Dean takes the bottle, peering at it critically with an inky black eye. The blood inside is this dark, almost black, shade of red and it doesn't slosh around freely like living blood: it's more congealed, closer to his than the usual blood he's seen around before. He swirls the dead man's blood around the bottle, part out of interest, most of it because he needs to buy himself time 'cause "I dunno" isn't a good enough answer.
It takes him a few seconds longer than he'd have liked to remember.
"Knocks a vampire out of commission," Dean looks up from the bottle just in time to see Sam smiling at him. Hey, he was right. Dean's almost surprised he got that one. "Like poison." It comes out more like a question.
Buffy said you staked 'em but he guesses there's different kinds of those fanged freaks out there and these could use a good dosing of dead man's blood and a round of decapitation to finish it off. Dean hands back the bottle, leaning over slightly to check out the luggage. It's not as much as he expected but that's Sam for you. The kid knows how to travel light.
He seems that much happier by Dean's response, relieved that he still remembers the basics. They may not have spent much time around each other since his arrival, but Sam knows enough to realize that he has issues with his memory. It's why he's willing to be so lenient when it comes to things like this.
"If you get it in their system, it'll buy you time." Which is something he thinks they're going to need if they plan to do this the normal way. Decapitation takes time the human way, and whatever abilities Dean has at his disposal, Sam knows he can't match them. Not when he's trying to keep so much under wraps.
Following Dean's gaze, he grins, already having a good idea what's on his mind. The one pack he does have doesn't hold much. He hasn't taken the time to start picking up any weapons beyond the basics, knowing that it'd be pointless for him to start. There are blades, a few guns, but that's it. The few other items he owns stay buried in the trunk of the car he's 'acquired' along the way. Right now, it's out of sight and out of mind.
Dean shrugs. "Yeah. You got yourself a car? Mine's still on blocks."
He's heard the other Deans call that black Impala their "baby" (sometimes there's a "sweetheart" thrown in for good measure), but for him, it's still just a car. He's not surprised. Didn't make much sense to let him get all cuddly about a car when old White-Eyes wanted his full attention and he still agrees the monster went through all the right steps. Still, that also means he's got a useless car and right now he's real shaky on the driving front, even if his instinct is to make a charge for the driver's side instead of having to go sit in shotgun.
"It's about ten minutes walk from here." He sounds distracted when he replies; instead more interested in finding out just what happened to the Impala. It's one of the few things that other hunters remembered about the man, no matter how briefly they've met him for. You never touch his car. Even Sam knows that the few times he's been allowed near the thing for anything other than being a passenger, it's something he has to cherish. It doesn't come around often, after all.
"What happened to your car?" And how many people has he killed for touching it.
"It got trashed back home," Dean says with a shrug. It wasn't the only car they'd found in that lot, either. He guesses he wasn't the only person abducted from a car at the Institute. "Your car's a better bet."
Ten minutes walk doesn't sound that bad. The more he thinks about it, the more he has to admit he doesn't mind killing some vampires, morals or not. It'd be different if anyone but Sam told him to do it. They could screw themselves. He didn't care one way or another if some vampires chew on some humans: it isn't his problem. But Sam telling him, that makes all the difference. He's still leery on the whole killing thing but what else are you supposed to do? He doesn't think they deserve torture, not a bunch of randoms who didn't do anything to earn that right. That really just leaves sitting pretty or killing 'em, so it's not like there's a whole lot of options there in the first place.
The proto-demon nods toward the street, eager to get this show on the road.
It doesn't take much of a suggestion before Sam starts to lead the way, back toward the deserted alleyway he'd hidden the car in. He didn't bother doing much beyond parking it there, honestly not caring whether it was there when he got back or not. But now, it matters. Now that he knows the two of them actually need it for something. Which is why he looks a little nervous with his first step.
"You're trying to fix it though, right?" He's searching for a sign that he already knows is pointless to look for. Whether or not this Dean reacts the same way as the one he knows, he's still his brother, and he's long since accepted that. "I mean, if you're planning to get her back on the road, you taught me a few things. I could help?"
Dean just looked at Sam, corpse's face going even more still as he focused all his attention on the kid. Maybe back then he would've known what the right answer was. It's not coming at him now, and he's not sure if it's better to insist he stand on his two feet or read some kind of suggestion in Sam's question and take it to mean Sam wants to help.
Times like this he wish he knew if it was one way or another. That's the problem with being a free man so long: he can't tell what's what anymore and it's nothing like how orderly it was back home with the cadaver table.
"She's real beat up," Dean says. "I figure you'll know better than me what kind of shape she's in."
After all, she's just a hunk of metal to him. Dean takes a few instinctive steps toward the driver's side of Sam's car before he catches himself. He's not exactly used to driving anymore and it's not like how it used to be. The proto-demon instead goes for shotgun.
