A/N: Okay, uh... I have no idea. Just wanted to do a dialogue-heavy fic, and this is what came of it. Definitely crack-ish. Okay, more like cracktastic. Sorry if this sucks out loud; blame the lack of sleep and creative constipation. :D
P.S. Beware the possible overuse of the elipses! ...!
Summary: Season 4 AU. One-shot, dialogue heavy. --Dean's back from Hell, and he's a little more than re-hymenated.--
Saint Dean
"Wait, you're a what?"
"A saint, dude; are my words echoing in that great, big head a' yours?"
"You sure you're not brain damaged?"
"Hah. Funny. Bitch."
"Jerk. I'm not the one saying I'm a saint and believing it's true."
"It is."
Dean rolls his eyes at the skeptical look from his younger brother.
"Dude," he says, sipping his beer and setting it down with a 'thunk' on the scarred wooden surface of the table, "no matter what I do, I can't sin."
Sam's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline for a second. "Uh... I'm not sure that's how being a saint works, exactly."
Dean snorts a chuckle. "Like you'd know, Oh Dark One."
"Hey!"
Dean sighs, glancing away from the Puppy Eyes of Doom, but it's no use. Besides, he does feel bad for the dig; it was kinda uncalled for. Offering to pay for their drinks is as close as he gets to an apology, but Sam seems to understand because soon it's miles behind them and the silence is just there, and not awkward.
"How do you know, anyway?"
"...what?"
Sam looks to the heavens, as though pleading for guidance. Or patience. Or both. "How do you know that you're incapable of sinning, even if you... sin? I mean, it's not like you can measure that until you... ya know..."
The words 'die... again.' are left hanging in the air between them, and Dean chugs the rest of his beer, fingers worrying the bottle nervously, passing it back and forth between his hands.
"I just... know."
One look at those big, brown eyes tells him Sasquatch just ain't gettin' the tracks he's laying down, so he decides to take a different approach. "Okay, ya know how when you're on a hunt, and the thing your trackin' is right there- you're walking along, and you know that it knows, but you can't see it yet. Then suddenly you turn at the last second, and BAM!" Here Dean illustrates his point by slamming his fist down on the table, earning only a few surprised and irritated glances from fellow patrons of the bar. "Fugly's down for the count."
"So..." Sam is staring at him intently, and Dean's not sure he likes that. "You're saying it's like... intuition?"
"Exactly," Dean breathes, perhaps a little buzzed as he starts in on their fourth round. "S'like a sixth sense. I just know."
Simple, really. Really simple. Of course, Dean also knows that geek-boy is gonna over think this until his head implodes, so he shoves the other newly-arrived bottle into Sam's hands and tips his own in a thinly veiled plot to get his baby brother to drink more. Which he does. Because this is insane. Dean knows this, because after taking a swig, that's what Sammy says.
"This is insane." Straight up. And Dean can't fault him for that. He really can't.
"Now, if you'll excuse me," Dean says, slapping some money down on the table as he stands, "I'm gonna go sin my way into Heaven."
He nods toward the pretty brunette whose eye he's just caught from across the room. Replies to Sam's half-annoyed, half-amused grunt by ruffling the kids emo hair before he walks away, grinning.