milliways_bar | (no subject)

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As soon as the shower had started running in the motel's bathroom, Sam had seized his chance. He yelled something indistinct about lunch, grabbed his laptop and messenger bag, and headed straight for Milliways without waiting for Dean to answer.

Now he's sitting at a booth, the laptop open in front of him, staring at something on the screen.

(From time to time he stares at a note, instead.)

Either way, it doesn't look like he's making much progress.

[ooc: open until it scrolls, with a break at 9 MT for tonight's episode of Supernatural.]

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He shakes his head, just slightly, but doesn't say anything at first.

I was right. You just didn't believe me.

"Backup's generally always a good idea," he says, finally.

"If it'd been anybody but you," he starts, half overlapping, and stops.

Sam stares at him.

"... if it had been anybody but me, what?"

Never mind, forget I said anything --

He breathes out.

"I probably wouldn't have," he tells the table. "Taken backup."

He swallows, hard.

"Oh."

"Anyway." Low. "Turned out it wasn't necessary. Except ... she asked me not to tell anyone. About what happened in Cold Oak. And it was too late, I'd already told two people."

He looks up. "One of which was Buffy. And when I told her that --"

"I'm guessing that didn't go over too well," Sam says, quietly. "Based on what she said when I talked to her."

"Aw, now don't leave us in suspense, Sammy."

Dean, who is not a freaking idiot, thank you very much, was pretty damn sure that Sam'd take the opportunity to slip away to Milliways.

Tryin' to be helpful, trying to fix things.

Dean was expecting to catch him feverishly scribbling in a notebook, paging through esoteric texts, earnestly questioning the gods and monsters that frequent the end of the universe.

Somehow he wasn't expecting a conversation about some chick at Cold Oak.

More fool him, eh?

"Spit it out."

Andrew's head snaps up, staring past Sam at the figure he didn't see approaching. For a frantic second he's trying to remember what he just said, trying to figure out how much Dean overheard --

And it's not even, he realizes, like they were discussing anything either of them needs to keep secret. There's just something about Dean's tone, something about the look on his face, that makes Andrew feel like they've just been caught at something.

(The look on his own face, he realizes a moment later, probably isn't helping that impression.)

Neither is the startled look on Sam's, more than likely.

He doesn't exactly jump, but a slight tremor runs through him as he jerks in surprise.

"Quick shower." His tone's a little flat and more than a little dry. "You sure you managed to get rid of all the soap?"

"Good job on avoiding the question, too bad I ain't that distractable."

He uses this moment to shoot a grin at Andrew, wide, bright, and totally fake.

"Hey, Andy, fancy meeting you here."

The feeling of caught! is subsiding into something else.

Maybe what he's caught them at has nothing to do with the subject under discussion. Maybe it's just that Sam's talking to him at all.

Dully: "Hey, Dean. How's life."

"Peachy!"

The response is instant and more than a little cheerful.

"Thanks for asking."

The startled look's gone, replaced by an expression that gives the impression that Sam would like to smack one or both of them upside the head right about now.

Hard.

"Looks like we're all doing just great, then." Even flatter than before. Sam glances at Andrew, then turns in his seat to face Dean.

"Since you've gotta know, we were talking about Ava."

"Yeah?"

Dean's eyebrows go up. Way up.

"Anything besides her whole yippee-skippy-the-evil thing? Because I could've sworn you two'd already covered that."

Tell him more, Sam.

Or Andrew.

Whoever wants to start talking first.

Dean's got all day.

Tomorrow's lookin' pretty fine, too.

For a moment he pictures himself standing up and just walking away.

"Mostly that," he says instead, very evenly. "Plus a couple local ramifications. Nothing all that earthshaking."

"That pretty much sums it up," Sam agrees.

A beat.

"So now that we've got that out of the way..."

"There's this bridge you just gotta get rid of?"

Someone here is not impressed.

"Yeah, pretty sure I've heard that one before. When you were eight. But that was a pretty good try at selling it, there. I give you guys a solid 7 out of 10."

Andrew glances at Sam, trying hard to keep his face expressionless.

"What the-- who do you think you are, the freakin' Russian judge?"

Sam snatches up the note that's lying on the table and shoves it at Dean.

"See for yourself."

Dean takes that note -- the one Sam practically shoved in his face -- and reads it.

He's still smirking, because you always keep up your front, always -- but the edge on it's a little different.

"Not earthshaking, huh? Good to know."

Because Ava feeling like Sam needs to know shit -- yeah, that's nothin' to pay attention to. Not at all.

He sets the note down.

"Russian judge, my ass. But when you're done with this little pow-wow, Sam, you and me're gonna have a talk."

Oh, are they gonna.

"Meanwhile, looks like I have some time to kill."

Dean's smirk gets a little wider and -- to a close approximation, at least -- a lot more genuine.

"Three guesses on what I'm gonna do, and the first two don't count. Andrew."

Sam's BFF gets a short nod before Dean makes a move to head back the way he came.

It'll be easier to grill Sammy when he's by himself, anyway. Habits as old as that, they die real hard.

Edited 2010-05-02 07:35 (UTC)

Well. That sounded kind of ominous.

Andrew returns the nod, and doesn't say a word until Dean's some distance away.

"What is he gonna do?"

Sam's still looking after Dean as he answers,

"He's gonna go get a beer and find somewhere where he can keep an eye on me until I pack up and head back."

He sounds tired, but completely matter-of-fact about it.

Andrew rubs a hand across his mouth.

"So maybe this is a bad time to ask," and the dry note in his own voice takes him somewhat by surprise, "but did you ever talk to him about the Council Library trip?"

"Yeah," Sam says, swinging back around to look at Andrew again. "I did."

Beat.

"He's not coming."