|| Re-Introduction: If You Need Him, He'll Be There Again ||
[SPOILERS for Supernatural up to 5x22 in this post, and likely in the course of play with my Dean. Sorry.]
( Beautiful loser, never take it all 'cause it's easier and faster when you fall; you just can't have it all. )
The hunter glances up at the claim about snow, eying the clouds before deciding that really, he can't tell the difference; maybe it is gonna snow, maybe it's just gonna be cloudy all freaking day, who knows. Not Dean, and furthermore, he doesn't much care. He should probably be a little more wary of backcountry Tennessee properties, but really, he's done the cannibalistic hillbilly thing before and tangled with much scarier things since, and he's still standing. Lucky boy.
Dean accepts the handwarmers, shoves them back into his pockets with his hands, one each side.
"Thanks," he says sincerely, then. Wait. "What'd you mean, figure out where I am? Is this one-a those map says one thing, locals say another? 'Cause I should be about an hour outside of Pulaski."
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Didn’t think I’d focused that hard, he tells himself. Bugger. .
“Something like that,” he says tiredly. “Look, buddy, I’m happy to help out, but not so much to be responsible for you if you get sick.” Seriously, he’s a nice guy, but not all that nurturing - it’s more a matter of not knowing how than not wanting to. He does try, though. Just ask Katniss.
And as one of those annoyingly flat snowflakes falls on the tip of his nose, he sighs, then brushes it off. Shadow will always miss the simpler life he had - his job as a personal trainer, his wife, and the double dates he used to go on, with Laura, Bobby, and his wife.
That this simple life is gone forever, though, he knows - you can’t go back to it when people died, and your wife died with your best friend’s cock in her mouth. You can’t go back once the curtain’s been lifted, and you know gods walk the earth and ride crazy carousels into oblivion.
Hiiiii hope you’re doing well! Not online yet, still at work, just taking a moment to send you a tag, because I can. ^^
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"I won't get sick," he says simply, because of all the things Dean has had to worry about in his life, a frail immune system has never been one of them. It'll take more than this, he figures, because that's just his luck. Dean shrugs again, pushes a little bit with a mild lie that's only a lie because he has absolutely no intention of calling in a tow truck unless it's Bobby Springer. "Look, I just need to know so I can give directions to whatever shop I can get hold of. I'm not leaving my baby sitting out there longer than I have to."
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“I understand,” he replies. “And I hope we can get you going soon enough. We'll get you a proper coat and stuff, as long as we're getting inside.”
Not that the leather doesn't look good - but it's inadequate for current temperature, and Shadow figures, if this guy is going to try to get the hell out, he'll probably need to be properly covered, seeing as the fishbowl will have him going in circles for a bit.
A pause, then. A sigh.
“If I say we're behind the curtains, does that mean anything to you?” He's too honest, he knows he'll have to explain eventually, so heck, it'll have to be now.
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Hearing Shadow's first appeasement doesn't do much to ease Dean's mind, but he goes ahead and nods anyway; it's the sigh that gets him an expectant look, and the question that gets him an odd one.
"Do what now? I don't see any drapes," he replies smoothly, but though the wariness never left him, there's something about how Shadow says it that sharpens Dean's attention. He doesn't recognize the phrase, but there's something going on around here anyway; the Impala doesn't just die on him like that and, damn it all, he's been through enough by now that he knows when something strange is going on.
Not always what it is, but something.
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“Behind the curtains,” he repeats. He can't sense anything about Dean being a god, but then again, he couldn't about others either, not until they showed him their true faces. Even Zorya Polunochnaya seemed all but normal, until she gave him the moon to hold for safekeeping.
He's got a coin in his hand, as always - and now he's playing with it, to find his words.
“This... wherever you think it is, it's not it. I walked here from Oxfordshire years ago. Never found a way out. And you certainly didn't drive from the Midwest, all the way to the old continents, did you?”
He's trying to explain, realizes he's doing a terrible job.
“I sound nuts, don't I?”
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The coin is a fidget, a tell, and Dean glances at it without really knowing what it means; he already knew there was something up here, he doesn't really need the extra confirmation.
"A little," he admits, a shrug in his voice as well as the rise and fall of his eyebrows. He's absolutely steady behind that, though. "But I've heard a lotta crazy in my time. You should lay the rest on me. What's behind the curtains mean?"
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No-one likes to discuss how their own father used them as a fountain of youth, after all. Wednesday, you damn vampire.
“It’s a way to say, the other side of the surface of things,” the ex-con replies. “So for instance, if you’ve spent all your life thinking all there was to it is, well, sleep, work, and life in suburbia, you’re about to get your mind blown out.”
An apologetic pause, a shrug.
“So yeah. What do you know about American gods?”
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