Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hasperkynipples) wrote2011-11-06 04:25 pm
hasperkynipples) wrote2011-11-06 04:25 pm
Entry tags:
sans exceptions } { 38. what in your life could be better?
[No verse, not binding on any other muses. All the fault of Cheryl.]
He’s in a hunter bar, when he meets her.
It’s been a while since they’ve been in a hunter bar, all things considered. Most hunters didn’t want Sam around without being able to hold a gun to his head, and Dean never seems to take those kind of moments well. But things seem to have died down a bit in the three years since the Apocalypse, and they think that maybe it might be safe to stick their necks out again and look for a little information.
Besides, Dean is really in need of a beer and a bit of time to relax. He hasn’t had a day off since—ever.
He sees her first, but she’s the one who breaks the ice. In all fairness, however, it’s hard not to notice a girl like her when it comes to a place like this. Nice curves, long red hair—everything he likes in all the places where it counts, and all it takes is Sam stepping away to take a phone call to get her to make her way over.
“Didn’t they ever tell you it’s impolite to stare?”
“I’ve never really been all that good with my manners,” he says with a lazy grin, one that he hasn’t used in a very long time. It’s in that moment that it really hits him how long it’s been since he’s picked up a girl in a bar and actually gone through with it, and he’s beyond rusty, but this girl doesn’t seem to care. She plops down in Sam’s chair, before extending a hand to him.
“Ariel.”
“Dean,” he replies as he shakes her hand. “Planning on educating me on my manners.”
“Absolutely,” she says with a smile. “Rule number one—when you stare at a lady for that long, it’s only fair you buy her a drink.”
“I can do that,” he says with a grin, before raising his hand in the air. “Barkeep, another round.”
And then another.
And then another after that.
Four rounds later, they’re talking and they’re laughing, which almost feels strange—like it’s been a long time since he’s done it. She’s definitely flirting with him, and who knows—may he will actually get laid out of this.
“So,” she says as she downs her shot, then leaning over the pool table again. Dean is so drunk he’s not even bothering to cover the fact that he’s checking out her ass. “I sink this shot, you answer any question I ask with absolute honesty. Deal?”
His eyes wander from the curve of her back to the shot for a moment—it was the eight ball, but it’s a shot that he could barely make sober, let alone with five rounds of whiskey in him. She didn’t stand a chance. “Go for it.”
She flashes him a grin as she lines up the shot, and Dean watches, to his dismay, as the ball circles the edge of the pocket before dropping down into it. He’s had way too much to drink to be honest at this point, but all he can do is hope that this question of hers isn’t going to be a stumper.
“Looks like I win.”
“Looks like,” he sighs as he reaches for the beer on the edge of the pool table before resting his weight against it. “Hit me with your best shot.”
She pushes up and makes her way closer to him. “If you had a week without monsters—”
“Sweetheart, there is no such thing.”
“Humor me,” she sighs, her voice taking on a flat affect for a moment, before continuing. “If you had one week where you knew that you were covered—no one was dying on your watch, no end of the world for you to worry about. Where you could do anything you wanted to relax and just be a person for a little while—where would you go, and what would you do?”
It’s a harmless question. He could make up anything, and it’d probably satisfy her, but it’s been a long time since Dean has been honest with anyone, including himself. It might feel good to actually do that for a change.
“There was this old lake house, up in Michigan, that my dad used to take us to when we were kids and he had to work a job in the area,” he says, with a bit of a self-deprecating smirk. “If I had a free week to do nothing with—I’d go fishing.”
“Huh. I would have thought it’d be a Playboy bunny orgy.”
He laughs. “As amazing as that would sound—I’d like to think I’m getting wise in my old age.”
“Fair enough.” She takes another step into him, barely an inch of space between them, and looks up at him with big round eyes. “Wanna get out of here?”
Dean dares a stronger man to say no to an invitation like that.
***
Dean, actually, did not get laid.
If he hadn’t been thoroughly confused, he would have been more put out about that.
He wakes up slumped next to his brother on the front porch of that very lake house he had mentioned to her earlier. Ariel is across from him, perched on the railing of the house with her knees pulled into her chest, and immediately his first thought is to go on the defensive.
“What the hell—”
Her hand comes up to stop him before speaking. “This isn’t an abduction. This is a gift.”
