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st_andingtallSam tells Dean what he learned from Henry.
After patching Henry (his grandfather, jesusfuck) up, Sam didn't return to the group right away. And when he did, he jerked his chin at Dean and said, "Field surgery," to explain his absence, and then went back to making sure the newcomers were doing okay. He would tell Dean, but it wasn't gonna go well and he didn't want to do it in public.
Telling Dean they needed to talk later wouldn't work, because Dean sucked at later, and he'd ask what about and hound Sam until he said something. Then it wouldn't be later and the skeletons in their family closet would explode in the middle of the Copper Cafe.
But eventually there'd been no one new for an hour, then two, and the original four agreed this probably meant there wouldn't be anyone else for awhile. That was when Sam managed to catch Dean without one of the half-dozen blondes who'd turned up that night. "Learned something pretty fucked up. Meet me at the room?"
"Great, shit was gettin' too normal." Sarcasm? Probably. "Wanna go now? It's gonna bug me if we don't." Come on, more fucked up than Mom making a deal with a demon? That was a nearly unsurpassable level of fucked up.
"Yeah, sure." Didn't look like any of the blondes were going to pan out, at least not yet. And since they were all trapped, that meant Dean would have to be careful. His usual M.O. of being at least a hundred miles away before the chick could get pissed about not getting a call would not work. There wasn't really 100 miles to go, even. "How fucked up, scale of one to Bloody Mary?"
"On a scale from one to mom made a deal with a demon, it's more fucked up." But not worse. Just weird. Dean would probably go ballistic, but Sam just didn't know what to think. Henry didn't seem like a guy who'd have run out on his family, and the Men of Letters sounded like something he'd have wanted to be a part of. And with Dad gone... it wasn't like they really had a lot of family besides each other.
"Great, shit was gettin' too normal." Sarcasm? Probably. "Wanna go now? It's gonna bug me if we don't." Come on, more fucked up than Mom making a deal with a demon? That was a nearly unsurpassable level of fucked up.
"Yeah. I was on my way there."
* * *
Back in the room, Sam handed Dean another beer and dropped himself at the end of his bed. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, took a swig of beer, and rubbed his hand over his face from top to bottom. Christ on a crutch. How was he supposed to tell Dean that their grandfather just showed up?
"What do you know about Dad's family?" Probably not more than Sam, but it might help if he did.
"His mom's disappeared or dead or somethin', and his dad ditched'em when he was little." And that was a fun bit of knowledge, really, because of how often it'd come out as 'you oughta be glad, my dad ditched me but I didn't ditch you'. Yeah, Dad, super glad. "Why?"
"Uh. Because that guy that I patched up in the gift shop is Dad's dad." Well, that was one way to tell him. Sam sighed and sucked down the rest of his beer. "Before you ask, yeah, I'm sure. He knew stuff about Dad's journal that no one could know."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Not even him, considerin' he was long gone before Dad could even read."
"You ever wonder what the 'HW' behind the picture is, up front?" Sam got up, grabbed the journal, and opened it to the front, to show him. He lifted the picture then stabbed at it with his finger. "Henry Winchester. He ordered the journal before he shipped out."
Dean shrugged. "Whatever. One more thing to keep an eye on so we can catch it before it screws us over."
"You know the tune Dad used to hum sometimes?" Sam hummed a few notes, but it felt weird as hell. "It's from an old music box that Henry got him to help him fall asleep after he got freaked out at some Abbot and Costello movie."
"Yaaaay but I don't give a shit, dude." It was weird to think about Dad being scared by some old comedy that probably didn't have any actually-scary things in it, but still.... "We keep an eye on him so we can shut it down before he screws us over. That's it."
"You're not even curious what he's like? He's our grandfather, dude." Yeah, okay, maybe Sam was having trouble with that, but there was nothing guaranteed to get him on-side faster than Dean being stubborn.
"We already know enough about what he's like, Sammy." How was Sam not getting this? "He's like someone who ditched his wife an' kid without lookin' back. So we watch out to make sure he doesn't screw us over, too. Nothin' else to it."
