|Dean Winchester (walkthefineline) wrote in drinkingdjinn,|
@ 2009-04-18 14:22:00
|Entry tags:||sam winchester|
Episode 1x01 - Drinking Djinn
Who: Dean Winchester (Djinn), Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer
When: A month after How To Ask Your Brother Out
What: Something's wrong with Dean.
Where: Random Town, Illinois
Dean might be a little drunk, but only a little. Just because he does not recognize this particular bar does not mean he is completely lost. He hopes. He debates a few asses in tight jeans, but he has Carmen to think of, Carmen's going to be pissed when he shows up late and drunk again, but hey, it was a rough day, he deserves to unwind a bit. Maybe it is her night shift, he cannot remember. What day is it? He sighs and leans back, running his hand through his hair and taking another swig from his bottle.
Jesus, he's going to kill Dean, one of these days. Seriously, he is. Especially since Dean has the car, so Sam gets to walk from the motel to the closest bar, hoping that Dean's there because otherwise, his ass is out of luck.
And there's Dean, slumped against the counter, shockingly enough not hitting on and sleazy looking girls. Maybe miracles do exist. Sam sighs and gently takes the bottle away, setting it behind the counter. "Come on, let's get you back to the room before you do some serious damage," he sighs, tugging at Dean's arm to encourage him to stand.
Dean jumps, not even having noticed Sam come up. He looks up at him blearily, a stunned look crossing his face. "Sam?" What the hell was Sam doing here? His plane was not supposed to come in until tomorrow. Figures the bastard would have to show up early and ruin his night by deciding to drunk herd. He scowls, pulling his arm away from Sam's hold. "What?"
"Come on, you're wasted. Gimme your keys, I'm driving you back." He holds out his hand, eyebrows raised, gesturing for Dean to hand over the keys to the Impala. It kills him when Dean does this -- really seriously drinking to get drunk. And now Sam will have to put up with a grumpy, hung over Dean. Which is always a party.
Dean's hand goes protectively to his keys. "Hell no, I'm not letting you drive my car!" He stands up, swaying a little bit. "I can drive just fine." At least, he could, if the room stayed still long enough. He glares upwards; he always forgets how tall Sam is.
"You're drunk off your ass, I'm not letting you drive your car." Sam rolls his eyes and reaches into Dean's pocket to grab his keys. "You're about to fall over. Don't make me carry you out of here, Dean." Stupid stubborn jerk.
"Hey!" Dean stumbles back, falling against the bar in an attempt to keep Sam from his keys. "Asshole! Give those back!" God damn little jerk with his monkey arms. Huge jerk. Whatever. Mom probably put him up to this, he thinks sourly.
"Okay, that's it, I'm dragging you out." He wraps an arm around Dean's waist, grabbing Dean's other arm and hauling it around his neck. It's times like these when Sam's glad he's the bigger one. Not that Dean's little, exactly, but he's compact enough that he's not awkward to pull around.
Dean tries to break free, fighting against him, but damn, his little brother has gotten strong. They got into a few tussles as a kid - okay, maybe he kicked his brother's ass once or twice when he was being a twerp - but he had never been this powerful. Dean has no choice but to be dragged along, cursing all the way.
"I am not above knocking you unconscious, you know," he mutters, sighing and shoving Dean into the front seat. "Stay," he commands, pointing a finger at him and raising his eyebrows in emphasis. Once Dean is -- more or less on the seat, he shuts the door and heads around to hop in the driver's seat.
That gives Dean a moment's pause, staring at Sam as he walks around to the front of the car and gets in - damn it, he is going to drive his car, the bastard. Sam has never said anything near so violent before, and that startles him a bit. He rubs at his arm, glaring as Sam from the passenger seat. "You been working out, or what?" he mumbles, irritated.
Fuck, Dean's drunker than Sam thought. "Sure, Dean," he rolls his eyes, "I've been working out." He shakes his head and heads back to their crappy motel, manhandling Dean out of the car and into the room unceremoniously.
