milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Susannah is once again working in the bar, although she has less of a pile of documents with her tonight. All she has is a notebook, in which she is alternately taking notes, scratching out notes, and doodling.

She is not a bad teacher, but some things are hard to approach.

She also has a large bottle of water, because proper hydration is important.

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"A good answer," she says. "A very good answer, and a very good question."

It could be almost choreographed, it's that smooth. Sam's glance flicks to Dean, and in the same moment he shifts his weight and his position, moving forward and slightly to one side to try to draw Susannah's attention toward himself.

"Why do you say that? Things different back where you're from?"

She's not unaware. "Where I'm from these days," she says, "doesn't have the same level of infestation as it sounds like you're dealing with."

"I was thinking in the broader sense. There's the sane world of order, and then there's all of the... everything else. And so much of it--not all, but so much--is intent on knocking down that fragile house of cards."

"And somebody has to stand in between. By choice, necessity, or calling. Is that not so?" She takes another sip.

(The cadence of the last sentence is not her own; it's old, and rhythmic, a lesson well-drilled in.)

Edited 2008-09-28 05:05 (UTC)

"You find a sane world anywhere, sweetheart, you just let me know."

Dean's got his doubts.

As for the rest of it--

"I'd kinda like to see it."

She shrugs. "Maybe you will."

"Hey, anything's possible, right?"

Sam's smiling.

She's not; she's solemn. (They're very young, these two. They--Eddie, Jake, Cuthbert, Alain--were very young.)

"Exactly. Anything at all. We see a lot more nightmares than miracles," she admits. "But there's always hope, and every once in a while, it even comes through."

Seriously, is this the part where someone talks about unicorns and the rainbows that shine out of their ass?

'Cause it kinda feels that way.

"Hey, every day we keep someone from gettin' dead--that's a good day."

What more is there?

"A pragmatist." No disapproval. "Good for you."

"What about you?" Sam asks.

"Are you a pragmatist too?"

"Oh, I suppose," she says. "With a romantic streak, but mostly. The older I get, the more the philosophical questions get to me, but there's still evil to deal with in the meantime."

Dean's expression says 'romantic. Uh huh."

What he actually says, though, is a little different.

Kinda.

"Pretty sure the open road's enough philosophy for me, eh, Sammy?"

Sam's smile is easy and relaxed, even if there's a flicker of something deep down in the depths of his glance.

"Seems to work well enough."

"Well," she says, "that's not the life I lead anymore."

And she doesn't envy them it.

"That's gotta suck."

What? To Dean's mind it does.

Maybe this lady is Sammy's kind of woman.

Who the hell knows?

"No," she says. "It's good. It's been good."

"I'm still... involved. And the past has a way of not staying in the past." Not to mention the future. "But I have a family again, and that's worth a lot."

Sam's glance doesn't flick to Dean, not even for an instant.

(It doesn't have to. The careful way he doesn't look at his brother says enough.)

"Yeah. I can see that."

"But our road was a little different from yours, anyway," she says. "There was plenty of miscellaneous trouble on the way, but we had our goals. One of them we reached, at a cost, and one of them I decided wasn't worth it."

"Pragmatic decision."

"Yeah," Dean says.

It's hard to stay freaking casual, but he manages it. By the skin of his teeth.

"I know how that goes."

His voice isn't even tight. He just ain't looking at Sam.

He's pretty sure Sam remembers, too. Dean's just--

Dean's not sure he doesn't regret it.

She looks down into her notebook, all half-started sentences and crossed out ideas.

"I do miss the simplicity," she says. "Or maybe that's the wrong word. The starkness of it all. There was the trail, and we followed it. There was the job, and we did it. However cruel the choices got to be. And whatever came next wasn't up to us."

It's an unhealthy thing to miss, she knows, and maybe she would apologize for it, if she was talking to anyone else.

Sam looks a little startled.

"Wasn't up to you?"

She blinks at his startlement. "Well, we didn't get a menu. Or even much of a map, come to that. Just a destination. Whatever was on the road between us and there..." She shrugs. "We were up for it."

Dean snorts.

"Pretty sure no line of work comes with a map, sweetheart. Fuckin' instruction booklets're useless anyway."

Dean is a man infinitely capable of programming a VCR.

Or building one.

That earns him a sharp look. "I wasn't the one who asked the question, sugar," she says sweetly. "Just explaining the way it was."

Don't try to teach your grandmother to suck eggs, Dean.

"So you guys were on your way somewhere, and were gonna get there come hell or high water," Sam sums up. "I'm guessing from what you said that this wasn't the sort of trip with a lot of different routes."