"I don't think that's what happened. He keeps talking about time travel using a blood sigil, and if he doesn't make it back, there will be no one to teach dad what he should know." It wasn't so much that he wanted Dean to forgive him or whatever, just... "He knows stuff, Dean. Not just about Dad. He claims to be something called a 'Man of Letters'. They're a group who know things about what we hunt. Dad was supposed to learn about the supernatural before he ever met mom."
“Sammy, ‘supposed to’ means jack shit.” And Sam should know that, shouldn’t he? He’d been ‘supposed to’ go to law school and marry his girl, but none of that had actually happened. “If you wanna camp out with the dude, go for it. But I’m gonna remember that the reality is he left, he didn’t come back, and that means trusting him’s a dumbass move.”
"I'm not saying we trust him with our lives or anything." Sam tipped his bottle back and gave himself the space of a long swallow to pull his thoughts back together. "Just thinking it might be nice to take advantage of what he knows." He shrugged. "I told him to stay away from you and let you come to him if you wanted. He said he would."
"Thanks, dude." Curiosity would kill Dean's inner stubbornness-cat sooner or later, almost certainly, but at least this way he knew he could choose the time and place. And, not that he was a complicated guy, but it was actually pretty cool that Sammy knew him well enough to have already put that stopgap in, so the 'thanks' was genuine instead of I-stopped-listening-to-you-three-minutes-ago punctuation.
Since Dean wasn't being a dick, Sam decided enough was enough. "Yeah. No problem, man," he said and then went off yellow alert. "Meet anyone interesting?"
“Teenager who thought I was God for a minute or two, Vikingish dude with an axe who seemed pretty used to time-or-whatever travel, redhead I don’t know but who knew me.” And seemed kind of fond of him, which was actually kind of weird for hot redheads after he’d skipped town. “Nobody really pinged as dangerous right off the bat. Mostly confused an’ sad.”
"Met a cop who seemed pretty used to time-or-whatever travel. Seemed like a decent guy. Blonde who downed more than half a bottle of Jack, freaking out a little. Brunette loaded for bear, beat to hell, coming in off going toe-to-toe with zombies. River, who pretty much thinks like one." Telling Dean she read minds was only going to cause trouble, so he didn't. "Wild and all over the place, but kinda sweet. And Molly. Nerdy blonde wizard." Calling dibs would've been crass.
“Yeah, well, I got a Miss Fisher. Hot Australian pilot chick.” Not that Dean seriously thought The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher would appreciate being a ‘chick’, but hey. Their chat hadn’t gone as well as it probably could have, and he could apologize later if he had to. “So, not the worst group it could be.”
"The one with the short black hair?" Sam had seen Dean talking to her. At the time, his first thought had been 'so out of your league', but he always thought that, and somehow Dean managed to get a date anyway. "You get her room number?" He had Molly's, and Sansa's, but that was just for checking up on her.
"That's the one, and nope. Slow play. An' also bein' stuck here freaked her out a lot." It wouldn't be hard to get her room number, next time he ran into her. Probably.
"Man, can you even imagine being a civilian and ending up in something like this?" Sam shook his head, all kinds of sympathetic. Then it hit him. "Oh hey, that cop was Australian. From the past. Her too? Maybe they know each other."
"Bet we'll find out pretty damn fast if they do." This sort of place was close quarters in the long term, everybody was going to learn everything about everybody. That being the case.... "Since we're stuck here and got a grandpa runnin' around, Sammy, I think we're gonna have to accept now that our cover's just not gonna last long."
"Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs away from his face. "Keeping it from Molly was impossible, but she already knew shit. I figure we can stick with the investigator thing easy enough. Just don't deny the supernatural part if people twig to it. Might as well drop the fake last names, though."
"Agreed." Maybe under normal circumstances they'd have fought - Dean was still sort of wanted for murder in four states under his own name, or dead under his own name, or a bunch of stuff that made using-his-real-name an automatic shitstorm. But these weren't normal circumstances, and Dean was betting that 'Winchester' wouldn't mean a lot to most people at the Inn anyway. "Apart from Molly, the redhead with the legs - Jaime - prob'ly knows our real names too. She knew me on sight, anyway."