Dean looks baffled, looking around and taking in the sights of the room. Why the hell were they in a motel? A cheap, skanky looking motel, at that. It looked like something he brought bar girls back to. He looks at Sam, but something about him is unnerving; he looks taller than the last time he saw him, and he carries himself different, like someone had gone and shaved off all the soft edges, leaving behind something sharp and solid. Maybe he just wants to keep him here until he sobers up, so Carmen will not find out. Or he does not hit on Jess. Or something. He hopes that is the case.
This is worrisome. "Are you okay, Dean?" He's seen his brother drunk but -- not like this. Usually it takes a lot to get Dean even buzzed. He pulls back the covers on Dean's bed, rubbing at his forehead to ward off a headache. "You -- sit," he points to Dean, then to the bed, planning on at least getting his shoes off before Dean passes out.
"I'm fine." It comes out quieter than he meant it to. He awkwardly obeys, sitting on the edge of the bed. God, he is drunk, that is all this is, it is fucking with him. And Sam always looks bigger when you have not seen him for a while. He leans back against the headboard, head swimming.
Sam crouches down to unlace and pull Dean's boots off, setting them by the end of the bed. "Come on," he smiles, gently, "You should sleep." He watches Dean's eyes, trying to figure out what's upset him so much. He brushes his fingers over Dean's jaw, wishing he could help, somehow.
Dean pulls back, resenting being treated like a child. He nearly barks at him, but Sam's being so nice, and that in and of itself is bizarre. "II'm good," he mutters, pulling himself fulling into the bed, watching Sam warily.
"Alright, fine. I believe you." Which he doesn't, but -- Dean's not going to talk about it. Not even this smashed. He kicks his own boots off and stretches out behind Dean on the bed, spooning close and nuzzling into Dean's hair, fully intending on holding him until he falls asleep.
It takes Dean a second to move due to the shock, and when he does it is sudden, throwing Sam off and ending up standing by the edge of the bed. "What the hell, Sam?" He stares at his brother like he has never seen the man before.
Sam sits up sharply, looking hurt and confused. "What the hell what? How much have you had to drink? Jesus Christ, Dean." This isn't -- this isn't right. He knows Dean doesn't like to talk about their relationship, outside of when they fuck, but this -- this stings. The rejection and disgust he feels from Dean.
"How much have you?" Dean shoots back. He is certain that he cannot be that drunk, to hallucinate that Sam was trying to - to - cuddle with him. There is something absolutely, utterly wrong with all of this, but he cannot put his finger on it.
"None -- Dean, don't do this," he pleads, standing and moving over to him. "I'm sorry -- I won't -- I won't do that anymore, if you don't like it, or whatever." He gently cups a hand over Dean's cheek, kissing him tenderly, trying to make it up to him.
Dean pinwheels backwards, trying to get away from him, looking stunned and disgusted and afraid. "Have you gone nuts?" he half-yells. He needs to find a phone, call Carmen to come get him, someone to get him away from his brother, who has apparently lost his mind.
Sam looks utterly heartbroken, pushing a hand through his hair and sighing. "No -- yes. Maybe. Look, I'm sorry. Just -- go to bed. I'm going to go out for a while. We'll figure something out in the morning." Now he feels like he needs to go get drunk. Maybe pick up a bottle of something and come back to the room, so he doesn't get stuck at a bar. Which is... probably a bad idea, considering. Maybe he just needs fresh air.
He cannot figure this out. It makes no sense. Did his brother bring him to a hotel to try and have sex with him? That is more nuts than just being kissed. And what were they going to be figuring out? Sam's dose of crazy? He shakes his head, trying to clear it. "What the hell ever, Sam. Just call Carmen to come get me, okay?" His tone is a bit pleading; he just wants to get away.
"Who's Carmen? Scratch that -- I don't even want to know." Probably some random girl who gave him her number at the bar. "Just -- get some sleep. You need it. I'll... I'll be back later." He rubs at his eyes, frustrated and confused and tired and hurt.
