catch them by surprise. “Oh, fuck. Not again!” Dean groaned, once the dots formed a picture. Sam nodded his agreement. The silence was brief.
“This is all your fault!” they hissed simultaneously.
xxx.XXX.xxx
Dean had been quiet for the past twenty seven miles, ever since they’d left Beth’s house. The goodbyes were warm and not at all awkward (which Dean would have preferred, if truth was to be told. Then again, a Dean Winchester was best known among Sam’s friends for a murder, several attempted ones and his death, so their best excuse just went out the window). It was what irked him about this morning. The complete understanding, of the “I get it, my nephew is gay too” kind. Another thing that irked the hell out of him, was that Sam didn’t seem at all disturbed. Embarrassed, yes. Disturbed, no.
But all of that paled in the face of the *other* thing that irked him this morning.
Sam would occasionally glance his way, snigger and return to contemplating the ever-flat landscape. Led Zeppelin did their best to fill the established silence, aided by the surprisingly powerful speakers.
“You know she didn’t mean anything bad. It was a compliment,” Sam said eventually, once he was sure the sniggers were under control. Dean’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. He insisted on driving, despite the rather unsightly bruising. “Seriously, I’m sure she appreciated your help. She liked you. Of course, she was only eight, but still.”
Dean grunted, his eyes fixated on the road.
“And that was some awesome poker work. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a closet monster get out so quickly on its own. Tail between its legs, man! It even apologised. You can’t blame the kid for being impressed.” The expression on Dean’s face, as he turned to look at him, told a different story, however. This expression Sam would treasure forever and ever.
“Almost. As good. As. Susan[1]?”
[1] Susan Sto Helit, the granddaughter of Death from the Discworld series. In The Hogfather she was a governess who dealt with the monsters in the closet by whacking the with a poker.
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Date: 2006-06-14 03:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 06:25 pm (UTC)though they are competing with Aziraphale and Crowley at the momentWell, they are! *snickers* Thank you muchly!
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Date: 2006-06-15 11:14 am (UTC)though they are competing with Aziraphale and Crowley at the momentOoooh, I can't wait to see that ^_________^!