"Jaime." Not ringing a bell, but if alternate universes and timelines were a thing, then there was no reason he would. "I'll introduce myself. See what happens." He kind of scowled a little, then, and said, "Are you sure you didn't sleep with her and forget her?" It wouldn't be the first time.
"Dude. Redhead with legs for days. I wouldn't forget her." Not that he hadn't forgotten other redheads with legs for days, but meh. "Besides, she was kinda a cougar an' that's not my usual."
Sam refrained from observing that a redhead with legs for days would be his type as long as she didn't look old enough to be their mom. Instead he shrugged. "She probably would've slapped you if you had forgotten her, so that's a good argument against."
“Yeah, and with my luck lately she’d be a lefty.” Most people were right-handed, so one side of Dean’s face was a lot more used to getting slapped than the other. “It’s gonna be interestin’ to be stuck in one place for awhile.” It couldn’t be as permanent as it seemed, there had to be a way… but there were worse prisons in the meantime. Still, interesting was the least profane word he could come up with.
"Last time I was stuck in one place for awhile, I got a degree. Somehow I think this is going to be different kind of interesting." Like the old Chinese proverb. "Wish I knew whether time was moving the same here as out there. I've got to get you out of that deal."
“I dunno, maybe there’s a correspondence course you can do here or some shit.” If he wanted another degree or something. At the mention of the deal, Dean shrugged. He still didn’t think it was so bad, and he absolutely didn’t remember making any deal, but arguing with Sam about it had already been a no go. “However time’s movin’ anywhere, I’m in here with you. So at worst we just smoke whatever comes for me when time’s up.”
Sam could've argued with Dean but what was the point? He just shrugged and said, "Yeah," and let himself fall back to the bed. After a few long minutes in which he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't asleep, he rubbed his eyes with his hand. "I'm beat. People are exhausting." And so was being up for forty-eight hours and half of it drinking.
After patching Henry (his grandfather, jesusfuck) up, Sam didn't return to the group right away. And when he did, he jerked his chin at Dean and said, "Field surgery," to explain his absence, and then went back to making sure the newcomers were doing okay. He would tell Dean, but it wasn't gonna go well and he didn't want to do it in public.
Telling Dean they needed to talk later wouldn't work, because Dean sucked at later, and he'd ask what about and hound Sam until he said something. Then it wouldn't be later and the skeletons in their family closet would explode in the middle of the Copper Cafe.
But eventually there'd been no one new for an hour, then two, and the original four agreed this probably meant there wouldn't be anyone else for awhile. That was when Sam managed to catch Dean without one of the half-dozen blondes who'd turned up that night. "Learned something pretty fucked up. Meet me at the room?"
"Great, shit was gettin' too normal." Sarcasm? Probably. "Wanna go now? It's gonna bug me if we don't." Come on, more fucked up than Mom making a deal with a demon? That was a nearly unsurpassable level of fucked up.
"Yeah, sure." Didn't look like any of the blondes were going to pan out, at least not yet. And since they were all trapped, that meant Dean would have to be careful. His usual M.O. of being at least a hundred miles away before the chick could get pissed about not getting a call would not work. There wasn't really 100 miles to go, even. "How fucked up, scale of one to Bloody Mary?"
"On a scale from one to mom made a deal with a demon, it's more fucked up." But not worse. Just weird. Dean would probably go ballistic, but Sam just didn't know what to think. Henry didn't seem like a guy who'd have run out on his family, and the Men of Letters sounded like something he'd have wanted to be a part of. And with Dad gone... it wasn't like they really had a lot of family besides each other.
"Great, shit was gettin' too normal." Sarcasm? Probably. "Wanna go now? It's gonna bug me if we don't." Come on, more fucked up than Mom making a deal with a demon? That was a nearly unsurpassable level of fucked up.
"Yeah. I was on my way there."