“Some gift,” Dean says, straightening a little more as Sam starts to wake up. “Who the hell are you?”
“I told you,” she replies. “My name is Ariel.”
“Okay, fine—what are you, then?”
She sighs, leaning back against the post before giving him a look. “I’m an angel of destiny.”
“An angel of destiny?” Sam fills in from his spot next to Dean. “And that’s different from any other angel how, exactly?”
“We make sure that events play out how they’re supposed to, and when they do, we see that those responsible for fulfilling their destinies are rewarded,” she replies. “We are the ones who allow prophets to see what they see, and are responsible for ascending them once their work is complete.”
“So—you’re saying that me not saying yes, and Sam jumping with Lucifer into the pit—that was how things were supposed to play out all along?”
She nods. “Not the prettiest destiny, but nonetheless necessary.”
“Why didn’t anyone just tell us that?”
“Because. If people know exactly how their destiny is supposed to play out, how can they be rewarded for just doing as they’re told?”
There is a pause, before Sam speaks up. “She has a point, Dean.”
“And the mess that the world landed in afterwards?”
“That was more Michael’s fault than yours. He was the great good to balance the great evil—with both the great good and great evil residing in the same place, the world naturally fell out of balance. Crowley loaning those souls from Hell to Castiel didn’t help matters either.”
Dean sighs, before running a hand over his face. “So taking us to this crappy ass lake house, three years later—this is our reward? Took a while, don’t you think?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Sam’s soul was in Hell for quite some time, and one of our brothers decided to try and destroy us all.” Her tone is calm, but there’s no mistaking the fact that she’s pissed off. “We’ve been a little busy. As for where—you picked it, Dean. So did Sam. Don’t blame me for not having the foresight to realize who you were hitting on.”
“Ever think about just asking us what we want for a reward?” Dean is pretty sure that he would have saved Sam’s sanity before asking to go on vacation.
“Sometimes a reward isn’t about what you want, Dean,” she sighs. “It’s about what you need.” She swings her legs down off the railing, and gets to her feet. “You have two weeks. No monsters, no hunting, no trouble.”
“But what about the—”
“Leviathan?” she supplies to the end of Sam’s question. “We’re taking care of it. I can’t guarantee that the problem will be fixed, but we should at least be able to—thin the herd a bit.”
Sam is quiet for a moment as he considers this, and he comes up with the words that Dean can’t. Not yet. “Thank you.”
She nods. “Enjoy it.” And in a half second, she’s gone.
***
At first, Dean can’t enjoy it.
The idea of having nothing to do—no hunt to find, no threat to run from—the fact that he actually has time to stop and think scares the crap out of him, and it’s a kind of freedom that he hasn’t felt since before this mess all started. It reminds him of when he was younger and would used to take weekends to spend with girls like Lisa, and pretend for a little while that he’s a normal guy. Back when he used to be just a hunter and not have to worry about some hellish destiny and being responsible for the lives of billions of people. It’s a state of being that’s completely foreign to him now, as much as he would love to get it back and be that guy again, he can’t.
But that all changes about halfway through the first week, when Sam shoves him off the end of the dock and into the lake, and tells him to get over it. For some reason, that gets through to him on a level that the angel hadn’t.
Then again, that’s what brothers are for.
By the end of the first week, he starts being able to sleep without drinking himself to death doing it. By the end of the second, he starts to miss the road in a good way. It’s not just the pressure to leave town and get away clean, he misses being able to drive. He misses looking forward to a hunt and doing his job, and the weight of the world is the furthest thing from his shoulders. It’s a good feeling.
On the first day of week three, Dean wakes up to find himself in the motel room that he had left behind when he met Ariel. Sam is sitting at the table at the foot of the bed, already going through news reports on his laptop, and his car is sitting in the parking lot, gleaming like she has just gotten a fresh wax. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, shifting only slightly to run a hand over his face.
“Sleep well?” Sam asks, and Dean nods as he swings his legs over the side of the bed.
“Yeah. Got something?”
“Yep,” he nods. “Rash of weird deaths not too far from here—all middle aged men. Might be our kind of thing.”
Dean nods, before reaching for his bag. “Alright. Let’s hit the road.”
“Okay,” Sam nods, starting to pack up himself, before glancing back at his brother. “You good?”
Dean looks up at him, and for the first time in a long time, he answers that question honestly. “Yeah. I’m good.”
