Dean Winchester (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} _jerk) wrote, |
Sam's snarl takes him aback (though it really shouldn't, because he's been like a bear with a sore head these last few jobs - pissy enough that Dad's noticed, even, which worries Dean more because he doesn't get why it doesn't matter to Sam whether Dad notices or not any more) and things escalate the way they inevitably do between siblings, so he hardly notices that his response isn't exactly the careful neutral he's supposed to be going for. More the weary exasperation of someone who's fed up making the same damn point every turn-around only to find that it's still failed to sink in.
“Yeah, well. I don't get why you waste your time on papers if you 'know', 's all. Sitting here sulking and doing homework you're never going to hand in? It's not healthy, Sam.”
It's pointless arguing, of course. But that doesn't mean that he's not going to, just that he's not going to sit here while Sam whines about being uprooted and wanting to be normal and blah blah freakin' blah. Dean gets to his feet, heads back over to his bed huffily, retrieving his .45 from the nightstand and disassembling it expertly. There's something comforting about the gun-cleaning routine, something that helps him get his mind straight. Maybe he can't put words together or keep up a decent GPA but he can do this, and on Planet Winchester it's probably far more useful. Sooner or later Sammy'll realise that.
< Jikininki
“Right.” Dean glances down the barrel of the semi-assembled Colt, framing up some imagined enemy to check the alignment is right (which it is, of course, because he could do this blindfolded, but checking is part of the routine and it's been drilled into him over the years with military precision). “Them. I only need to know one thing” (hell yes, he's quoting Aliens, because nothing breaks up moments of undue levity like movie references... and sure, Vasquez is a girl, but she's badass and smoking hot so it's okay) “Where they a-”
< Why don't you do it? Or Dad?
… dude, not cool. Interrupting him mid-flow. Especially to come out with a stupid suggestion like that. He looks at Sammy sidelong, across the dingy motel room, raising an eyebrow while keeping the rest of his face deadpan in an Are you seriously asking me that? way.
< ... more important things to do
... okay, that? Is freakin' hillarious, and his schooled sarcastic deadpan dissolves into a laugh.
"Yeah right. Good one, Sammy. 'More important things'. Hah... seriously. How do we kill them?"