"A computer that will actually work for more than an hour straight," Sam growls, pacing, still on hold with tech support, "That's not too much to ask, is it?"
Dean doesn't answer, thinking the question is of the sort that are not meant to be.
However, little brother has different ideas, freezing in place to glare at Dean as he snarls, "Is it?"
Talking to outsourced software hotline geeks for hours and hours will make anyone a little tetchy, a little too volatile to have their questions--rhetorical or otherwise--go unanswered. Sam looks like he's half-expecting Dean to tell him hold, please; if those words or any even vaguely resembling them leave his mouth, Dean knows Sam will absolutely snap.
"No," Dean quickly agrees, suddenly fearing for his very life because Sammy was hardly this scary even when he was possessed, "And if I'd known getting you a new laptop for your birthday would bring about hell on earth, I would've trusted my instincts and gone with the nudie mags."
Sam's jaw is clenched so tight that Dean thinks he can hear the boy's teeth cracking; his wild glare screams unamused; on edge; desperately craving an outlet for buckets of Vista-induced homicidal rage.
Dean's hand inches towards the knife he keeps under the motel pillow. "Christo," He whimpers, absolutely hating the crack in his voice.
Aside from an evil snort, Sam does not react to the name of God. He gets back to his pacing, muttering beneath his breath like a mental patient as he waits for Arlene to return with her supervisor who might be better equiped to handle the problem... not that they know what that is yet. The random error code isn't showing up in any directories, nor is this update package could not be opened. Verify that the update package exists and that you can acces it, or contact the application vendor to verify that this is a valid Windows Installer update package.
Seriously.
What. The. Fuck.
Being especially careful not to draw any unnecessary attention to himself, Dean inches carefully off the bed and towards the desk where the beautiful new machine sits. It cost him a pretty penny, many months of hustling behind Sam's back so the gift would be a surprise for his little brother. Seriously, if he'd known it would lead to... this he really would've rethought Sam's whole birthday.
Because they've been in that motel for the better part of a week, unable to go anywhere until the computer is fixed, until the problem is solved. It has consumed every moment of their lives. Sam hasn't showered in days, unable to do anything by try, try, try so hard to make his computer just work. The sickly blue glow of the monitor constantly fills the room, illuminating the stark, dark circles under Sam's bloodshot eyes and making his complexion seem as pale as death.
The computer has a full battery but the Winchesters are running on empty.
Dean sits at the desk, waves the mouse around and tries every fix he knows, for the hundreth time sime Sammy swallowed his pride and actually began asking for his help--that was three days ago; for a few minutes, it was big brother to the rescue, just like the good old days, but Dean's no tech geek and the look on Sam's face was exactly the same one the kid wore when he found out that Superman wasn't real, that the closest thing there was, was that wheelchair dude, what-his-name... married to that pointy succubus... didn't they die?
Attention span of a goldfish notwitstanding, Dean could not miss what came next:
Instead of the error messages they'd been getting for days, a small window containing a pair of glowing Yellow eyes appears.
Right there, in the middle of the screen.
The young hunter feels his color drain and his throat seize.
He watches, detached and paralyzed, as the eyes--was it just him, or did they look very amused?--fix on something past his shoulder.
Dean turns warily, keeping the yellow eyes within sight, to see what they're looking at.
Sammy seems to be back on with tech support, ranting and raving, practically foaming at the mouth as he threatens to fly to whatever country they're in and kill them all, "KILL YOU ALL, MOTHERFUCKERS!!! I CAN MOVE SHIT WITH MY MIND!!! I'M BEING RECRUITED BY A FREAKY DEMON GUY IS FOR HIS ARMY TO BRING ABOUT THE APOCALYPSE!!! I'M PROBABLY THE FUCKING ANTI-CHRIST!!! YOU DO NOT WANT TO MESS WITH ME!!!"
Dean reluctantly focuss his full attention back to those yellow eyes, which he is sure now are definitely filled with sadistic mirth, immense enjoyment.
And then they wink. wink right at him. and then they're gone.
Dean jumps back with a fright, his heart pounding and his momentary paralysis completely gone. Listening to his little brother swearing a blue streak that on any other day would have made him proud but is completely out of character for the straight-laced college boy, Dean understands what's happening.
The YED is driving Sammy to the dark side with... malfunctioning software and incompetent tech support...
"Holy fuck," Dean cries, diving for a bottle of holy water and promptly dousing the machine. It blows up in an impressive shower of sparks and flames and exploding circuits.
"DEAN!!" Sam screams, dropping the phone in his haste to pull his brother back from his destruction, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
"It was evil, Sammy!" Dean replies, still visibly shaken as he empties an entire canister of rock salt over the melting keyboard and warped monitor, "I had to kill it!!! I don't want you to go dark side because of techie geeks!!! That's so- so- LAME!!!"
Sam blinks, unable to decipher what in the hell Dean is saying.
"You'll thank me later," the older hunter declares, chanting an exorcism ritual beneath his breath, "And you're going back to the old laptop. Switching operating systems is just asking for trouble."
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I got a new computer, I was happy as could be.
My new computer was gorgeous, a hot little HP.
Everything was great, for a day or two,
Then the problems started, right out of the goddamn blue.
Now Word won't open; iTunes is acting skitzo.
The tech geeks in India are under the impression I speak their lingo.
Won't someone help me? Solve the freaking bug?
I can't go on like this much longer; I really need a hug.
Really, I'm going nuts here; I've got nothing to pass the time.
I'm so damn desperate that I've begun to rhyme.
I can't write if Word won't open, can't function without my music.
I haven't slept in days and think I'm going to be sick.
What the fuck is going on? Is this all just some big joke?
Whoever wrote this program must've been on fucking coke.
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Ya, this crackfest is exactly what it sounds like: my new computer is spazzing royally and, until I can get it back into Best Buy for someone human to look at, all my story files are inaccessible. I was lucky I remembered I could do this because, seriously, I was going insane not being able to write anything. I know it's a longshot, but if anyone knows how to help me, it will be highly appreciated. I'm anticipating gratefulness bordering on a 'will exchange sexual favors for' kind. I'm just that desperate. If not, then reviews may help to ease my pain.