1879 words
He’s in a hunter bar, when he meets her.
It’s been a while since they’ve been in a hunter bar, all things considered. Most hunters didn’t want Sam around without being able to hold a gun to his head, and Dean never seems to take those kind of moments well. But things seem to have died down a bit in the three years since the Apocalypse, and they think that maybe it might be safe to stick their necks out again and look for a little information.
Besides, Dean is really in need of a beer and a bit of time to relax. He hasn’t had a day off since—ever.
He sees her first, but she’s the one who breaks the ice. In all fairness, however, it’s hard not to notice a girl like her when it comes to a place like this. Nice curves, long red hair—everything he likes in all the places where it counts, and all it takes is Sam stepping away to take a phone call to get her to make her way over.
“Didn’t they ever tell you it’s impolite to stare?”
“I’ve never really been all that good with my manners,” he says with a lazy grin, one that he hasn’t used in a very long time. It’s in that moment that it really hits him how long it’s been since he’s picked up a girl in a bar and actually gone through with it, and he’s beyond rusty, but this girl doesn’t seem to care. She plops down in Sam’s chair, before extending a hand to him.
“Ariel.”
“Dean,” he replies as he shakes her hand. “Planning on educating me on my manners.”
“Absolutely,” she says with a smile. “Rule number one—when you stare at a lady for that long, it’s only fair you buy her a drink.”
“I can do that,” he says with a grin, before raising his hand in the air. “Barkeep, another round.”
And then another.
And then another after that.
Four rounds later, they’re talking and they’re laughing, which almost feels strange—like it’s been a long time since he’s done it. She’s definitely flirting with him, and who knows—may he will actually get laid out of this.
“So,” she says as she downs her shot, then leaning over the pool table again. Dean is so drunk he’s not even bothering to cover the fact that he’s checking out her ass. “I sink this shot, you answer any question I ask with absolute honesty. Deal?”
His eyes wander from the curve of her back to the shot for a moment—it was the eight ball, but it’s a shot that he could barely make sober, let alone with five rounds of whiskey in him. She didn’t stand a chance. “Go for it.”
She flashes him a grin as she lines up the shot, and Dean watches, to his dismay, as the ball circles the edge of the pocket before dropping down into it. He’s had way too much to drink to be honest at this point, but all he can do is hope that this question of hers isn’t going to be a stumper.
“Looks like I win.”
“Looks like,” he sighs as he reaches for the beer on the edge of the pool table before resting his weight against it. “Hit me with your best shot.”
She pushes up and makes her way closer to him. “If you had a week without monsters—”
“Sweetheart, there is no such thing.”
“Humor me,” she sighs, her voice taking on a flat affect for a moment, before continuing. “If you had one week where you knew that you were covered—no one was dying on your watch, no end of the world for you to worry about. Where you could do anything you wanted to relax and just be a person for a little while—where would you go, and what would you do?”
It’s a harmless question. He could make up anything, and it’d probably satisfy her, but it’s been a long time since Dean has been honest with anyone, including himself. It might feel good to actually do that for a change.
“There was this old lake house, up in Michigan, that my dad used to take us to when we were kids and he had to work a job in the area,” he says, with a bit of a self-deprecating smirk. “If I had a free week to do nothing with—I’d go fishing.”
“Huh. I would have thought it’d be a Playboy bunny orgy.”
He laughs. “As amazing as that would sound—I’d like to think I’m getting wise in my old age.”
“Fair enough.” She takes another step into him, barely an inch of space between them, and looks up at him with big round eyes. “Wanna get out of here?”
Dean dares a stronger man to say no to an invitation like that.
***
Dean, actually, did not get laid.
If he hadn’t been thoroughly confused, he would have been more put out about that.
He wakes up slumped next to his brother on the front porch of that very lake house he had mentioned to her earlier. Ariel is across from him, perched on the railing of the house with her knees pulled into her chest, and immediately his first thought is to go on the defensive.
“What the hell—”
Her hand comes up to stop him before speaking. “This isn’t an abduction. This is a gift.”
“Some gift,” Dean says, straightening a little more as Sam starts to wake up. “Who the hell are you?”
“I told you,” she replies. “My name is Ariel.”
“Okay, fine—what are you, then?”
