42 Blueberry Hill, specifically Dean's attic, Saturday night
Dean sat hunched on his bed, picking at the GPS anklet with the end of his toothbrush (the sharpest thing he could get his hands on at the moment). It made it easier for him to pretend his hands weren't shaking.
The thing that had gotten their mom, the thing that he and his father had spent the last SIXTEEN YEARS trying to hunt down, had been in Sam's room tonight.
And Dean had very nearly not been there in time to save him. Might've fucked that up, too, depending on what Claire was. And who knew if it was still around and might come back and go after Sam, or go after Lana, and he was stuck on house arrest and not allowed to be carrying any weapons.
He'd fucked things up royally. He'd failed with a big freaking red F, like his teachers used to write on his papers. He. Sucked. Ass. And not in a good way.
So he sat and he picked at his anklet and he tried to figure out the best way to explain things to Lana without her ending up even further into the possible crossfire.
[ooc: for any of the very many people who will be living in the house for awhile.]
The thing that had gotten their mom, the thing that he and his father had spent the last SIXTEEN YEARS trying to hunt down, had been in Sam's room tonight.
And Dean had very nearly not been there in time to save him. Might've fucked that up, too, depending on what Claire was. And who knew if it was still around and might come back and go after Sam, or go after Lana, and he was stuck on house arrest and not allowed to be carrying any weapons.
He'd fucked things up royally. He'd failed with a big freaking red F, like his teachers used to write on his papers. He. Sucked. Ass. And not in a good way.
So he sat and he picked at his anklet and he tried to figure out the best way to explain things to Lana without her ending up even further into the possible crossfire.
[ooc: for any of the very many people who will be living in the house for awhile.]