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.
Satisfied, Dean turns loose of Sam and steps back a bit, because they're both too wound up for much proximity right now; this is the sore point, Ruby is the crux, the break in them. Dean waves a hand dismissively at Sam's partial question.
"I gave as good as I got," he replies, glancing to see if Sam has the Colt on him. "She fucking hit me - no demon mojo tossing around and shit, came at me like a human would. And I tried to exorcise her, but it didn't work."
He cocks his head suddenly, glancing up at Sam's face. "She say anything to you?"
Sam shifts back, from foot to foot, like he wants to pace or run or something. Staying still is taking effort right now. He has the Colt, oh definitely. Every weapon he's collected thus far, probably, no matter how meager the stash. "I know," Sam says, grimly, "I tried too-" Wait, what? That's...weird. For a moment, a jump of something like hope (maybe she's powerless here, maybe she can't) but no, Sam shuts that down in a hurry.
Sam's mouth tightens to a flat line, shakes his head. "Asked a lot of questions I didn't answer. That's it."
Dean really, really wishes he could believe that Ruby asking questions means she has as little clue what's going on with this place as they do; unfortunately, he can't believe anything Ruby says anymore, if he ever did. If anything, her showing up is as good as an admission of guilt to him, and it just means the mindfuck-a-palooza can get started.
That's alright. If she's part of it, she's still here, she's within reach, and that means she'll pay for any kind of shenanigans the moment Dean smells a rat. And oh, he's on alert for it. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, every bit as restless as his brother, and nods.
"Alright. We need to warn people. And we need to check the wards on our room," and that's as far as Dean has gotten besides kill her again, kill her until it sticks. He's beginning to wonder if it ever really does. Maybe they should be looking for Mom and Dad and Jess somewhere in Demon Witness Protection or someshit. "We killed her, Sam. That knife has never not worked. What the fuck. What is this
( ... )
Sam, to his annoyance, is leaning ever more toward the panic side. Dealing with everything was - enough, without her here. Without the monkey wrench she throws into the picture, and yeah, Sam has the same thought, the same - always a set up, everything always is. Can't believe anyone, can't trust anyone and it's so easy to forget that and he should have known better, he should have known better-
Nothing he can do. Fuck. "I know," he says, tightly, "I know, okay? I don't - fuck. I don't know." Whatever people have been saying, they can't really take that at face value, can they? None of what they've learned has to mean anything. All just some fucking elaborate game, maybe, and that means it's going somewhere, there's always some kind of point, some kind of punch line
( ... )
They both should've known better; Dean has gotten attached to people here, has trusted them and cared about them and forgotten that they're all probably constructs, that hello, he should know better. It always comes down to this.
At Sam's snort, Dean is brought back around sharply, eyes narrowing on the only thing he hears: doubt. He still hasn't remembered that the people he wants to warn are probably not even real; he doesn't trust Ruby and he wants other people not to trust her, too, and hasn't seemed to notice that he and Sam will probably come off as... fanatical at best, insane at worst.
No. He just remembers that this has happened before, and his voice goes sharp. "So what'd you wanna do, Sam? Nothing? You got a better plan?" There's something dangerous there now, and Dean steps back.
It's hard to accept that, it really is, but of course it makes a certain amount of sense, doesn't it? People being understanding and sympathetic and that's just not - that doesn't happen. Not anymore. It's always some other game, some other something. Anything.
At Dean's response, Sam jerks back a little like he's been slapped, and his expression kind of shutters closed rather than what it wants to be, which is hurt. He doesn't have a right to that. He shouldn't- "No," he says, "No, I don't, just- never mind," tempted to argue, to protest, always, but that's the problem, isn't it? He always is, and it's not exactly his place to shoot down ideas right now, not when-
--he rubs his palms on his jeans, stays where he is but looks down and away. "Sorry. Just. I didn't..."
Man, the ego on these two. (It would be insulting if they hadn't been taught time and time again in the past few years that it's always about them, that it's always been about them and always will be; whether they want it to or not. So. Probably justified
( ... )
Seriously. Maybe eventually they will learn otherwise? Typist suspects not. It's not like they've been given a lot of reason to expect that they'll just be left to their own business and so on and so forth. And precedent is what they have to go by.
Sam takes a deep breath through his nose. Pull it together. Pathetic. Come on. Forces his eyes up and looks at Dean. "I am," he says, a slightly rough edge touching briefly on his voice. "Whatever it is - I know. I am with you." What else, something kind of wants to snark, am I supposed to do, not like I have anything to contribute here, just keep my head down and follow along, better, safer.
But that's just stupid. Self-pitying. Don't take that road. His eyes skitter sideways briefly and then snap back. "I'm not - you're right. Most of the people here won't have a clue."
Dean's there to catch him when he looks up, maybe not as gentle in his way as in the past, maybe not as understanding, but every bit as steady; the elder Winchester stares back at Sam like maybe, just maybe, by not taking his eyes off his brother he can make this all work out alright. Finally, he nods. When he speaks again, he's clicked back over into command mode, tried and true and learned from John Winchester and fire-tested in the pit and apocalypse alike.
"We don't even know how many of these people are people. We need some answers - we need to get her in a Devil's Trap and see what she knows. The exorcism didn't work, but it sure did piss her off."
Sam holds Dean's gaze largely through force of will, since all he really wants to do is...not. Retreat and take some time to freak out and self-flagellate and, you know, all the rest. But yeah, that's not productive, and he needs to step up, take responsibility, do what has to be done. Dean always does. Stop slacking, Sam.