* * *
Back in the room, Sam handed Dean another beer and dropped himself at the end of his bed. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, took a swig of beer, and rubbed his hand over his face from top to bottom. Christ on a crutch. How was he supposed to tell Dean that their grandfather just showed up?
"What do you know about Dad's family?" Probably not more than Sam, but it might help if he did.
"His mom's disappeared or dead or somethin', and his dad ditched'em when he was little." And that was a fun bit of knowledge, really, because of how often it'd come out as 'you oughta be glad, my dad ditched me but I didn't ditch you'. Yeah, Dad, super glad. "Why?"
"Uh. Because that guy that I patched up in the gift shop is Dad's dad." Well, that was one way to tell him. Sam sighed and sucked down the rest of his beer. "Before you ask, yeah, I'm sure. He knew stuff about Dad's journal that no one could know."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Not even him, considerin' he was long gone before Dad could even read."
"You ever wonder what the 'HW' behind the picture is, up front?" Sam got up, grabbed the journal, and opened it to the front, to show him. He lifted the picture then stabbed at it with his finger. "Henry Winchester. He ordered the journal before he shipped out."
Dean shrugged. "Whatever. One more thing to keep an eye on so we can catch it before it screws us over."
"You know the tune Dad used to hum sometimes?" Sam hummed a few notes, but it felt weird as hell. "It's from an old music box that Henry got him to help him fall asleep after he got freaked out at some Abbot and Costello movie."
"Yaaaay but I don't give a shit, dude." It was weird to think about Dad being scared by some old comedy that probably didn't have any actually-scary things in it, but still.... "We keep an eye on him so we can shut it down before he screws us over. That's it."
"You're not even curious what he's like? He's our grandfather, dude." Yeah, okay, maybe Sam was having trouble with that, but there was nothing guaranteed to get him on-side faster than Dean being stubborn.
"We already know enough about what he's like, Sammy." How was Sam not getting this? "He's like someone who ditched his wife an' kid without lookin' back. So we watch out to make sure he doesn't screw us over, too. Nothin' else to it."
"I don't think that's what happened. He keeps talking about time travel using a blood sigil, and if he doesn't make it back, there will be no one to teach dad what he should know." It wasn't so much that he wanted Dean to forgive him or whatever, just... "He knows stuff, Dean. Not just about Dad. He claims to be something called a 'Man of Letters'. They're a group who know things about what we hunt. Dad was supposed to learn about the supernatural before he ever met mom."
“Sammy, ‘supposed to’ means jack shit.” And Sam should know that, shouldn’t he? He’d been ‘supposed to’ go to law school and marry his girl, but none of that had actually happened. “If you wanna camp out with the dude, go for it. But I’m gonna remember that the reality is he left, he didn’t come back, and that means trusting him’s a dumbass move.”
"I'm not saying we trust him with our lives or anything." Sam tipped his bottle back and gave himself the space of a long swallow to pull his thoughts back together. "Just thinking it might be nice to take advantage of what he knows." He shrugged. "I told him to stay away from you and let you come to him if you wanted. He said he would."
"Thanks, dude." Curiosity would kill Dean's inner stubbornness-cat sooner or later, almost certainly, but at least this way he knew he could choose the time and place. And, not that he was a complicated guy, but it was actually pretty cool that Sammy knew him well enough to have already put that stopgap in, so the 'thanks' was genuine instead of I-stopped-listening-to-you-three-minutes-ago punctuation.
Since Dean wasn't being a dick, Sam decided enough was enough. "Yeah. No problem, man," he said and then went off yellow alert. "Meet anyone interesting?"
“Teenager who thought I was God for a minute or two, Vikingish dude with an axe who seemed pretty used to time-or-whatever travel, redhead I don’t know but who knew me.” And seemed kind of fond of him, which was actually kind of weird for hot redheads after he’d skipped town. “Nobody really pinged as dangerous right off the bat. Mostly confused an’ sad.”
