endoftheverse | Deerington Inbox.

[ He leans back in his chair, one foot down because Sam's a prude, gosh, and gives a little snort.

(he keeps his other foot up, so hah). ]

Yeah, your favorite type.

[ Ngh - there it is. He knows what Sam is sort of saying, he can read between the lines. Sam has been watched, hunted, and manipulated since he was a kid, and when Dean left him to his own devices, of course it got out he was Lucifer's vessel, of course hunters went after him. ]

We aren't known for smart decisions.

We really aren't.

[But he pushes through the awkward, between-the-lines truth, because it was his reality for a while, and he's used to it. He's accepted it.]

But... after that mess, I did a lot better as a maintenance man. Jumped around motels, learned how to fix things I never thought I'd know how to fix in a million years. So, uh. If you need any help with plumbing or electric work, I know a little of everything now.

[It was actually one of the nicer things.

Being able to fix things for once. No strings attached, no ulterior motives.

Just.

Fixing stuff.]

Well. You've seen the state of this place. I'm sure I'm gonna need someone who knows a thing or two about both of those things.

[ A little wry, because...it's a mess. What kinda joke is this, throwing him into some dilapidated fixer-upper. ]

[He smiles, slight but sure. And teasing. Always teasing.]

What, you never learned how to fix a sink in all those years living in hotels?

[Looking around at the place, he seems a touch wistful. Like he's revisiting an old family home, despite the fact that this place is new and -- for lack of a better term -- fucked up.]

It's a project, right? Something to, uh. Keep our heads occupied.

[ he snorts, because Dean and sinks - a no go. Dean and cars...yes. He'd built their beautiful Impala back up from nothing - legos and army men included - and he'd do it again.

He had to do it again. That's the one thing he's got to do, here, while he has the opportunity, the time. Fix her, make her beautiful, make her perfect again - gift her to Sam, maybe, that wonderful old car, because he doesn't know how long he'll be here. Dean's not that lucky, all things considered.

Dean flashes a smile at Sam, lifting a shoulder, and he nods. ]

Yeah, exactly. Something to work on. And, you know -- [ he adds, pretending it's an afterthought when it isn't, it's a plea, ] You can stay here anytime.

[Honestly, Sam's just happy Dean has something to fix, too.

It just feels good. Using your hands for something other than hurting something. Hunting something. Breaking something. It's weird to both yearn for the days of hunting, and... also dreading the thought of it.]

I don't know. I think I'd cramp your style.

[He says it jokingly, when he is so desperately wishing he could immediately say yes. But Lucifer's little voice in the back of his head, it's telling him all sorts of things; reminds him of just how unsafe he is to be around. How off he is. How he would probably just make things worse. (Remember when he went to hell for 40 years because of you? Remember when you lied to him? Remember when you broke a promise? Remember when you left him beat up on a motel floor? Remember when you released hell on earth, and ruined his life even more than before?)

He stares a thousand-yard stare, his smile fading.

He's struggling to focus. Shakes his head, placing the wooden planks near the stairs carefully, like he's putting down glass.]

Maybe once — I can get my head on straight.

[ Dean snorts, shaking his head as he glances around the cabin, brows lifted. He gives a gesture, like yeah, okay, RIGHT. ]

Yeah, there's clearly a revolving door.

[ He's not opposed to that, never has been. But he just...hasn't had it in himself to try. Too much going on, too many Sam Winchesters to worry about. ]

Sure, course. [ Baby steps, Dean. Baby steps. It's all still so new. ]

Deerington Inbox.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject