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stonyfaced in onoratalogs

(Untitled)

Nov 10, 2008 20:23

WHO: Sam Vimes (stonyfaced), Dean Winchester (canecieco)
WHAT: Information gathering regarding Vescovo
WHERE: The hospital
WHEN: Day 182, evening

( The nature of information was a slimy one. Secondhand, unreliable, firsthand, riddled with bias, not to mention that information and intelligence weren't necessarily the same thing... )

motoko kusanagi, sam vimes, dean winchester

Comments 8

canecieco November 11 2008, 05:07:57 UTC

When he was alone in the darkness and the rain was falling outside, he would have dreams of the crash. He would imagine speeding down the street with his stump throbbing. Sam would be beside him, yapping his mouth, warning him about the mafia, his driving, everything, and then life would go still. In slow motion, he saw them as kids, as teenagers, and as adults before the big truck hit them head on.

The first thing he asked when he woke up was about Sam. The nurses and doctors did not give two shits about his personal concerns. No one wanted to tell him. All they cared about was the coma Dean was in, and fuck it. He was not a baby anymore.

It was the family's fault. Vescovo could not guarantee them their happiness. It killed their mother. It took their father. It took his brother's life and his fucking hand.

He was done.

And, if they decide to shoot a poor, helpless man down now then let them come.

"That's me," he croaked, turning his head to see the big bad AMC official walk in. "Close the door."

stonyfaced November 11 2008, 05:17:57 UTC

The minute that Vimes looked at Dean's face, he recognized the expression. On any man, mafia, copper, whore, black, white, anything in between, the expression was the same, dark and troubled. Done. One look at the stub where he assumed a hand once occupied, he was already making assumptions. He couldn't tell underneath the bandages, but he was willing to bet that it wasn't from any innocent accident, and that it was a clean, precise cut.

The door clicked behind him, and he walked to stand by the man. He didn't sit. It felt too informal to sit, wrong, for a copper. He spent most nights standing, anyways. Resisting the urge to stick his hand out to shake (which would be a bad idea, no matter which way you looked at it) and the urge to salute, out of professionalism's sake, he simply said, "Sergeant Vimes."

His face the same carefully neutral mask that earned him the title of 'Ol' Stoneface', he asked, "Shall we get straight to the point?"

canecieco November 11 2008, 05:21:55 UTC

The guy looked like a hard ass, and in many ways, reminded him of his dad. Dean had to bite back a lot as Vimes stepped up to the plate. Everything hurt too much, and he had to try not to move.

"Right, before they take me out," he muttered, eyes locked on the sergeant. "What do you want first? Names or places?"

stonyfaced November 11 2008, 05:59:40 UTC

"You can get protection for that," Vimes said in response to the muttered comment, but it was more of a formality than anything else, and an obvious one at that. They could hardly manage to protect their own men and the civilians, let alone the people who got in enough shit to actually have information on the people.

He forced himself to meet the hard gaze straight on. "Whichever one makes more sense." A pause. "Places, then." Places always made more sense. They pretended not to know the territories, not to really know, but they did. They stayed away from mob territory if it wasn't necessary. It spelled out trouble, after all ( ... )

Thread 8