Dean had not failed to notice that particular little detail either, and here's something he can use, here's something that fuels him with the strength of it instead of chipping away at what reserves he has left; it's hatred, and it's a familiar fear of something external, and it's a well worn paranoia that he's been harboring for the past fortythree years that he knows exactly what to do with, now.
The exorcism hadn't worked, there had been a brief fight, and then Dean had known exactly what to do: Find Sam. Now.
Perhaps surprisingly, it's not suspicion coloring the tense, steady planes of the elder hunter's face; he's not panicking, not yet. He looks driven, kicked into the force of nature mode that has gotten both he and Sam into and out of so many mess in the past. The moment he spots Sam, he knows his brother is already aware, and he draws up short in his long, ground-eating strides down the hall to bark ahead of himself, "Sam!"
Sam was half expecting suspicion. Perhaps more than half, and something in him eases up a little in recognition of the tone, that it's not...what he was afraid of. Though he'd never admit it, or anything about the direction of his thoughts, or much of anything, really. (It'd just be pointless.)
Sam turns to face Dean, obviously wound tight and probably looking...worse than he has for a while. He wasn't expecting this, and he should have been, and he feels trapped and cornered and (panicky) pissed off, could just kill her for fucking ever except no, can't, and also the fact that he wants to is kind of disturbing and it is more complicated than that, in some ways, of course it is.
"I guess you saw the new arrival," he says, tightly, moving to close the distance between them, fast.
In many ways, it's like the post-Deal years never happened; Dean has a purpose, he's up to the task, he thinks he knows what to do, and he's on it. Louder, tougher, stronger than life, the elder Winchester moves to meet Sam, too, dark eyes narrowed and already checking for any damage on his kid brother. He's reacting to the confusion and anger and fear in Sam without even having to stop to think about it.
Then again, the old Dean never hated like this Dean learned to do in Hell, like Ruby taught him to hate. It's murder that's darkening the hunter's eyes, steeling his jaw and putting the snap in his voice and the harsh, protective urgency in his fingers when he reaches for Sam to turn him, like maybe there's damage he can't see.
"Yeah, I fucking saw her - you okay? She do anything?" Did you? The only damage on Dean (so far anyway) is a bruise darkening along the fine line of his left cheekbone.
That's okay, that's fine, Sam doesn't judge you even a little for that, Dean; is reflecting it back, in his own way. He may not have gone to Hell, but something crystallized in him over that time, hardened and went brittle and sharp and dangerous like obsidian, and it's that that's showing now. Sam doesn't quite flinch away from Dean's examination; submits to it, though he's practically vibrating, and (as far as the typist knows) appears unharmed.
He notes the bruise, and his expression darkens a little further even as makes a short, sharp sound that could be a passable imitation of laughter in some countries. Maybe. "Do anything? No." Are you kidding? I'm her little pet, her favorite fucking prodigy. Her ticket to the big leagues. "You-" He gestures, vaguely, at Dean's face.
Hisoka is outside and a good way down the track that circles around towards the north end of the lake when he hears gunfire coming from the house. He whirls and starts running back up the path, but it takes him ten minutes to reach the back porch. He tears up the steps and bursts into the empty kitchen.
Oh, hell.
He has a hand on the grip of the .45 buttoned into his jacket, but it seems the gun isn't needed at this moment. He heads for the common room, but doesn't meet anybody. Maybe they all scattered as soon as the shooting started. He quickly checks the nearby hallways -- for injured persons or anybody who can tell him what's happened.
[And he meets Sam wherever Sam pleases, since I don't know exactly where the younger Winchester would be at this point.]
Sam probably hasn't gotten far. Ruby is gone, but he is still riding the edge of simultaneous rage and panic and looking for Dean. There's a smear of blood on his shirt shaped roughly like a hand, but he hasn't realized it yet, mind racing and jumping and going in circles (nose full of the smell of her blood and oh god, oh god no).
Which is probably the main reason he didn't follow Ruby and shoot her a few more times.
He's probably somewhere on the first floor, pacing in long, rapid strides through the hallways, everything about his posture screaming tense and on edge though at least he put the gun away. Probably.
"Sam!" calls Hisoka, in a low voice. It's generally a good idea to speak softly to a person who has blood on his shirt. There's no telling how it got that way.
And in this case, it probably got that way while he was in the kitchen. It's a mess in there -- furniture banged around, blood everywhere.
And if Sam still has his gun in his hand, that would be a pretty conclusive sign.^^
Sam spins around on a hairpin turn, hand jerking around to his back, though he pulls it away before actually getting out the gun again. Which is did tuck away, because - not freaking anyone else out, important. Right now. Also not looking like a nutcase, important. Generally fall into the same category.
"Hisoka," he says, tightly. "Oh. Hey. Now's not really a good time-"
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Dean had not failed to notice that particular little detail either, and here's something he can use, here's something that fuels him with the strength of it instead of chipping away at what reserves he has left; it's hatred, and it's a familiar fear of something external, and it's a well worn paranoia that he's been harboring for the past fortythree years that he knows exactly what to do with, now.
The exorcism hadn't worked, there had been a brief fight, and then Dean had known exactly what to do: Find Sam. Now.
Perhaps surprisingly, it's not suspicion coloring the tense, steady planes of the elder hunter's face; he's not panicking, not yet. He looks driven, kicked into the force of nature mode that has gotten both he and Sam into and out of so many mess in the past. The moment he spots Sam, he knows his brother is already aware, and he draws up short in his long, ground-eating strides down the hall to bark ahead of himself, "Sam!"
Close ranks.
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Sam turns to face Dean, obviously wound tight and probably looking...worse than he has for a while. He wasn't expecting this, and he should have been, and he feels trapped and cornered and (panicky) pissed off, could just kill her for fucking ever except no, can't, and also the fact that he wants to is kind of disturbing and it is more complicated than that, in some ways, of course it is.
"I guess you saw the new arrival," he says, tightly, moving to close the distance between them, fast.
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Then again, the old Dean never hated like this Dean learned to do in Hell, like Ruby taught him to hate. It's murder that's darkening the hunter's eyes, steeling his jaw and putting the snap in his voice and the harsh, protective urgency in his fingers when he reaches for Sam to turn him, like maybe there's damage he can't see.
"Yeah, I fucking saw her - you okay? She do anything?" Did you? The only damage on Dean (so far anyway) is a bruise darkening along the fine line of his left cheekbone.
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He notes the bruise, and his expression darkens a little further even as makes a short, sharp sound that could be a passable imitation of laughter in some countries. Maybe. "Do anything? No." Are you kidding? I'm her little pet, her favorite fucking prodigy. Her ticket to the big leagues. "You-" He gestures, vaguely, at Dean's face.
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Oh, hell.
He has a hand on the grip of the .45 buttoned into his jacket, but it seems the gun isn't needed at this moment. He heads for the common room, but doesn't meet anybody. Maybe they all scattered as soon as the shooting started. He quickly checks the nearby hallways -- for injured persons or anybody who can tell him what's happened.
[And he meets Sam wherever Sam pleases, since I don't know exactly where the younger Winchester would be at this point.]
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Which is probably the main reason he didn't follow Ruby and shoot her a few more times.
He's probably somewhere on the first floor, pacing in long, rapid strides through the hallways, everything about his posture screaming tense and on edge though at least he put the gun away. Probably.
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And in this case, it probably got that way while he was in the kitchen. It's a mess in there -- furniture banged around, blood everywhere.
And if Sam still has his gun in his hand, that would be a pretty conclusive sign.^^
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"Hisoka," he says, tightly. "Oh. Hey. Now's not really a good time-"
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