"Everything I know about her I learned from you." He shrugs his shoulders a little, trying to make it seem like less of a deal than it really is to him. His memories of Dean are one of the few things that are still intact, despite everything that happened over the past year. Trying to match them up with this Dean when things like this come up only makes it that much harder to deal with. "I guess we could try to work it out together." It's the only compromise he thinks he's capable of making right then.
He smiles to himself when he spots just which side Dean's heading toward, but it's only when he changes his mind that Sam makes up his. Digging the keys out of his pocket, he heads over to the passenger side too, dropping a hand on to Dean's shoulder and holding up the keys. "This one time? You get to drive."
"You sure that's a good idea? I could get us wrapped around a tree or something," Dean doesn't sound like he's joking, not this time. He hasn't exactly had much - okay, any - practice driving since he woke up dead and killing Sam on accident is a very real concern here. His instincts are telling him take the damn keys but common sense right now is still winning over: he'd rather sit shotgun like a little bitch if it means he won't have to risk throwing Sam out the windshield or something. Him, he can walk away from that and if he was by himself, he'd chance it.
Sam, though. Sam changes everything. He always did and Dean can at least say for a fact that that hasn't changed much since he died.
"You're still my brother, man. Some days I swear you learned to drive before you learned to walk. I know this is a good idea." He's aiming to try and keep the conversation light-hearted, but he can't help the note of seriousness beneath it all. Where Dean has his loyalties toward Sam, Sam holds the same in return. He trusts him, despite everything that's happened to each of them, and it's a feeling that he doubts will ever change. Not while he has a choice about it, at least.
"Now take the keys, get in, and let's go." They did still have a hunt to head toward.
Dean will shame himself and drive like a little old lady :|protodemonicSeptember 10 2010, 19:14:21 UTC
That seals it - it doesn't matter if it wasn't an order now, Dean just reacting, his hand reaching out to take the keys.
He slides uncomfortably into the seat - uncomfortable 'cause he's more than worried for Sam and there's also the fact that this feels more right than it should to have Sam sit shotgun and there's a split second where he has to remember what he's seen the others do when they drive. The car doesn't rumble to life like the Impala; the proto-demon's surprised to find he'd been somehow expecting it to and he glances over at Sam instinctively. The kid isn't exactly giving him a cheat sheet.
Maybe he's letting him figure it out on his own.
After awhile, the proto-demon starts to get the hang of it, learning to apply less pressure on the gas since it's more sensitive then the brakes.
"You'll have to tell me where to go," Dean says after a long silence. Most of it was just concentrating on not getting the car wrapped around any poles. Some of it, though, is 'cause he just plain doesn't know what to say to the kid. It's been always weird between Sam, and running into another one just makes it another notch higher on the weird scale there. He figures way back he probably would've known what to say but it's kind of a shot in the dark these days.
Sam will do his best not to mock. :3ancientgiftSeptember 12 2010, 14:36:25 UTC
He slides into his seat with a grin on his face, grateful that Dean's actually following his suggestion. This time, it's about appeasing the demon as opposed to forging that connection between him and the Dean he knows. He wants to take this Dean separate to the others he knows; even the others here who aren't quite human anymore.
Regardless of him being the one to suggest Dean drive, it still takes Sam a long while to relax properly in his seat. He's too busy trying to keep a surreptitious watch over him, wincing just slightly with each over-acceleration or moment of harsh braking. He does his best to try and hide his reactions though, not wanting to put Dean under any more pressure than he's already dealing with. From what little he's mentioned about the Impala it's obvious that his brother hasn't been driving for a long time, so he wants to give him this chance.
It's only when the question comes that Sam openly looks toward him, nodding slightly. "Head toward the 89 and just keep going. You can't miss it."
Oop, sorry for the delayprotodemonicSeptember 16 2010, 10:40:58 UTC
It's silent for the most part in the car and he thinks it's not one of those awkward ones - when it's one of those, a lot of humans seem to get real chatty and Sam doesn't seem particularly on edge or nothin'.
They hit the 89, Dean growing more and more accustomed to driving since it's not like he's got to pull any stunts with the car. It's...familiar. He thinks it is, except the wheel doesn't feel entirely right and the car itself smells too new to him, at least compared to the Impala.
It's getting on into the late afternoon, Dean eventually glancing over at his brother in shotgun. His hands are unnaturally steady on the wheel, one of the perks of being dead when you literally can't get shot nervous. "You need to stretch your legs or anything? I could pull off."
Dean's proud to say he even remembered to ask. Him, he'd keep going but humans have all that blood circulation going on and that means it's a problem if they don't keep moving and stretching. Sometimes he has to wonder why Sam wants to stay human in the first place when he'd be so much better off dead like him. Then again, different Sams. He has no idea if this one is still on the Dying Slow Train too.