"She's my- " He stops, looking lost. He cannot even get angry at Sam, because- something is so obviously wrong with him. If he ever had a spark of brotherly concern, it is flaring up now. "Hey, wait, we'll call someone, okay?" Like the hospital. Or Jess, or Mom, or someone to take Sam off his hands. Sam has to be on something weird ass they cooked up at Stanford- some sort of meth or something.
"We don't need to -- call anyway. Who'd we call, anyway? No I just -- you need to sleep and I need to clear my head." He pushes his hands through his hair, trying to figure out what went wrong, and where. If it was his fault, somehow, whatever was going on with Dean. If he pushed it too far and Dean recoiled.
"Carmen! Or - Jess or hell, Mom if you want." He would much rather deal with his mother and her disappointed looks, at the moment, then whatever was wrong with Sam. Let her see him drunk, it was nothing she had not seen before.
"That's not funny, Dean!" Sam snaps, glaring at his brother. Jesus, he just wants to get out of here. Go curl up somewhere away from all this -- madness. Away from whatever the hell has got Dean.
"What's not funny? What the hell is wrong with you?" He cannot figure it out, for the life of him. He feels like he is missing something extremely important, but he is without a clue. He just wants something to start making sense about this whole mess. Like it or not, he is actually worried about Sam, and wants the bitchface little twerp back, because at least he can understand that.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" Sam stares at Dean in disbelief. "Mom is dead, Dean. She died twenty-five years ago. And the same thing that killed her, killed Jess. I had to watch Jess die, and I wasn't able to stop it. So if you have some way of calling them that I don't know about? Go for it. Cuz I'd really love to talk to them again."
Dean stares back in absolute horror. "What the fuck are you on, Sam?" he asks, voice almost quiet from shock. The thought of Mom being dead - he cannot even really comprehend that, because she is such a staple in his life - she has always been there. And Jess- Jess was fine, last time he heard, not that he even paid that much attention to news from Stanford. It just- does not make sense. "Is it drugs? It's drugs, isn't it? You're hallucinating and you've decided to fuck me around because of it. Where the hell is my phone, I'm getting out of here." He starts to look for his phone, digging through his pockets and then his jacket.
"Come on, Dean, you know me. You know I'd never do anything like that! Tequilla, maybe. But never drugs." Sam sighs and falls into a chair, feeling completely drained. Whatever is going on, Sam doesn't like it, but he can't for the life of him figure out what could cause -- amnesia, or whatever this is. "We should call Bobby," he says, to no one in particular.
"Who's Bobby?" he snaps, turning his search to the nightstand and its drawer. He digs through it and then leaps back like something tried to bite him. He stares at the drawer, voice suddenly very unsure. "Sam?"
"What, Dean?" Sam sighs, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, wanting to disappear into the chair. Who's Bobby indeed. Whenever he finds whatever did this to Dean, he's so going to kick its ass.
There is a high note of fear in his voice. "Why do you have a gun?" God, his brother has gone insane. Really, really fucking insane, and he was trapped in this room with him and apparently a gun. He quickly shut the drawer; he had to keep Sam away from that. He was just crazy enough at this point that he might do something stupid with him. Like shoot somebody. And, well, there was only one viable target, and the thought made his stomach turn in terror.
e cracks open an eye, "Have you seen the back of your car lately?" He sighs and pushes himself out of his chair, digging into his bag to try and find his own cellphone. "I'm calling Bobby, something's really not right here." And he wants to find out what it is as soon as
"What's in the back of my car?" he demands, panicked. "Who's Bobby? What the hell is going on, Sam?" He looks at his brother, completely lost and scared.
"Dean, please just sit, I'll explain everything in a minute." He's losing patience and honestly, starting to get scared. Sam dials Bobby's number, keeping a wary eye on Dean.
Dean slowly sits on the bed, keeping a wary eye on the nightstand.
"'Allo?" Bobby's tone is careful and guarded, as always.
