Author Notes: My 100th fic! That seems...like an impossible amount.
A quick missing scene for 11.08 Just My Imagination.
…Runnin' Away with Me
He must look pissed or something – or, more than usual, at least – because Sam bumps him with his bony elbow and tells him, "Dean, man, chill out."
Dean can't deny there's a chance he's looking a little hostile, because he may be the one with the headache and the rope burn and the danger may be neutralized, but she'd still threatened Sam and that flips a switch. Doesn't matter if his little brother isn't little anymore and hasn't been in years.
He knows Sam is watching his hands and relaxes the fists he's formed, eyes trained on Reese and Sully catching up across the barn. His fingers loosen around the hilt of the blade she'd dropped. The knife needs a little attention, but it's a nice piece, and if she got it from a witch, it could come in handy somewhere down the line. Finders keepers. Dean tucks it away in a pocket before the girl decides she wants it back, because that ain't happening.
Sam spots the motion and leans in, asks in a hushed voice, "So what's the statute of limitations here?"
Dean frowns. "What are you talking about?"
"For, uh, giving you shit for getting sidelined by another little girl." Sam's voice picks up as Reese heads out to her car with a timid wave and nervous smile.
Dean rolls his eyes as Sam returns the wave. "She's hardly little."
"Dean, you're like, twice her size. How did she even – "
"I'm just sayin'," Dean snaps, shooting a glare up at his brother that his aching head doesn't appreciate. "She's not a kid."
"Yeah," Sully cuts in, suddenly between them with an arm around each of their shoulders.
"Son of a – " Dean pulls away, shaking off the Zanna's arm.
"She's strong, and fast," Sully continues, undeterred. He nods in a nauseatingly over-enthusiastic manner. "Whenever we played Jumpsies, Reese always won."
Sam turns to Dean with raised eyebrows, not even trying to conceal his grin.
"Yeah. Okay." Dean holds up a hand, pins the Zanna in place with a glare. "Look, don't help me."
Sully plays with the strap of his rainbow suspenders, takes the hint easy enough. "I'm just gonna go say bye."
Dean nods. "Yeah, do that."
"Hey," Sam chides, whacking Dean's arm with the back of his hand as Sully lurches after Reese. "Be nice."
"I'm always nice."
"You're almost never nice."
"Whatever, man." Dean brings a hand up to his head, brushes fingers through his hair then probes the lump on his cheek.
"Do we need to play How Many Fingers?"
Dean drops his hand, thinks about reminding Sam he's got a brand-new sharp, pointy object in his jacket pocket, but flips his brother the bird instead. "Yeah, sure. How many fingers?"
Sam grins and takes it like a champ who's flipped off at least once a day. "I'm just saying, if you're about to ask for the keys back, I need some reassurance you're not gonna be seeing, like, a dozen little killer girls running at us down the highway."
"I trust me more than I trust you right now," Dean retorts. "You're the one who's been rockin' the thousand yard stare the past few days."
"Yeah, well." Sam's grin fades and he swallows as he digs the keys out of his pocket and pitches the ring at Dean. "I'm gonna go make sure Reese gets off okay."
Dean catches the keys against his chest and watches Sam lope out of the barn. Sam's thinking things he shouldn't be, and revisiting corners of his mind Dean wishes he wouldn't. He stands there frozen for a moment, then goes about cleaning any evidence of their presence from the space, because he's clearly the only one thinking clearly here.
The drive back to Lebanon is long, and excruciatingly quiet. Dean's face is throbbing a beat in time with his pounding head and that doesn't beg for loud music, and Sam is distracted by whatever's going on in his giant melon, staring out of his window like he's enthralled by the streetlights whizzing by. But Dean knows better, knows his job even better than that, and goes to work getting his little brother to talk it out.
"So you really talked to that…guy," he says, even though it pains him to say anything other than thing. "To Sully, when I wasn't around? You talked about me?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"And that whole germ thing, I'm, uh, I'm guessing you weren't always talking about me in the greatest light." No need to soften the accusation in that by turning it into a question. If Sam's allowed to take offense as often as he does, then Dean gets this one for free. Besides, his head hurts too much for tact.
Sam sighs, and the red lights of passing cars outside the window paint his face like blood. Something about it sets Dean on edge. "What do you want me to say, Dean? I was a kid when Sully was around. You know how it was."
Dean sucks his lower lip between his teeth, jerks his head. The thrum in his split cheek feels slow in catching up. "Yeah." It's just that sometimes, how Dean knows it was and how Sam remembers it was don't exactly track.
It's a tight space, and Sam picks up on what's being unsaid. "What?"
"Nothin', man." Dean thumps a fist lightly on the steering wheel. More tired than frustrated. "Just, every time I think we're moving forward, the same old crap keeps coming back up."
"Yeah. Yeah." Sam nods to himself, then finally pulls away from the window. He pins a dangerous look at the dashboard that Dean catches in his periphery. "Dean, we need to seriously discuss me going to the cage."
Dean's heart sinks a little further with each word, because he knows this tone of Sam's. Recognizes it.
Sam's already made his decision, and Dean's just along for the ride. And maybe he had that coming. Maybe it's payback.