Don't worry about it.ancientgiftSeptember 18 2010, 12:41:20 UTC
His attention has long since been back on the passing scenery by the time Dean breaks the silence again. Even though it's been a long time since he was sitting shotgun with Dean behind the wheel, his experiences are still clear in his mind. It's the fact that there is a silence to break that has him feeling slightly uneasy for most of the time.
"I should be alright till we get there." Hopefully. He shifts in his seat, his legs folding up a little to make space for him to do so. It's not the first time since his return that he's wished he'd picked up a different car; something a little bigger. Or just one with a little extra leg room. But he's made do this long, so he's not about to start complaining now. Not to mention the fact he's used to sitting in the Impala for hours at a time without a break. "It's not much further anyway."
If we need to, we could time skip to reaching the destination? :|aprotodemonicSeptember 18 2010, 13:01:48 UTC
"Haven't been this far out in awhile," Dean says, eyes on the road. Well, there was that time he went back home but that'd been...complicated. And bloody, but most of it hadn't been his, so it wasn't like it counted. Sometimes he regrets going back, 'cause every time he thinks about it, he realizes he still misses it and he's not supposed to miss it.
And just like that, he's changing the subject, 'cause it's just a lot of road and cars.
"What're you gonna do about the others?" he wasn't there for when the Sams met, but he's assuming they ran into each other. Small world, after all, and that house is like a magnet for this kinda thing. He knows how freaky it is to see someone running around with your face.
Can do. iirc it isn't too long a journey anyway. Half a day at most.ancientgiftSeptember 25 2010, 07:54:10 UTC
"Keep avoiding them, I guess. They don't want me there and it doesn't matter if I miss you guys or not; I'm not gonna start screwing things up for you all." It's not entirely the truth, but he isn't about to start sharing that just yet. Other than the Dean's, there really isn't any reason for him to want to go near the house, so he doesn't. It doesn't help that the place seems to be a meeting ground for angels too.
"I've been staying in a building just out of town. You'll always be welcome there." An invite that's that much easier to make given the lack of warding on the building. He hasn't laid down the usual salt lines and devils traps, knowing they'd be nothing but a hindrance if Ruby ever bothered to show her face again. That and his late night snacks.
It takes him a few seconds longer than he'd have liked to remember.
"Knocks a vampire out of commission," Dean looks up from the bottle just in time to see Sam smiling at him. Hey, he was right. Dean's almost surprised he got that one. "Like poison." It comes out more like a question.
Buffy said you staked 'em but he guesses there's different kinds of those fanged freaks out there and these could use a good dosing of dead man's blood and a round of decapitation to finish it off. Dean hands back the bottle, leaning over slightly to check out the luggage. It's not as much as he expected but that's Sam for you. The kid knows how to travel light.
"Need help carrying anything?"
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"If you get it in their system, it'll buy you time." Which is something he thinks they're going to need if they plan to do this the normal way. Decapitation takes time the human way, and whatever abilities Dean has at his disposal, Sam knows he can't match them. Not when he's trying to keep so much under wraps.
Following Dean's gaze, he grins, already having a good idea what's on his mind. The one pack he does have doesn't hold much. He hasn't taken the time to start picking up any weapons beyond the basics, knowing that it'd be pointless for him to start. There are blades, a few guns, but that's it. The few other items he owns stay buried in the trunk of the car he's 'acquired' along the way. Right now, it's out of sight and out of mind.
"I can manage. You ready?"
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He's heard the other Deans call that black Impala their "baby" (sometimes there's a "sweetheart" thrown in for good measure), but for him, it's still just a car. He's not surprised. Didn't make much sense to let him get all cuddly about a car when old White-Eyes wanted his full attention and he still agrees the monster went through all the right steps. Still, that also means he's got a useless car and right now he's real shaky on the driving front, even if his instinct is to make a charge for the driver's side instead of having to go sit in shotgun.
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"What happened to your car?" And how many people has he killed for touching it.
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Ten minutes walk doesn't sound that bad. The more he thinks about it, the more he has to admit he doesn't mind killing some vampires, morals or not. It'd be different if anyone but Sam told him to do it. They could screw themselves. He didn't care one way or another if some vampires chew on some humans: it isn't his problem. But Sam telling him, that makes all the difference. He's still leery on the whole killing thing but what else are you supposed to do? He doesn't think they deserve torture, not a bunch of randoms who didn't do anything to earn that right. That really just leaves sitting pretty or killing 'em, so it's not like there's a whole lot of options there in the first place.
The proto-demon nods toward the street, eager to get this show on the road.