"Um, yeah, hi, it's Sam." How... the hell does he go about telling Bobby this? "Something weird's got Dean. I mean like -- weirder than our usual weird. Is there anything you know of that could cause... temporary amnesia, or something like that?"
As he speaks, he grabs John's notebook out of his bag and boots up his laptop. So help him, he will find this thing.
"Why kind of amnesia? Like I got so drunk last night I don't remember who I slept with amnesia, or something worse?" Bobby's manner is completely casual, even though he too is quickly grabbing research materials, ready for an answer.
"I found him in a bar, so I thought it was the first one. But this is more of a... thinking Mom is still around amnesia." He flips rapidly though the notebook, glancing back at Dean now and then to make sure he's not going anywhere.
"...that's different. What's the last thing he remembers?" Dean is still sitting where he should be, though he is looking for his phone again. He finds one- does not look like his, but he flips it open anyway, looking for numbers he knows.
"Um -- hold on." Sam pulls the phone away and turns back to Dean. "Dean -- um. What's the last thing you remember, before I found you in the bar?" ... there's a fun question right there.
"I was at work," he responds, not looking up. Shit, there are a ton of girls in this thing, and he can not remember a single one. Why are they all labeled by state? There's a Bobby, and a Sammy (wtf,) but the only other likely one is 'Dad.'
"... gotchya." He puts the phone back to his ear, "He was at work, apparently -- where exactly do you work, Dean?" Unless he means some new credit card scam.
"The shop." He says it in a matter-of-fact tone, as if Sam should know exactly what he means. Then he remembers that Sam's so off kilter he might not, so he amends it: "Dad's shop." He pushes the 'send' button and puts it up to his ear, fidgeting and hoping that he picks up.
"Work, huh? You sure you don't have a confused shapeshifter on your hands?" There is the sound of flipped pages over the phone.
"... he works in Dad's shop. I'm guessing that's not quite the same thing as what... we usually do. Also, he had a complete spaz fit when he found his gun. It... might be a confused shapeshifter, I guess, but that doesn't seem quite right." Sam looks back over at Dean, raising his eyebrows, "Who're you calling?"
'Shapeshifter?' Dean mouths in disbelief. Nothing but the voicemail; he grows even more confused when the message tells him to call himself, at a number he is pretty sure he has never had. "Dad," he mutters, taking the phone away from his ear and staring at it.
"You've checked him for possession, right? Run an EMF meter over him? What was he doing before this?"
"... yeah, calling Dad's not gonna work either, sorry." Back to Bobby, "Um, no," he admits, sheepishly. "I got distracted by dragging his drunk ass home, and then he freaked out on me, so I called you." He moves over to Dean's duffle and starts digging through it for the holy water and EMF. He'll have to sneak up on him, for this, probably.
Dean stands up, shifting towards the bathroom in a slight attempt to be sneaky, pressing the numbers '9-1-1' carefully.
"Sam." Bobby's tone is disapproving. "Where was he before the bar?"
"He was with me, we'd wrapped up a hunt!" Sam notices Dean snaking off and grabs him by the back of the shirt. "Nuh uh. And give me that." He snatches the phone away and tucks it into his own pocket, frowning at Dean. "Gimme a minute, I'll -- check him out." Even if he has to sit on him to do it.
"What kind of hunt?" Bobby asks evenly. Maybe that's the whole problem, right there, whatever these boys had gotten wind of messing with them.
"Hey!" Dean makes a grab for the phone. "Dude, you need serious help. Give me the phone back."
"Ghost -- you think maybe the ghost is... in him, somehow?" He sighs and turns the EMF on before Dean can protest, but it stays stubbornly silent. "EMF says no ghost. Could the reading be off?"
"It'd be a weird ghost," Bobby murmurs. "You figure out whose it was? What was it doing? - doubtful, but I suppose anything is possible."
