(no subject)

[gavemea_45]

If Sam never sees another catfish ever again, that'll be perfectly fine with him.

Perhaps especially not a giant spinning catfish -- which, as it turns out, isn't actually supposed to be spinning.

This would be why Sam is currently hunched over a table, poring over a collection of books, notes, his laptop, and John Winchester's journal, trying to figure out how on earth to exorcise a possessed statue of a fish.

As far as he knows, Dean's still back in the hotel room, laughing himself sick.

Comments

[q_in_training]

"Yeah." So's Mac's. "He's pretty awesome. And like the first friend I made here."

(Which says a lot, none of which Mac's going to say out loud.)

"So you do the vampire- and demon-hunting stuff for a living, too?"

[gavemea_45]

"Yeah, he is. And yeah, we do --"

To his credit, Sam doesn't even twitch at the word 'demon,' although there's a flicker in his eyes for a second.

"-- I guess you could call it the family business."

[q_in_training]

"Cool," she says approvingly, leaning over a few of the books to get a better look. "And all I ever got to do for Take Your Daughter to Work Day was ride a jet ski."

[gavemea_45]

"You know I'm gonna ask." Sam grins at her.

There's an annotated Bible, a book of Roman rituals, and several volumes dealing with either fish, haunted items, or sometimes both. One of the books is very different from the rest, though -- it's a journal bound in leather, with scraps of paper sticking out of its pages. It looks as though it's been well-used, and yet it's well cared for.

"What kind of job involves jet skis?"

[q_in_training]

"It'd be lame to lie and say my dad's Evil Knievel, wouldn't it." Self-deprecating, even as she returns the grin. "He sells them. That's it."

As she continues the survey of the book collection, the journal's getting more and more of her attention. She lifts a curious eyebrow.

[gavemea_45]

"And you get to demonstrate them for clients? Cool."

But as he follows her look, Sam's smile fades.

"... that's my dad's journal."

[q_in_training]

"Just once or twice," she points out, and then, quieter: "...Oh. Uh."

Awkward. She scratches the crook of her elbow, more out of a need to fidget with something than because of an itch.

"Bad topic?" she asks, the words pretty close to a wince in and of themselves.

[gavemea_45]

"Nah, it's okay."

Sam leans back in his seat a little, and runs one hand through his hair.

"It's -- you know how I said it was kinda a family business? Dad, um-- he's the one who started it."

[q_in_training]

Okay, use of the present tense there is good, at least. Mac relaxes a fraction.

"So that's...all of his notes on it and stuff? Passed down through generations? Or, uh -- " Embarrased. "Generation. Singular."

[gavemea_45]

"Generation, yeah."

Sam shrugs.

"He's on a hunt right now."

[q_in_training]

She cracks a slight smile.

"He takes all the cool ones and leaves you to hunt the possessed catfish?" she asks.

[gavemea_45]

Something about Sam's expression tightens.

"... you could say that, yeah."

[q_in_training]

And just like that, the smile's gone.

Crap.

"Bad topic," she repeats at a mumble, wry and a little flat, dropping her gaze as she drums her fingers against the tabletop once. A deep breath, in prelude to what she hopes will be a less crappy topic.

Which of course is the exact second when she can't think of anything else to say, and just has to blow out the breath in an inaudible sigh.

Ten seconds to go until she scoots the chair back and makes a break for it.

[gavemea_45]

Sam sighs, and reaches out to touch her arm lightly, trying to get her attention.

"Hey, don't-- it's not your fault, okay? Dad and I -- we don't always see eye to eye on things, that's all. And I wanted to be there on this hunt, but instead--"

He gestures at the references on catfish. His tone is half-wry, half-rueful.

"You didn't say anything wrong, Mac, I promise."

[q_in_training]

Mac glances up. A few seconds pass before the smile comes back, tiny and crooked.

"Okay, good, 'cause I suck at thinking of excuses to bolt even when I haven't just been talking about my complete lack of stuff to do back home," she tells him, pushing some of her hair aside. "So, uh."

Another glance to the books.

"Is there...anything I can do to help? If you need it. Since." A shrug. "Not bolting."

[gavemea_45]

Sam laughs.

"You might regret offering once you start reading about catfish, but there's no way I'm not gonna take you up on that."

A beat, and a quick grin.

"I'm guessing you'll want the computer search? Even if it is Windows?"

[q_in_training]

And that's enough for the smile to turn into a full-out, mischievous grin.

"Yeah I do."

Anyway, she's gotten enough practice from Hearst tech support at stifling the unclean! unclean! reaction to handling anything made by Bill Gates and company. There are way too many PC users on that campus.

So, very carefully (and even though he just offered, computer geek social standards demand that she give Sam a quick may I? look first), she scoots her chair closer to the laptop and gently edges it toward herself.

[gavemea_45]

He grins and waves her on, then reaches for the books and notes.

A comfortable sort of silence falls between them, broken by the rustle of paper and the soft click of keys, along with the occasional question or amused comment tossed back and forth.


It's a good kind of feeling.