Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
single_man_tear) wrote2024-10-12 11:42 pm
single_man_tear) wrote2024-10-12 11:42 pm
Entry tags:
74 Godiva Street - Saturday Afternoon
With the roof done, Dean was now tackling the front door. He’d thought it was going to be a quick swap-out, but when he pulled the frame off, he noticed the header was shot. What should’ve been a half-day job turned into a full-blown project with multiple trips to the hardware store.
As he was shimming the new door into place, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out to check which one it was: just the one labeled "FBI." He didn’t bother looking at the number. One of these days, he'd learn that was a bad habit.
He answered in his usual style, "Federal Bureau of Investigation. Tom Willis speaking."
The voice on the other end was anything but friendly. "Yeah, right. Who is this?"
Dean's heart sank as he recognized the voice. Sam Winchester.
Damn it. He shifted into a slower, more nasal tone, layering in a Texas drawl. "This is Tom Willis, regional director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. May I ask who's calling?"
Dean immediately regretted the choice. He sounded like Foghorn Leghorn.
"Cut the crap," the voice snapped back. "Tom Willis was a cover Bobby Singer used, not some con artist trying to fleece hunters!"
Dean took a beat, suppressing a groan. Of course, it was Sam. Always self-righteous, even when he was clueless.
“All right. Well, I think there might have been some confusion here, I say, he-re.” Look if he was doing Leghorn he was going to lean into it. “I’m not trying to profit on anything, I say, anything hunter related. Who is this?”
"This is Sam Winchester, and don’t give me that. I’ve never heard of any hunter charging for information!"
“Son, now, I say son, I think this is where the confusion lies,” Dean said, now leaning against the wall and fighting with everything he had not to drop the accent and call his brother a bitch and reveal who he was. “I don’t charge anybody anything. What I give as a service for backing hunters up or for information? I give it for free. Now if some grateful hunter wants to throw some cash my way, then they can use this Venmo app thing to show some appreciation. I never ask and it’s all voluntary.”
“Dean!”
Dean closed his eyes and felt his stomach twist. Busted. He should’ve gone with Yosemite Sam.
“Dean! No, don’t do that to the dog!”
He let out a sigh of relief as Sam’s attention shifted to whatever chaos was happening on his end. He listened to Sam try to reason with his son.
Dean shut his eyes again just thinking about that. Sam’s son. His nephew. He listened to his brother talk and try to reason with his son.
“Miracle doesn’t like being bitten on the snout, buddy.”
“No!”
“Well what if I bit your nose would you like that?”
“.... No.”
Dean began to slowly pace back and forth on the porch not sure whether to laugh or curl up in a ball. All he wanted to do was confess and hear his brother’s reaction. But instead he listened to Sam's dad-mode negotiations until Eileen’s voice popped in, then Sam was back on the line.
“All right, so as I was saying-”
"He sounds like a handful," Dean interrupted, his voice strained. "You named him after your brother, right?"
There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Yeah. You knew my brother?”
“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Worked a case with him back in the day. Talked about you constantly.”
"He did, huh?" Sam's voice softened a bit, the edge fading. "When was this?"
“Oh, you were in school or something. Berkeley?” Dean knew that would get under Sam’s skin, and sure enough, he heard a grunt on the other end.
"Stanford," Sam deadpanned. "What was the case?”
Dean smirked. Sam was going to validate this somehow with Dean’s old journal. "Oh, just a vengeful spirit. Milk run, really. Then he slept with my girlfriend, and that was that."
Sam scoffed. "Yeah, that sounds like Dean."
"Look," Sam said, his tone shifting to something almost... concerned, "what you’re doing, this cover thing, providing information, it’s not easy. Not everyone can pull off what Bobby did."
And there it was. The real reason he called. Dean took a breath, the sincerity in Sam’s voice catching him off guard. "I get that, son. If you’re worried about my creds, talk to Garth or Jody Mills. They’ll vouch for me."
There was a pause as Sam processed this. “Fine. I will. You got a name, pal?”
"Jim Hetfield," Dean said without missing a beat, figuring Sam’s lack of Metallica knowledge might get him through this one.
"Fine. But if I find out you’re scamming hunters, I’m coming for you."
“Yeeeeah. Good luck with that, son,” Dean replied and hung up. He took a big sigh and looked to the sky. “For the record he called me! I’m not at fault for this!”
