The Trickster (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
changeinasnap) wrote2010-10-20 10:40 pm
changeinasnap) wrote2010-10-20 10:40 pm
Mystery Spot
So this is how it's going to be.
He gets one look at Dean Winchester and he knows his options just got a whole lot smaller than he'd like. Chucklehead Senior may not know him with a big old capital K, but he knows enough -- and where one Winchester goes, the other always follows. They're like a pair of codependent puppies. Or a bad hangover after a night out.
...Or so he assumes. Lucky thing about literally making your own booze? All fun, no work.
But he digresses.
He gives himself a little time to weigh his options: stick it out, let it go, something he'll make up at the last second just when he needs it (always his favorite). Sheer stubbornheaded dislike shoves him right for option A, but he throws in a conciliatory nod toward option two -- not for himself, but for Kali, who gets a short note left at the bar before he heads out for the night. Heads up, is all it says. The hunters who busted me in Ohio are here.
Kali of all gods doesn't need to be told anything stupid like be careful. She'll manage fine. This is just...because he doesn't want her trying to immolate him again if she finds out from somebody else. Yeah.
And then he steps outside and just like that his little mental radar goes ping.
Here's the thing. The big guys? They've got plans for those two. They're gonna happen whether he likes them or not, but if he can put them off a little longer, he's damn well going to try. It's kind of the name of the game nowadays: stick a foot out in front of the powerful and grab some popcorn to watch them fall. Right?
The problem is that Sam and Dean just keep making it so easy for those guys to get their own toe in. It's going to get worse, too. Word on the street is that Dean's clock is ticking shorter and shorter, and Sam's getting desperate as a cheerleader on prom night to keep him alive. He'd do anything, they say. Doesn't matter if the devil himself strolled up and struck a deal: he'd take it.
That's gotta change. It's gotta change fast.
So he snaps his fingers as soon as he hears that ping -- and time loops around and takes a great big chomp out of its own tail. He keeps walking down the road, whistling to himself, before sticking out a couple fingers to snag a door handle to the local diner.
(It doesn't open on the diner right away; he takes a pit stop in Milliways first to work a little magic mojo there, too. No point to this exercise if there's an easy out, right?)
(But it takes like five minutes tops, and then -- )
Then he settles down at the counter of the diner and gets himself a big plate of pancakes. He's got a little time before they really cozy up in here.
And then?
Sam'll get to see just how it's going to be.
He gets one look at Dean Winchester and he knows his options just got a whole lot smaller than he'd like. Chucklehead Senior may not know him with a big old capital K, but he knows enough -- and where one Winchester goes, the other always follows. They're like a pair of codependent puppies. Or a bad hangover after a night out.
...Or so he assumes. Lucky thing about literally making your own booze? All fun, no work.
But he digresses.
He gives himself a little time to weigh his options: stick it out, let it go, something he'll make up at the last second just when he needs it (always his favorite). Sheer stubbornheaded dislike shoves him right for option A, but he throws in a conciliatory nod toward option two -- not for himself, but for Kali, who gets a short note left at the bar before he heads out for the night. Heads up, is all it says. The hunters who busted me in Ohio are here.
Kali of all gods doesn't need to be told anything stupid like be careful. She'll manage fine. This is just...because he doesn't want her trying to immolate him again if she finds out from somebody else. Yeah.
And then he steps outside and just like that his little mental radar goes ping.
Here's the thing. The big guys? They've got plans for those two. They're gonna happen whether he likes them or not, but if he can put them off a little longer, he's damn well going to try. It's kind of the name of the game nowadays: stick a foot out in front of the powerful and grab some popcorn to watch them fall. Right?
The problem is that Sam and Dean just keep making it so easy for those guys to get their own toe in. It's going to get worse, too. Word on the street is that Dean's clock is ticking shorter and shorter, and Sam's getting desperate as a cheerleader on prom night to keep him alive. He'd do anything, they say. Doesn't matter if the devil himself strolled up and struck a deal: he'd take it.
That's gotta change. It's gotta change fast.
So he snaps his fingers as soon as he hears that ping -- and time loops around and takes a great big chomp out of its own tail. He keeps walking down the road, whistling to himself, before sticking out a couple fingers to snag a door handle to the local diner.
(It doesn't open on the diner right away; he takes a pit stop in Milliways first to work a little magic mojo there, too. No point to this exercise if there's an easy out, right?)
(But it takes like five minutes tops, and then -- )
Then he settles down at the counter of the diner and gets himself a big plate of pancakes. He's got a little time before they really cozy up in here.
And then?
Sam'll get to see just how it's going to be.