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"You're trying to fix it though, right?" He's searching for a sign that he already knows is pointless to look for. Whether or not this Dean reacts the same way as the one he knows, he's still his brother, and he's long since accepted that. "I mean, if you're planning to get her back on the road, you taught me a few things. I could help?"
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Times like this he wish he knew if it was one way or another. That's the problem with being a free man so long: he can't tell what's what anymore and it's nothing like how orderly it was back home with the cadaver table.
"She's real beat up," Dean says. "I figure you'll know better than me what kind of shape she's in."
After all, she's just a hunk of metal to him. Dean takes a few instinctive steps toward the driver's side of Sam's car before he catches himself. He's not exactly used to driving anymore and it's not like how it used to be. The proto-demon instead goes for shotgun.
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He smiles to himself when he spots just which side Dean's heading toward, but it's only when he changes his mind that Sam makes up his. Digging the keys out of his pocket, he heads over to the passenger side too, dropping a hand on to Dean's shoulder and holding up the keys. "This one time? You get to drive."
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"You sure that's a good idea? I could get us wrapped around a tree or something," Dean doesn't sound like he's joking, not this time. He hasn't exactly had much - okay, any - practice driving since he woke up dead and killing Sam on accident is a very real concern here. His instincts are telling him take the damn keys but common sense right now is still winning over: he'd rather sit shotgun like a little bitch if it means he won't have to risk throwing Sam out the windshield or something. Him, he can walk away from that and if he was by himself, he'd chance it.
Sam, though. Sam changes everything. He always did and Dean can at least say for a fact that that hasn't changed much since he died.
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"Now take the keys, get in, and let's go." They did still have a hunt to head toward.
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He slides uncomfortably into the seat - uncomfortable 'cause he's more than worried for Sam and there's also the fact that this feels more right than it should to have Sam sit shotgun and there's a split second where he has to remember what he's seen the others do when they drive. The car doesn't rumble to life like the Impala; the proto-demon's surprised to find he'd been somehow expecting it to and he glances over at Sam instinctively. The kid isn't exactly giving him a cheat sheet.
Maybe he's letting him figure it out on his own.
After awhile, the proto-demon starts to get the hang of it, learning to apply less pressure on the gas since it's more sensitive then the brakes.
"You'll have to tell me where to go," Dean says after a long silence. Most of it was just concentrating on not getting the car wrapped around any poles. Some of it, though, is 'cause he just plain doesn't know what to say to the kid. It's been always weird between Sam, and running into another one just makes it another notch higher on the weird scale there. He figures way back he probably would've known what to say but it's kind of a shot in the dark these days.
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Regardless of him being the one to suggest Dean drive, it still takes Sam a long while to relax properly in his seat. He's too busy trying to keep a surreptitious watch over him, wincing just slightly with each over-acceleration or moment of harsh braking. He does his best to try and hide his reactions though, not wanting to put Dean under any more pressure than he's already dealing with. From what little he's mentioned about the Impala it's obvious that his brother hasn't been driving for a long time, so he wants to give him this chance.
It's only when the question comes that Sam openly looks toward him, nodding slightly. "Head toward the 89 and just keep going. You can't miss it."
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They hit the 89, Dean growing more and more accustomed to driving since it's not like he's got to pull any stunts with the car. It's...familiar. He thinks it is, except the wheel doesn't feel entirely right and the car itself smells too new to him, at least compared to the Impala.
It's getting on into the late afternoon, Dean eventually glancing over at his brother in shotgun. His hands are unnaturally steady on the wheel, one of the perks of being dead when you literally can't get shot nervous. "You need to stretch your legs or anything? I could pull off."
Dean's proud to say he even remembered to ask. Him, he'd keep going but humans have all that blood circulation going on and that means it's a problem if they don't keep moving and stretching. Sometimes he has to wonder why Sam wants to stay human in the first place when he'd be so much better off dead like him. Then again, different Sams. He has no idea if this one is still on the Dying Slow Train too.
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"I should be alright till we get there." Hopefully. He shifts in his seat, his legs folding up a little to make space for him to do so. It's not the first time since his return that he's wished he'd picked up a different car; something a little bigger. Or just one with a little extra leg room. But he's made do this long, so he's not about to start complaining now. Not to mention the fact he's used to sitting in the Impala for hours at a time without a break. "It's not much further anyway."
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And just like that, he's changing the subject, 'cause it's just a lot of road and cars.
"What're you gonna do about the others?" he wasn't there for when the Sams met, but he's assuming they ran into each other. Small world, after all, and that house is like a magnet for this kinda thing. He knows how freaky it is to see someone running around with your face.
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"I've been staying in a building just out of town. You'll always be welcome there." An invite that's that much easier to make given the lack of warding on the building. He hasn't laid down the usual salt lines and devils traps, knowing they'd be nothing but a hindrance if Ruby ever bothered to show her face again. That and his late night snacks.
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