"Met a cop who seemed pretty used to time-or-whatever travel. Seemed like a decent guy. Blonde who downed more than half a bottle of Jack, freaking out a little. Brunette loaded for bear, beat to hell, coming in off going toe-to-toe with zombies. River, who pretty much thinks like one." Telling Dean she read minds was only going to cause trouble, so he didn't. "Wild and all over the place, but kinda sweet. And Molly. Nerdy blonde wizard." Calling dibs would've been crass.
“Yeah, well, I got a Miss Fisher. Hot Australian pilot chick.” Not that Dean seriously thought The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher would appreciate being a ‘chick’, but hey. Their chat hadn’t gone as well as it probably could have, and he could apologize later if he had to. “So, not the worst group it could be.”
"The one with the short black hair?" Sam had seen Dean talking to her. At the time, his first thought had been 'so out of your league', but he always thought that, and somehow Dean managed to get a date anyway. "You get her room number?" He had Molly's, and Sansa's, but that was just for checking up on her.
"That's the one, and nope. Slow play. An' also bein' stuck here freaked her out a lot." It wouldn't be hard to get her room number, next time he ran into her. Probably.
"Man, can you even imagine being a civilian and ending up in something like this?" Sam shook his head, all kinds of sympathetic. Then it hit him. "Oh hey, that cop was Australian. From the past. Her too? Maybe they know each other."
"Bet we'll find out pretty damn fast if they do." This sort of place was close quarters in the long term, everybody was going to learn everything about everybody. That being the case.... "Since we're stuck here and got a grandpa runnin' around, Sammy, I think we're gonna have to accept now that our cover's just not gonna last long."
"Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs away from his face. "Keeping it from Molly was impossible, but she already knew shit. I figure we can stick with the investigator thing easy enough. Just don't deny the supernatural part if people twig to it. Might as well drop the fake last names, though."
"Agreed." Maybe under normal circumstances they'd have fought - Dean was still sort of wanted for murder in four states under his own name, or dead under his own name, or a bunch of stuff that made using-his-real-name an automatic shitstorm. But these weren't normal circumstances, and Dean was betting that 'Winchester' wouldn't mean a lot to most people at the Inn anyway. "Apart from Molly, the redhead with the legs - Jaime - prob'ly knows our real names too. She knew me on sight, anyway."
"Jaime." Not ringing a bell, but if alternate universes and timelines were a thing, then there was no reason he would. "I'll introduce myself. See what happens." He kind of scowled a little, then, and said, "Are you sure you didn't sleep with her and forget her?" It wouldn't be the first time.
"Dude. Redhead with legs for days. I wouldn't forget her." Not that he hadn't forgotten other redheads with legs for days, but meh. "Besides, she was kinda a cougar an' that's not my usual."
Sam refrained from observing that a redhead with legs for days would be his type as long as she didn't look old enough to be their mom. Instead he shrugged. "She probably would've slapped you if you had forgotten her, so that's a good argument against."
“Yeah, and with my luck lately she’d be a lefty.” Most people were right-handed, so one side of Dean’s face was a lot more used to getting slapped than the other. “It’s gonna be interestin’ to be stuck in one place for awhile.” It couldn’t be as permanent as it seemed, there had to be a way… but there were worse prisons in the meantime. Still, interesting was the least profane word he could come up with.
"Last time I was stuck in one place for awhile, I got a degree. Somehow I think this is going to be different kind of interesting." Like the old Chinese proverb. "Wish I knew whether time was moving the same here as out there. I've got to get you out of that deal."
“I dunno, maybe there’s a correspondence course you can do here or some shit.” If he wanted another degree or something. At the mention of the deal, Dean shrugged. He still didn’t think it was so bad, and he absolutely didn’t remember making any deal, but arguing with Sam about it had already been a no go. “However time’s movin’ anywhere, I’m in here with you. So at worst we just smoke whatever comes for me when time’s up.”
Sam could've argued with Dean but what was the point? He just shrugged and said, "Yeah," and let himself fall back to the bed. After a few long minutes in which he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't asleep, he rubbed his eyes with his hand. "I'm beat. People are exhausting." And so was being up for forty-eight hours and half of it drinking.