He nods in agreement, and then blinks a little at Dean's assertion that the exorcism pissed her off. "--really? It was like mine didn't even get to her," he says, but then again, he was...distracted. And the fact that it didn't work at all was enough to rattle him pretty badly. "Could it be a - binding link? Like..." His expression twitches. "Like what Meg used on me that time. If we could corner her maybe we could break it."
if Sam's expression twitches, Dean's doesn't so much as shiver; Meg is history, old history, and so much has passed in between for him to be horrified over that it takes him a moment to remember what Sam is talking about. It would be different, of course, if he weren't already riled up and focused on Ruby with his signature single-minded intensity; he failed that day, he walked around in Sam's company for hours and didn't even suspect it wasn't Sam at all, but he's failed so much more spectacularly since then.
On the other hand, Dean likes that plan. He really, really does, and if he doesn't look too closely at why, he's even okay with that. He nods, the blankness of his expression breaking briefly towards consideration.
"Yeah - that could work. And we know she's from our world, we know she follows our rules," he adds, because that hasn't always been true, here. "And maybe with a Devil's Trap the exorcism will work. She ran off before I could finish."
Meg may be ancient history, but Sam doesn't think he'll ever forget how it felt, what little he remembers, and that there's still so much he doesn't. But he gets it is pretty far back and pretty low down as far as shit that has happened since. So. But he likes that plan too. It would at least give an answer.
Sam is wondering if he should mention shooting her. It seemed to hurt, more than usual, but maybe that was just residual from the exorcism actually doing something. Hm. He decides against it, at least for now. "Maybe," Sam agrees. "At the very least we could - see if she'd say anything." They know what to do with her, anyway, more or less. Her vulnerabilities.
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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"I gave as good as I got," he replies, glancing to see if Sam has the Colt on him. "She fucking hit me - no demon mojo tossing around and shit, came at me like a human would. And I tried to exorcise her, but it didn't work."
He cocks his head suddenly, glancing up at Sam's face. "She say anything to you?"
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Sam's mouth tightens to a flat line, shakes his head. "Asked a lot of questions I didn't answer. That's it."
Even if it wasn't, that's probably all he'd say.
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That's alright. If she's part of it, she's still here, she's within reach, and that means she'll pay for any kind of shenanigans the moment Dean smells a rat. And oh, he's on alert for it. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, every bit as restless as his brother, and nods.
"Alright. We need to warn people. And we need to check the wards on our room," and that's as far as Dean has gotten besides kill her again, kill her until it sticks. He's beginning to wonder if it ever really does. Maybe they should be looking for Mom and Dad and Jess somewhere in Demon Witness Protection or someshit. "We killed her, Sam. That knife has never not worked. What the fuck. What is this ( ... )
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Nothing he can do. Fuck. "I know," he says, tightly, "I know, okay? I don't - fuck. I don't know." Whatever people have been saying, they can't really take that at face value, can they? None of what they've learned has to mean anything. All just some fucking elaborate game, maybe, and that means it's going somewhere, there's always some kind of point, some kind of punch line ( ... )
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At Sam's snort, Dean is brought back around sharply, eyes narrowing on the only thing he hears: doubt. He still hasn't remembered that the people he wants to warn are probably not even real; he doesn't trust Ruby and he wants other people not to trust her, too, and hasn't seemed to notice that he and Sam will probably come off as... fanatical at best, insane at worst.
No. He just remembers that this has happened before, and his voice goes sharp. "So what'd you wanna do, Sam? Nothing? You got a better plan?" There's something dangerous there now, and Dean steps back.
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At Dean's response, Sam jerks back a little like he's been slapped, and his expression kind of shutters closed rather than what it wants to be, which is hurt. He doesn't have a right to that. He shouldn't- "No," he says, "No, I don't, just- never mind," tempted to argue, to protest, always, but that's the problem, isn't it? He always is, and it's not exactly his place to shoot down ideas right now, not when-
--he rubs his palms on his jeans, stays where he is but looks down and away. "Sorry. Just. I didn't..."
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Sam takes a deep breath through his nose. Pull it together. Pathetic. Come on. Forces his eyes up and looks at Dean. "I am," he says, a slightly rough edge touching briefly on his voice. "Whatever it is - I know. I am with you." What else, something kind of wants to snark, am I supposed to do, not like I have anything to contribute here, just keep my head down and follow along, better, safer.
But that's just stupid. Self-pitying. Don't take that road. His eyes skitter sideways briefly and then snap back. "I'm not - you're right. Most of the people here won't have a clue."
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"We don't even know how many of these people are people. We need some answers - we need to get her in a Devil's Trap and see what she knows. The exorcism didn't work, but it sure did piss her off."
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He nods in agreement, and then blinks a little at Dean's assertion that the exorcism pissed her off. "--really? It was like mine didn't even get to her," he says, but then again, he was...distracted. And the fact that it didn't work at all was enough to rattle him pretty badly. "Could it be a - binding link? Like..." His expression twitches. "Like what Meg used on me that time. If we could corner her maybe we could break it."
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On the other hand, Dean likes that plan. He really, really does, and if he doesn't look too closely at why, he's even okay with that. He nods, the blankness of his expression breaking briefly towards consideration.
"Yeah - that could work. And we know she's from our world, we know she follows our rules," he adds, because that hasn't always been true, here. "And maybe with a Devil's Trap the exorcism will work. She ran off before I could finish."
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Sam is wondering if he should mention shooting her. It seemed to hurt, more than usual, but maybe that was just residual from the exorcism actually doing something. Hm. He decides against it, at least for now. "Maybe," Sam agrees. "At the very least we could - see if she'd say anything." They know what to do with her, anyway, more or less. Her vulnerabilities.
That's something. Right? Right?
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