Nicholas D. Wolfwood (wolfwood) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-08-16 20:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, dean winchester, nicholas d. wolfwood |
Who: Nicholas D. Wolfwood and Dean Winchester
What: Meeting for drinks
When: Backdated to 7/24
Where: A bar near Wolfwood's place
Ratings/Warnings: PG
Status: Complete
Wolfwood might have been smiling a little extra that day. He’d had a good date the other night, and he hadn’t had to pay for it. He had a couple leads on jobs in case Frost Enterprises didn’t pan out. And he was headed over to what was becoming a favorite bar of his to get a drink with another soldier.
He liked what he’d seen of that Winchester; he seemed to have things relatively under control, or as much as anybody could after a few tours. Wolfwood never minded being someone’s sounding board, and he liked making contacts. So he headed into the bar and grabbed a beer - hey, it was after noon.
Dean was trying so very hard to be better, not for himself of course, but for Cas. So beer it was, when he kinda wanted it to be anything stronger. He could manage, right? For Cas. He’d showed up a little early so he could scope out a table that would give them both the best shot at not having their backs to the room. If things like that freaked Dean out sometimes, He was pretty sure Wolfwood would appreciate it too.
Or maybe not. Could be that the war didn’t break him like it broke Dean. Whatever the case, it was only considerate. He caught the guy when he came in, but waited for him to get his beer before he called out to him, all well rehearsed charmingly boyish smile. “Sir.” Dean stood, of course, because that was what you did.
“Oh, please, at ease. I don’t stand on ceremony when I’m on leave.” Wolfwood felt awkward when that happened most of the time. “How are you? You look surprisingly well.” He said surprisingly if only because he got the impression that all wasn’t well. Some of the things he’d posted on the valarnet hadn’t been locked.
Truth was, Dean would’ve stood for anyone he was meeting somewhere regardless of their rank or how well he knew them. He offered his hand. “I’m well practiced in the art of faking it.”
“Depressing, yet understandable.” Wolfwood shook it firmly, setting his beer down on the table. “How long have you been out, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Got out end of 2009,” Dean said, sitting down comfortably. “Got in 1997. No plans to ever go back or even get on a plane again if I can help it.” He picked idly at his bottle label. “How long you been in?”
“Since I was 19,” Wolfwood replied. “I’m 37 now, so you do the math. I’m from San Diego, I probably should have joined the Navy, but I’m perverse that way, I guess.” Being cooped up on a ship for months had sounded like hell to him. “I’m probably going back for a few more tours, but I’m with you on the planes; if I can’t sleep on ‘em I don’t like it either.”
“I can’t sleep on them at all,” Dean said, taking a swig of his drink. “Get all twitchy the whole time I’m in the air and then I get shit for singing to myself.”
“I got lucky in that regard. I just close my eyes. It was handy just now coming back.” Wolfwood had to smile. “Flew military to Germany, and then went civilian airlines from Frankfurt all the way to LA. That was a long-ass, bumpy flight, or at least that’s how it felt when I was awake.” He wondered if this man had been in Afghanistan, Iraq or both. He hoped not both.
“Lucky bastard,” Dean said, snorting. “First place I ended up was Panama and I thought they were going to kick me out of the service halfway through the flight.” Obvious fear wasn’t very becoming of a Marine after all. “Heading over to the sandbox and back? Nightmare every time.”
“Started at a disadvantage.” Wolfwood grimaced sympathetically. “I’m sure you did all right, though; I mean, you made it that many years.” It was a fine line between being truthful and being patronizing, and he didn’t want to patronize this guy. “I didn’t get scared on planes, but I do get scared doing minesweeping. That was a lot of what I did my first few years.”
He’d made it that many years and managed to get as high as an enlisted grunt could manage in what may have been something close to record time. He wasn’t sure it really mattered. “Yeah that...was not my favorite thing. Didn’t have to do it all that often myself, but hell if I didn’t worry about the men that did. My biggest peeve was finally getting shit running properly again and then IED.”
“Don’t you love it.” Wolfwood made a face. “It’s like they knew just when you finished it, and the fuckers aimed right for you.” He didn’t like to think of his time spent minesweeping - never had he felt so close to death - but at the same time, it probably made him a better soldier.
“Fucking right,” Dean said dryly. “And I had to wait so damn long to get the fucking parts I needed in the first place and there they were...all over the road.” Fucking marines. And he knew it’d been delayed constantly in part just to keep them all angry. Everyone knew it.
“Army efficiency.” Wolfwood chuckled. He tipped a salute with his beer. “What do you do here, if I can ask? I’m hoping to do security work or something similar; it’s just what I’m used to.”