Dean tries to figure out why Sam is threatening him with a busted walky-talky with brite-lites on it. "Ghost? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Well -- we think it was a ghost, at least. We're still sort of in the 'find it so we can kill it', stage. It could be something else." As the EMF gets put away, Dean gets Holy Water splashed in his face, to no effect. "Not a demon, either. You want me to salt him or something? I don't know what to do here, Bobby."
Bobby can hear Dean's "What the FUCK?" from the other end of the line. "Well, at least he sounds like Dean. Suppose it wouldn't hurt, but I doubt it'll do much good." He sighs. "You pack the idjit up and get here as soon as you can, okay. Call me on the road and give me the details about the case, and I'll see if I can't figure something out by the time you get here."
"I may have to lasso him, but I'll get him there. I'll see you as soon as possible, Bobby." He hangs up and shuts his computer, gathering his shit together, then packing up Dean's -- gun and all. "We're going to see Bobby. He's -- an old friend of Dad's. Maybe he can help us figure out what the hell is going on here."
"What? No, no way I'm going anywhere with you." Dean backs up, not liking this one bit. The kissing, the claiming everyone's dead, and now talking about ghosts? He wipes his face on his sleeve, trying to skirt around Sam to get to the door.
"Dean -- I really don't have time to explain right now, but I promise I'll tell you everything once we get in the car." Not seeing many other options, Sam tackles his brother around the waist; at the very least, he has to get him to the car.
Dean opens his mouth to protest, but then he is freaking tackled, and flailing in an attempt to escape, but there is little fighting someone of Sam's size and strength.
"I know this is kind -- okay really seriously weird, but please, Dean. Just trust me?" Sam looks down at him pleadingly, just wanting to get him in the car so they can get to Bobby and fix this.
He chews on his lip before responding, but stops fighting. "- if you let me try and call Carmen in the car." Granted, getting in the car with a nutcase is never a smart idea, even if that nutcase is your brother, but it does not look like he has much choice and he does not want to be dragged again.
Sam sighs and nods, "You can try to call Carmen in the car. Now -- grab a bag and let's get out of here, it's a long drive out to see Bobby." At least Dean isn't freaking out or trying to run away again. He doesn't want to have to pistol whip and drag him out of there unconcious.
Dean carefully steps back and picks up a bag obediantly, heading out to the car. He glances around, and is beginning to realize that he does not recognize this part of town. Really not recognize it, as in he has never seen it before in his life. "Sam? We're not in Lawrence, are we?" Figures, this day just needed to get weirder.
"Nope." He remembers the arsenal in the trunk and quickly adds, "Just -- toss the bag in the back seat." Sam slides into the driver's seat again, resting his head on the wheel and sighing tiredly.
Dean does what he is told and sits in the passenger seat without complaint, glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eye. He swallows heavily and holds out his hand for the phone.
Oh -- right. Sam hands over the phone and starts the car. On a whim, he sticks in a Metallica tape; if it really is Dean, maybe the music will -- trigger some sort of memory, or something. Who knows.
At least he did not mess up his music. He punches buttons on the phone and holds it up to his ear, but all he gets is an annoying tone and a 'the phone number you have dialed is not available.' He shuts the phone, looking worried. Glancing up, he frowns at the dash.
"Why's there a tape player in here?"
... Sam speeds up, determined to get to Bobby's as fast as possible. "Because you don't own anything but tapes. Check the shoe box under your seat." This is getting weirder by the second, honestly.
Dean does, flipping through it. "What the hell. What am I, seventy?" He puts it away quickly, weirded out. "Okay. Please start with the explaining."
"Crap -- where do you want me to start? Apparently you're missing the last twenty five years of your -- of our life. What... exactly do you know? What do you think your life is like?" He glances over at Dean cautiously.
Dean runs his hands through his hair, trying to figure out how to consdense his life into a paragraph. "I live in Lawrence? We've always lived there. I live with my girlfriend. I work at Dad's shop as a mechanic. You go to school at Stanford. Studying to be a lawyer or something."
