| Date: 30 December 2007
Characters: Methos, Dean Winchester Location: outside Link to IJ: thread #22907 |
 Dean was not having a good day.
Of course, any day that involved his baby brother fucking dying and an army of fucking demons trying to take over the earth wasn't going to be a great one, but he was used to the demons, at least. What made this day spectacularly shitty would be the fact that as soon as he'd concluded his deal with the crossroads demon, he'd had just enough time to confirm that Sam really was alive before he'd got caught in some kind of backlash from the hellgate, and dropped - here. Wherever in the ass end of nowhere here happened to be. Without his brother. Without his fucking car. That one really fucking stung. Dean picked himself up, dusted off his jeans, glanced around, and tried his usual method of getting information. He yelled. "Sammy!" |
 "Shouting for someone generally hasn't helped here." Methos gave the young man an irritated look. He'd left the Doctor at the pub after sharing a few pints, and had been looking for something that suggested a way home. Only to find... whoever this was, instead. |
| Dean shot the stranger a glare, and went back to looking around. No kind of demon shit was going to keep him from his brother. "Sam!" he shouted again, palm itching for his gun. "Sammy!" |
| Methos sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose a moment. "Whoever 'Sam' is, he's probably not here." He lowered his voice, muttering, "Wherever 'here' is." He still didn't really know, and the brief explanation he'd gotten from Lane when he'd run into him hadn't really helped. Nor had talking to the Doctor. |
| "My brother," Dean replied shortly. Shit, half his fucking arsenal was in that car, and he wasn't feeling comfortable being transported to a strange nowhere with only a couple of guns, few knives, pocketful of charms, his garotte and not enough fucking rock salt to keep even a minor demon at any kind of distance. "So where the hell is here, Mister Helpful?" |
| "If I knew, I'd tell you, okay? But I don't." Methos gave the young man an irritated glare. "I was trying to find that out when you came out of nowhere, and started shouting." |
| "Great."
Fucking wise guy. Didn't know where he was, still, that wasn't the priority. "Okay, let's try this again - how do I get back?" |
| "If I knew that, I wouldn't be here, now would I?" Methos stuffed his hands in his pockets, his expression not changing. If he'd known how to get back, he'd be in Bucharest, with his sword safely within reach, if not on him. Instead of arguing with some kid when he had a kitchen knife as his only weapon. |
| "Hell, for all I know, this is your home sweet home." Dean cast a disparaging glance around what he could see of the town.
Bumfuck, Nowhere. No Sam. No car. Just the wise guy. "Nice place you don't have here." Sarcasm dripped from every word. |
| "If you like middle-class living," Methos snapped back. "I prefer someplace a little more populated. Easier to avoid those that are raving." |
| "Tend to come with a few too many cops," Dean remarked absently. Not his style.
Wait. Raving. He paused, looked at the wise guy, widened his eyes and tilted his head, hand resting on his chest in the universal sign language of 'who, me?' Then let out his most charming smile, and bowed. Nothing else to do, might as well piss the guy off. A decent fist fight would let some of the frustrations out just fine. |
| Methos rolled his eyes at the theatrical display of mock-innocence, and gave the young man an irritated look. He could see the attempt to provoke him into a fight, and he didn't like it. Fights made his chances of survival less, and chances of being found out for what he was higher. "You don't want to fight me," he said quietly, shifting his stance subtly, ready to run if he needed to. He really didn't want to get into a fight right now. |
| Well, gee, Mister Helpful was a member of MENSA.
"No," Dean replied shortly. He hadn't missed that shift, that move of muscle into readiness. Hadn't missed that he was getting to the guy, either. "What I want is to get back to my brother before the stupid fucker gets himself killed again." And in that situation, far too likely. "But since apparently I can't, might as well have a little fun." |
| "And fighting is your idea of fun?" Methos tensed, eying the man with a dark expression on his face. That attitude reminded him of Silas, and the memories weren't the sort he wanted brought up. Though the protective instinct was more like MacLeod, it still didn't change the here and now reality. |
| Shrugging, Dean tilted his head to one side, and grinned. "Lets off a touch of steam, you don't seem the friendly type, haven't found the bar yet, no sign of a woman...why the hell not?"
Truth was, he'd take any of the other options, but if a fight was the only outlet on offer, he'd take it. Hell of a lot better than driving his fist into a wall. |
| Methos quirked up an eyebrow, and refrained from making the first suggestion that came to mind. One he would have made to Silas, but didn't apply to the here and now, or the mortal in front of him. "I know where the bar is," he said instead. "Drinks are free." |
| Dean paused for a moment. Drinks were free? Hell, maybe Bumfuck wasn't so bad. "Well, alright! What are we waiting for? The apocalypse?"
Seen a few of those. Just come from one, probably why he needed the drink so hard. That and the notion that he'd one year left to live. One year to get Sammy up to scratch on everything he needed to stay alive and safe, and stuck here rather than doing it. "Lead on, Mac...uh...lead the way!" |
| Methos rolled his eyes, nodding his head back the direction he had come. "My name's not Mac." He shoved his hands in his pockets, not looking over at the man as he walked. "Adam Pierson." |
| Shooting a brief glance at Adam, he did a quick mental check of his weapons, weight against his body as he moved, Dean nodded shortly. "Dean Winchester," he offered in return. |