“Mechanic,” Dean said, leaning back to get more comfortable in his chair. “Cars make more sense than people. They don’t ask questions or tell you you’re not recovering fast enough. It’s better for me to just get in an engine and work. Y’know?” It was what Dean was used to. People sucked. Cars didn’t.
Made sense to Wolfwood. “That must be really handy. For all the mechanical crap I had to deal with out in Kandahar, I don’t know shit about cars. Every time it hiccups I wind up by the side of the road looking like a moron.” He chuckled. “Probably my fault for driving a Toyota that was new during the Ford administration, but still.”
Dean laughed softly. “Probably your fault for driving a Toyota in general,” he teased. “If you take care of a car right, it’ll last you decades.” Kind of rich coming from a guy who rebuilt his pony from what was essentially scrap, but it was true. You just had to listen to the car properly.
“So they tell me.” Wolfwood smiled into his beer. “I inherited it, so I didn’t have much of a choice. I know enough about cars to know that I’m pretty typical and would like something that makes some noise. Maybe I’ll get a classic when I finally take a pension.”
Dean thought about it for a long moment. “I don’t know if you saw the 67 Mustang out front, but...I rebuilt that thing from an eighteen hundred dollar bucket of bolts and rust. You find something reasonably priced and I’d be willing to help you out on it at cost.” Dean’d do it too, not just because he liked Wolfwood, but because he genuinely liked big projects like that.
Wolfwood was surprised and pleased by the offer, and said as much. “That’s really nice of you. And if you did that, you are pretty talented, son.” Shit, he always slipped into the paternal frame of mind when he was talking to these guys, and none of them liked it. “Sorry. Old habits. But yeah, maybe I’ll look around. I’m still planning to re-up right now, but who knows how I’ll feel in a year.”
Dean shrugged. “Take your time. I’m kinda putting down roots here so I’ll be around a while.” Pretty talented. He laughed softly. “You should’ve seen some of the magic I worked on those rigs out in the sandbox.”
“Are you now? It looks like a good place to do that, if you can stand the crazy.” Wolfwood shrugged. “I mean, the day I landed, I find out that Vegas blew up. An ex-CO of mine gave me the lowdown, and I wondered about her mental state. And she’s one of the least crazy women I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah, well, my little brother’s here and I’m...” Dean cleared his throat, picking at his beer bottle as means to hide how excited he actually was as if being excited might jinx things somehow. “getting married on Friday. Gotta take the good with the weird, right?”
“Hey, congratulations.” Wolfwood held up his beer in a toast. “That’s great that you found a person to share your life with. I bet it helps the load on your mind.” He said person if only because he didn’t want to discriminate. There had been a few gay guys in his platoon. “And your brother’s good, too; are you guys close?”
“We’re uh...we’re trying to be. It’s a bit hard these days. I was the dick who walked out on home and joined the service and...” Dean took a swig of his beer. “Shit, hadn’t seen him in a decade and change until a few weeks ago. Couldn’t deal with bringing my demons on him y’know?”
“I don’t have anyone like that - only child - but I understand the feeling of not wanting to burden others.” Wolfwood said simply.
“It’s all kinda hard to talk about to people who weren’t there anyway,” Dean said. He shrugged and took a swig of his beer. “Whatever. I’m not going back unless they drag me so I’m not going to worry about it.”
“Yeah, moot point.” Wolfwood smiled. “It’s not for everybody. I’m never going to be one of those guys who looks down on people who leave the service, even though they’ll probably carry me out. It isn’t for everyone.” He shrugged. “Sounds like you’re making a life here, which is more than I can say.” At least for now.
Sometimes, Dean was still sure he was there despite all evidence to the contrary and that they would one day have to stick him in a bag and send his remains back to his brother. “I appreciate it.” On all counts. “I had a good run while I lasted, though. Shit, I probably could’ve been officer material if I cared enough.”
“I got lucky with my commission.” Wolfwood nodded. “I got picked for an operation up into classified territory, and as a kind of reward, I got put into the green and gold program. Got my urban planning degree, and a second lieutenant’s commission. Without that op I probably would be out at sergeant or MGS.”
“Nothing wrong with MGS,” Dean said fondly. Hey, Wolfwood was talking to one, not like he was going to complain. “I mean, Master and Gunnery are pretty good words to go by each other, for a long time they got me laid on the regular.”
Wolfwood laughed. “Well played, sir.” He shook his head. “No, though, I wouldn’t have complained about staying MGS. You just make a nice chunk more as an officer.” At least in the beginning, it had absolutely been all about the money. “The word officer wound up biting me in the ass a few times with women in Afghanistan; they wanted me to pay a crapload because they figured I could afford it!”