"We're still in Lawrence?" God this is weird. "And you -- you, Dean Winchester, have managed a steady girlfriend?" He pauses for a long time, hestitating to ask the question he's both dying to and terrified of asking. "You mentioned Mom and Jess..."
"Yeah, that's Carmen." Okay, so maybe 'steady' is wishful thinking, but they are getting better. At least, he thinks so, this time around. "Yeah, Mom's certainly not-" He nearly stumbles on the word. "-dead. And Jess was just fine, last I heard. You were supposed to show up tomorrow..."
Sam swallows hard, biting down on his lip to keep from tearing up. "Jess -- " his voice cracks and he has to clear his throat. "Jess and I are together, still? At Stanford together?"
"Yeah." He glances over at him, hearing his voice crack. He hesitates a moment before continuing. "You- just got engaged. Mom doesn't even know yet."
Sam nearly swerves off the road and has to pull the car onto the shoulder, so he doesn't crash the damn thing. "Engaged..." he murmurs, leaning his head back against the seat and trying to breathe, trying to hold back tears. Engaged -- god it wasn't fair. He wants to go to -- wherever it is this Dean comes from.
"Jeez, watch the road!" Dean grabs on to the arm of the door to keep himself steady. He gives Sam a worried look, not even sure he wants to know. "...what- do you think happened? She- died?"
He nods, tearfully, rubbing his hands over his face. "The died. The thing -- the thing that got Mom. That Dad spent his whole life hunting. It got Jess, too. I watched her die, and I couldn't do a damn thing to save her."
"Dad's dead too?" Did this Sam not know anyone who wasn't dead? He sits back in the seat, feeling numb. He wishes he could believe that this was just a dream, just a nightmare, and that he could wake up.
Another nod; Sam feels helpless and completely alone, with this stranger that looks like Dean in the car. "Dad's dead. It's -- it's just us now. Or it was. I don't know what's going on. Your life sounds a lot better." He laughs, tearfully, so he doesn't break down completely.
Dean chews on his lip quietly. "Your life sounds like it sucks." He hopes this is just a mental breakdown of some sort. Someone slipped LSD into his drink or something. He does not really care who is having the breakdown, Sam or him, as long as none of this is actually true.
"You and I do okay. Drive around the country. Killing nasty things." He gestures to the duffle in the back. "That's why we have the holy water and the EMF -- for demons and ghosts. Go look in the trunk, if you want. You can see exactly what our life is like, here."
"Demons and ghosts." God, he should of expected that sort of nuttiness. He does not even try to process that, focusing on something else. "So we- work together?" That sounds about as nuts as ghosts, right there.
"Yeah, we do. The family business, I guess. Only we don't -- work in a shop, we hunt down demons and ghosts. Anything bad or evil out there, if it's hurting somebody, we kill it." Sam looks over to see how Dean's taking everything. About as well as he expected, really. "You came and got me at Stanford one day. Dad had gone missing -- you and I went to go try and find him. When we came back, Jess was..."
"How do we manage not to kill each other?" he wonders outloud, leaning his head against the window. He is really tired, all the sudden, worn out by all the confusion and fear of ending up- wherever he has.
"It was hard, at first. But we were forced to spend so much time together, we sort of had to get along." He leans back in his seat again, sighing. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm sorry this isn't -- the life you know. I wish it was."
"And we managed? There's a miracle." He sighs as well, rubbing a hand over his face. "I just want to sleep."
"You can sleep, I'm sort of -- hyped up. I'll drive for a while. We'll stop at another hotel, in a couple hours, if you want. I just want to get some road behind us, first." Maybe the drive will clear his head a bit.
"Yeah, fine, whatever." Dean shifts and tries to get comfortable, closing his eyes and desperately hoping that the headache that has been coming on for the last half-hour goes away.
Sam reaches out to brushes his fingers against Dean's cheek, or his lips, then jerks his hand back. Now's not the time to get into their relationship. Especially not with everything he's already dumped on Dean. He shuts the radio off and starts the car again, heading off down the road.