A/N: Here we go again! Enjoy and review!
Definitely still not mine.
Imposition
Sam hated this part of their job. They stood on the front doorstep of a normal, decent-looking townhouse.
Before ringing the doorbell, Sam glanced at Dean. The older brother had his eyes fixed on the door, looking relaxed and at ease as always. Ready and raring to go.
"Dean, do you not ever feel bad about this kind of thing?" A signature quizzical quirk of the eyebrows as the shorter brother looked up briefly. Sam sighed quietly, amazed at how clueless his brother could seem when it came to decent human behaviour. "You know, lying to the recently bereaved?"
"Uhmmmm... no," came the flippant reply.
"Dean, I'm serious. How do you just take it in your stride like this?"
"Huh... don't really know. I guess – well, this woman wouldn't want anyone else to be killed by the same thing, right? And neither would her dead son?"
"Well, no..."
"There it is, then. We're gonna stop that happening, so we're doing a good thing. Lesser of two evils. A couple of white lies versus, you know - gruesome, horrible deaths." A flicker of a grin as Dean reached for the doorbell.
"But, man, how do the lies just come so easily? You're not even nervous." Dean hesitated and pulled his hand back briefly.
"Well, I do have more experience than you do lying to women..." Dean saw a disapproving frown begin to settle on Sam's face. "And yes, I know, Samantha, I'm not supposed to be proud of that – clearly all your suspicions are true and I'm a freakish social outcast."
"Fine, whatever, if you're gonna be an ass, let's just get this over with." This time, Sam reached out and pushed down on the doorbell.
As they waited for the woman to make her way to the door, Dean glanced briefly back at Sam. "I just – it's sorta not really me, you know? She'll believe I was her son's college friend, so that's who she's talking to. If that makes any sense. It's kinda just acting I guess." The mischievous grin spread briefly across his face again. "And of course, you would know about that – our own little wannabe Olivier..."
Sam resisted the urge to punch Dean's arm as the door swung slowly open in front of them, revealing a still visibly distraught woman. Both brothers' faces slipped instinctively into the sympathetic-shoulder-to-cry-on masks they'd honed over years of practice, any doubts or qualms forced into the background to deal with the moment at hand.
Dean cleared his throat and took half a step forward, sincere mode kicking into high gear. "Mrs. Thompson, hi. I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam. We were at NYU with Pete. I'm sorry for troubling you – we don't mean to impose, but we were hoping to come in and have a chat, see if there's anything you needed any help with?"
The woman hesitantly opened the door, the small gesture welcoming them into her home, her life, her grief, and unknowingly bringing vengeance for her son's death one step nearer.