She sighs, leaning back against the post before giving him a look. “I’m an angel of destiny.”
“An angel of destiny?” Sam fills in from his spot next to Dean. “And that’s different from any other angel how, exactly?”
“We make sure that events play out how they’re supposed to, and when they do, we see that those responsible for fulfilling their destinies are rewarded,” she replies. “We are the ones who allow prophets to see what they see, and are responsible for ascending them once their work is complete.”
“So—you’re saying that me not saying yes, and Sam jumping with Lucifer into the pit—that was how things were supposed to play out all along?”
She nods. “Not the prettiest destiny, but nonetheless necessary.”
“Why didn’t anyone just tell us that?”
“Because. If people know exactly how their destiny is supposed to play out, how can they be rewarded for just doing as they’re told?”
There is a pause, before Sam speaks up. “She has a point, Dean.”
“And the mess that the world landed in afterwards?”
“That was more Michael’s fault than yours. He was the great good to balance the great evil—with both the great good and great evil residing in the same place, the world naturally fell out of balance. Crowley loaning those souls from Hell to Castiel didn’t help matters either.”
Dean sighs, before running a hand over his face. “So taking us to this crappy ass lake house, three years later—this is our reward? Took a while, don’t you think?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Sam’s soul was in Hell for quite some time, and one of our brothers decided to try and destroy us all.” Her tone is calm, but there’s no mistaking the fact that she’s pissed off. “We’ve been a little busy. As for where—you picked it, Dean. So did Sam. Don’t blame me for not having the foresight to realize who you were hitting on.”
“Ever think about just asking us what we want for a reward?” Dean is pretty sure that he would have saved Sam’s sanity before asking to go on vacation.
“Sometimes a reward isn’t about what you want, Dean,” she sighs. “It’s about what you need.” She swings her legs down off the railing, and gets to her feet. “You have two weeks. No monsters, no hunting, no trouble.”
“But what about the—”
“Leviathan?” she supplies to the end of Sam’s question. “We’re taking care of it. I can’t guarantee that the problem will be fixed, but we should at least be able to—thin the herd a bit.”
Sam is quiet for a moment as he considers this, and he comes up with the words that Dean can’t. Not yet. “Thank you.”
She nods. “Enjoy it.” And in a half second, she’s gone.
***
At first, Dean can’t enjoy it.
The idea of having nothing to do—no hunt to find, no threat to run from—the fact that he actually has time to stop and think scares the crap out of him, and it’s a kind of freedom that he hasn’t felt since before this mess all started. It reminds him of when he was younger and would used to take weekends to spend with girls like Lisa, and pretend for a little while that he’s a normal guy. Back when he used to be just a hunter and not have to worry about some hellish destiny and being responsible for the lives of billions of people. It’s a state of being that’s completely foreign to him now, as much as he would love to get it back and be that guy again, he can’t.
But that all changes about halfway through the first week, when Sam shoves him off the end of the dock and into the lake, and tells him to get over it. For some reason, that gets through to him on a level that the angel hadn’t.
Then again, that’s what brothers are for.
By the end of the first week, he starts being able to sleep without drinking himself to death doing it. By the end of the second, he starts to miss the road in a good way. It’s not just the pressure to leave town and get away clean, he misses being able to drive. He misses looking forward to a hunt and doing his job, and the weight of the world is the furthest thing from his shoulders. It’s a good feeling.
On the first day of week three, Dean wakes up to find himself in the motel room that he had left behind when he met Ariel. Sam is sitting at the table at the foot of the bed, already going through news reports on his laptop, and his car is sitting in the parking lot, gleaming like she has just gotten a fresh wax. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, shifting only slightly to run a hand over his face.
“Sleep well?” Sam asks, and Dean nods as he swings his legs over the side of the bed.
“Yeah. Got something?”
“Yep,” he nods. “Rash of weird deaths not too far from here—all middle aged men. Might be our kind of thing.”
Dean nods, before reaching for his bag. “Alright. Let’s hit the road.”
“Okay,” Sam nods, starting to pack up himself, before glancing back at his brother. “You good?”
Dean looks up at him, and for the first time in a long time, he answers that question honestly. “Yeah. I’m good.”
1879 words
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THIS WAS AMAZING :3
Yay for them getting a break!! AND IT WAS GOOD.
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I'm glad you liked it.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6M_6qOz-yw