(no subject)

[stilljustandrew]

The front door opens, and Andrew Wells -- yes, the regular Andrew Wells -- comes in. It would be nice to say he's missed this place, but the fact is he isn't aware that he's been away.

(Yet.)

A few minutes later he's at the bar, reading a note with a rather puzzled look on his face.

Part of the reason he's puzzled is that the note appears to be in his own handwriting, and indeed signed with his signature, but he's pretty sure he never wrote it.

Comments

[gavemea_45]

It's been less than a day since it happened, but not by much.

He'd gotten in a shouting fight with Bobby over what to do with D-- with the body. He'd won, though. Sam had picked the location carefully and seen to the grave himself. When Dean comes back, he'll have a body to come back to; that's the important thing.

When he comes back.



Sam steps into Milliways and pauses to one side of the door, scanning the room, trying to make it casual, trying to pretend everything's normal.

Unfortunately, he has no idea just how bad he looks.

[stilljustandrew]

He looks --

Well, he may get some idea of how bad he looks, if he notices how Andrew's face changes when he sees him.

[gavemea_45]

He doesn't hesitate, once he spots him. Sam heads straight over.

"Andrew."

A beat. He's searching his face very carefully.

"Remember me?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Of course I -- Sam." His voice is thin with shock. "What happened?"

[gavemea_45]

"Ran out of time," he says succinctly, and waits to see if it'll make sense.

[stilljustandrew]

"Ran out of --"

It does, and the shock deepens into horror.

"You said two months, I thought --"

[gavemea_45]

"It's been two months."

Soft, certain, and with the weight of falling stones.

"Two months and one day."

[stilljustandrew]

"Oh my god."

His eyes are suddenly overbright.

"Oh god, Sam, I'm sorry."

[gavemea_45]

He shakes his head.

"Not your fault."

It's mine. He doesn't have to say it aloud for it to be perfectly clear all the same.

[stilljustandrew]

But I was going to help --

He swallows it back. It's not fair to burden Sam with his guilt.

"It's only been about two weeks for me. I guess --"

Beat.

"Sam, why did you ask if I remembered you?"

[gavemea_45]

"Yeah, well, time's weird here. We knew that." A muscle twitches in his jaw. "More so for us--"


Long, painful beat.


"-- for me, since that sonofabitch Trickster started the clock running inside the bar as well as out when he undid his last trick."

He hesitates there, then shrugs.

"'Cause last time I saw you here, you weren't you. I mean you were, but different. Fuck." He scrubs a hand over his face, trying to find the right words.

"Parallel-universe you. Something like that."

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew stares.

And looks back at the note, forgotten in his hand.

"There was a parallel-universe me here." Slightly dazed. "That would explain this."

[gavemea_45]

"Explain what now?"

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

And that THUD from a few feet away would be a rather impressive stack of books making a barely controlled crash onto the top of the Bar. Wellard does manage to grab the few that were about to fall onto the floor- though the wince and muttered "Apologies" are more than likely directed to the Bar herself.




((For slowtime? *hopeful*))

[stilljustandrew]

((Sure fing! :D ))

Andrew jumps slightly at the noise, turning just in time to see Wellard make a snatch at the sliding books.

"Need a hand?" he asks, already reaching to help.

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

"Please." Wellard glances up and gives Andrew a quick nod and smile, then steps behind the Bar to pick up a couple that fell behind.

"I had thought to save myself a trip or two by carrying more, but it seems that idea may not work." Wryly.

[stilljustandrew]

"You need extra hands," he observes solemnly. "Uh -- Wellard, right?"

They've never really talked, but he's seen the guy around, and they have some friends in common.

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

"My 'extra hands', as it were, figured out last night what I was planning to do today, and he made well sure he was no where to be found before I could press him into helping me return some books." With rueful amusement.

He steps back to the front of the Bar, offering his free hand to Andrew. "Yes, Henry Wellard. And I do believe I've heard people call you Andrew?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Yeah." He takes the hand and shakes it. "Andrew Wells."

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

Wellard's hand is calloused- stack of books or no, he's no stranger to physical work. "Quite nice to actually meet you, then."

He starts restacking the books- at least so Bar can take them back in neat, somewhat organized piles.

"Though considering I think we know some of the same people, its a bit odd we haven't had the chance to meet before, but-" Wellard shrugs. "This is Milliways."

That sums up a lot.

[stilljustandrew]

"Yeah." Rueful. "Every time I think this place can't surprise me anymore...."

Beat.

"Actually I don't think I ever thought that."

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

Wellard chokes back a laugh, looking back up to Andrew.

"I usually keep telling myself that the possibilties here are near endless, so that anything can happen.

"Yet even with that, odds are high I'll still find myself surprised. But hopefully only by the event in question, and not that it's happening."

[stilljustandrew]

He waves the note in between two fingers.

"Apparently an alternate-universe version of me showed up here a couple weeks ago."

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

"... That has not happened to me." Wellard blinks.

"And I can't quite say that I think I'd be very happy with the idea of... another me, running around. Even in another world, much less here."

[stilljustandrew]

He blinks back at Wellard. "You don't think it'd be interesting? To see how different versions of you turned out?"