The Voicemail of Doom. Without any excessive guilt or weepiness, please. Dean's trying to figure out their plan of action, holed up in a motel room after Lucifer's release. Sam's slightly perturbed that he's not dead yet. At some point he pulls out his cell phone and listens to the message - which is still there in all its painful glory. Dean (after all the secret phone calls of the past few months) wants to know what Sam's listening to.
Where to StartyaycoffeeAugust 30 2009, 16:16:36 UTC
Dean had been staring at the same spot on the wall paper for almost an hour. If he looked at it hard enough, the mottled metallic design started to look like a bear, or a sea monster, or an airplane. Sometimes, though, it looked like the face of a person--gold and bronze dots converging into an ugly face, sneering, laughing. He scrubbed a hand across his face, and shook his head. He needed to move. They needed to move. But where? Lucifer had been out of his little cage for eight hours now, and for the life of him, Dean couldn't figure out where to even fucking startSam hadn't said a word. Not one word that wasn't a one-syllable answer to a direct question, and that was fine. Given the choice between sharing-and-caring and silent brooding, Dean was fine for now with the second. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know where to start with that, either
( ... )
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