A moment later there was a text message on his phone.
Castiel
Dean groaned and looked back at his door that he was working on… If he could have, he would have stopped for the day. But job wasn’t done so with another sigh he went back to work.
[NFI]
As he was shimming the new door into place, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out to check which one it was: just the one labeled "FBI." He didn’t bother looking at the number. One of these days, he'd learn that was a bad habit.
He answered in his usual style, "Federal Bureau of Investigation. Tom Willis speaking."
The voice on the other end was anything but friendly. "Yeah, right. Who is this?"
Dean's heart sank as he recognized the voice. Sam Winchester.
Damn it. He shifted into a slower, more nasal tone, layering in a Texas drawl. "This is Tom Willis, regional director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. May I ask who's calling?"
Dean immediately regretted the choice. He sounded like Foghorn Leghorn.
"Cut the crap," the voice snapped back. "Tom Willis was a cover Bobby Singer used, not some con artist trying to fleece hunters!"
Dean took a beat, suppressing a groan. Of course, it was Sam. Always self-righteous, even when he was clueless.
“All right. Well, I think there might have been some confusion here, I say, he-re.” Look if he was doing Leghorn he was going to lean into it. “I’m not trying to profit on anything, I say, anything hunter related. Who is this?”
"This is Sam Winchester, and don’t give me that. I’ve never heard of any hunter charging for information!"
“Son, now, I say son, I think this is where the confusion lies,” Dean said, now leaning against the wall and fighting with everything he had not to drop the accent and call his brother a bitch and reveal who he was. “I don’t charge anybody anything. What I give as a service for backing hunters up or for information? I give it for free. Now if some grateful hunter wants to throw some cash my way, then they can use this Venmo app thing to show some appreciation. I never ask and it’s all voluntary.”
“Dean!”
Dean closed his eyes and felt his stomach twist. Busted. He should’ve gone with Yosemite Sam.
“Dean! No, don’t do that to the dog!”
He let out a sigh of relief as Sam’s attention shifted to whatever chaos was happening on his end. He listened to Sam try to reason with his son.
Dean shut his eyes again just thinking about that. Sam’s son. His nephew. He listened to his brother talk and try to reason with his son.
“Miracle doesn’t like being bitten on the snout, buddy.”
“No!”
“Well what if I bit your nose would you like that?”
“.... No.”
Dean began to slowly pace back and forth on the porch not sure whether to laugh or curl up in a ball. All he wanted to do was confess and hear his brother’s reaction. But instead he listened to Sam's dad-mode negotiations until Eileen’s voice popped in, then Sam was back on the line.
“All right, so as I was saying-”
"He sounds like a handful," Dean interrupted, his voice strained. "You named him after your brother, right?"
There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Yeah. You knew my brother?”
“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Worked a case with him back in the day. Talked about you constantly.”
"He did, huh?" Sam's voice softened a bit, the edge fading. "When was this?"
“Oh, you were in school or something. Berkeley?” Dean knew that would get under Sam’s skin, and sure enough, he heard a grunt on the other end.
"Stanford," Sam deadpanned. "What was the case?”
Dean smirked. Sam was going to validate this somehow with Dean’s old journal. "Oh, just a vengeful spirit. Milk run, really. Then he slept with my girlfriend, and that was that."
Sam scoffed. "Yeah, that sounds like Dean."
"Look," Sam said, his tone shifting to something almost... concerned, "what you’re doing, this cover thing, providing information, it’s not easy. Not everyone can pull off what Bobby did."
And there it was. The real reason he called. Dean took a breath, the sincerity in Sam’s voice catching him off guard. "I get that, son. If you’re worried about my creds, talk to Garth or Jody Mills. They’ll vouch for me."
There was a pause as Sam processed this. “Fine. I will. You got a name, pal?”
"Jim Hetfield," Dean said without missing a beat, figuring Sam’s lack of Metallica knowledge might get him through this one.
"Fine. But if I find out you’re scamming hunters, I’m coming for you."
“Yeeeeah. Good luck with that, son,” Dean replied and hung up. He took a big sigh and looked to the sky. “For the record he called me! I’m not at fault for this!”
A moment later there was a text message on his phone.
Castiel
Noted. |
Dean groaned and looked back at his door that he was working on… If he could have, he would have stopped for the day. But job wasn’t done so with another sigh he went back to work.
[NFI]