Dean had to stare at Wolfwood for a long moment. “Nah, man. You paid? Seriously? You actually had to pay for sex. You didn’t just pull a charming smile and get them all swoony?” Worked like a charm for Dean, and he was pretty sure Wolfwood was at least as good looking as he was. Dean would tap that. He wasn’t really comfortable with the idea that some part of him was absolutely down for it, but if he weren’t about to get married and didn’t love Cas more than life itself and Wolfwood suddenly found himself bicurious, Dean would absolutely go there. With a smile on his face and everything.
Wolfwood laughed, shaking his head. “I used some working girls when I was desperate, yeah, but no, sometimes just a casual pickup would demand I pay her.” He’d almost always paid. Afghan women were poor. It might make him an asshole, but he’d just tried to give them food for their kids.
“Huh,” Dean said. “Usually I just ended up fixing things, but...shit that’s just common decency.” Right? Some broken farm equipment or basic plumbing. “I’ve never felt more like some part of my life was a bad porn than I do thinking back on that.” And for someone who’d done porn, it said something.
“Yeah. I don’t know. I felt like a dick a lot of the time when I was off base in Kandahar. I just wanted to help when they asked.” Wolfwood sighed. “To be honest, I don’t know why I feel like the service is the only place for me; there’s some shit in it.” Obviously. “A woman I know - an ex-CO, who I like and respect, got drummed out because she came out to the wrong people. I mean, I know that shit is over now, but it still bugs me.” He didn’t even know if Shepard had her pension. She damn well better.
“The shit’s not over,” Dean said simply. “Number of women serving I know who’ve been violated and either couldn’t report it or got in trouble for reporting it...” He shook his head. Dean didn’t like thinking about how many times he’d much rather engage in friendly fire than turn his gun on the alleged terrorist of the week. “There’s always gonna be some jerkoffs who think who you love or what’s between your legs impacts how well you can give your life for your country.”
“I meant Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. The bullshit within the military will always be there.” Wolfwood made a face. “You’re absolutely right about the sexual harassment and the crap and just ... yeah.”
“And I meant Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is included in the bullshit within the service,” Dean countered.
“Don’t Ask Don’t Tell can’t be legally enforced. It doesn’t mean the homophobia will instantly vanish, but it’s better. I’ve seen that it’s better.” Wolfwood sounded tired. “I’m not saying anything’s perfect, but even the military makes strides slowly.”
Dean’s point was that if they couldn’t get you for one thing legally, they’d get you for something else when it was really tied back to the original point. He cleared his throat and changed topics. “So, why here when you made landfall?”
Wolfwood got the impression it was personal, and felt stupid. But he’d go along with the topic change. “Had some distant family who lived up here, but found out they moved during my second tour. Still, no reason to change it. Only one parent left in San Diego, none of my friends, whatever. It’s a new place.”
“At least the weather’s good,” Dean said simply. “Can’t really blame anyone for sticking around for that.” And he should know, he’d done midwestern winters and while he didn’t remember them all that clearly anymore, he really didn’t want to live them again.
“No. I do have a date soon, though?” Wolfwood smiled, mostly just joking around. “I don’t know. I spent my time in San Diego. To go back there would feel like I was twenty again.”
“Yeah? They cute?” Dean teased, smirking deviously. What, a guy was allowed to be curious. Besides, if it kept him from waxing friggen poetic about Cas, he was for it.
“She’s gorgeous.” Wolfwood said with relish, grinning. “Seems really smart, too. The best combination.”
“Good,” Dean said, and seemed actually pleased for the guy. He never did understand people who wanted a woman with a cup size larger than her IQ. It got real boring, real fast. “What’re you gonna do? Standard dinner and a movie?”
“Gonna go shoot pool, probably.” Somehow this seemed different from a normal date. “Drinks and bar food. This isn’t a fancy shmancy kind of girl.” Wolfwood chuckled.
“Best kind, really,” Dean said, shifting when his phone started vibrating in his pocket. “Ah, hell,” he said looking at the text he just got. “Listen, I gotta go put out a couple fires, but it was ah,” Dean looked up at him, smiling all charm and endearment, “good to meet you. Take care of yourself, yeah?”
“Likewise.” He rose, sticking out a hand to shake. “Here’s where I get paternal, but I do mean it: if I can help you with something, son, please let me know.” He seemed to be a nice person - somebody who needed an ear. He didn’t want to insist, but he wanted Dean to know it was there.
Dean stood and shook that hand, not quite sure what to do with that information. No way Wolfwood was that much older than him, but hell if he was going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I will,” he said with all the gravity he could muster. He gave the other man a firm nod and left some cash on the table to tip the bar staff before he moved on.