|| Re-Introduction: If You Need Him, He'll Be There Again ||

[surfaceshine]

[SPOILERS for Supernatural up to 5x22 in this post, and likely in the course of play with my Dean.  Sorry.]

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[cantplaygod]

He might find this one at a table in the library, a pot of coffee within arms reach, at work cleaning a handgun, the pieces laid out on newspaper covering the table top.

Reese only recently returned to this place himself, after a painful passage during the earthquake and Pandora's own brand of compassion. But he's settling in quickly, better than he settled in on his first arrival, back in the summer.

[surfaceshine]

Dean has just about decided that there's not much of interest in here for him when he passes the man with two things that do interest him: coffee and a disassembled handgun. It's the openness of the weapon that surprises him if anything does, and prompts a quick glance around. Sam used to flip out about him carrying a concealed firearm in the Holy Cathedral of Academia; never mind openly cleaning one on a table.

He raises an eyebrow, tries to figure out what make and model it is out of professional curiosity, and says, "Got a permit for that thing?"

[cantplaygod]

"Got several permits in my world, didn't know they were issuing them here. Don't remember anyone checking out my creds the first time I got here," the dark fellow says, wryly, running a brush down the barrel of the gun.

[surfaceshine]

"Well what kinda three ring circus are they running here?" Dean quips back, easily if not exactly whole heartedly. He walks around the edge of the table so he can see better. ...And keep his own back turned away from the other man.

"Just outta curiosity, what kinda creds you packin'?" If it's a misstep, he's been able to talk himself out of more suspicious circumstances; if not, it's the more direct path to what he wants.

[cantplaygod]

"Ex-Army Ranger, got demobbed and honorably discharged after I took one for my platoon, in Afghanistan," he says, running a chamois cloth over the gunstock. "Been working private security for an...eccentric billionaire, one of those professorish-looking types who made a fortune in technology. I do a little private investigating on the side." Mostly investigating who the heck his boss is...

[surfaceshine]

"Oh." Army. Dean has never been in any of the armed forces, and John has been dead for several years and several revelations, but the hunter is surprised to find he still has that proxy-pull of superiority granted him by being raised by a former Marine. Still. "Ambitious. And explains a lot."

[cantplaygod]

"Explains why I'm field stripping a handgun at a library table?" he asks, dryly. "I'd clean it at the kitchen table, but I get odd looks from people when I do." That and the library feels a bit home-like, given that his boss's base of operation is in a disused library.

[surfaceshine]

"Yeah, well, I know a couple people that'd read you the riot act for doing it in a library," he replies, and remembers too late that it's the wrong tense. He'd known people. Now he knows a person. Sam won't be reading anyone the riot act for anything ever again.

There's a moment where Dean is completely distracted, forcing himself to look at this fact and trying to burn it into his knowledge, but he feels it slide away again the moment he stops looking at it. Sam gone simply won't take.

"I uh. See a lot of use for it around here?" Dean reaches up to rub the back of his neck, unaware of the fidget.

[cantplaygod]

"Wouldn't be the first time, if someone did," he says, with a hint of dry wit. "And I've heard wolves in the woods, so it pays to carry some protection if you're venturing outside, 'specially after dark."

[surfaceshine]

"That generally goes without saying wherever a guy finds himself," he answers, frowning mostly with his eyes and the pull of his eyebrows. "Are wolves common around here?"

[cantplaygod]

"Haven't heard them every night, but they've made their presence known by voicing it," he says. "I'd be more concerned about trouble inside the house than outside, but then again, it just might be the hypervigilance that my therapist cautioned me about," he adds, with a dryly mischievous lilt on the last bit.