♛ twentieth hunt - video;

[ofletters]

[ Today, most are getting to see a side of Sam that they haven't seen before. The expression he's sporting and his general air exude the hunter slice of his identity. His eyes are sharp, narrowed, face collected and cold. This is the expression of a man on a violent mission, of a man who's been to Hell and back, of a man who cuts the heads off of monsters.

It isn't the quiet, thoughtful younger brother. Not today. ]

I'm gonna make this quick. Whoever strung up my brother isn't getting off with a slap on the wrist. Doesn't matter that people come back a few times here after they've been offed; as far as I'm concerned, that's just a push toward a permanent ending.

I've got a few hunches. If you did this, then I guess you don't know us well enough. Winchesters don't stay dead, but they do stay pretty friggin' pissed.

[ And they're glorified serial killers, which is why, right now... Sam Winchester looks decently scary. ]

Comments

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[ofletters]

[ And it isn't too much longer before Sam answers, looking only slightly more subdued than before. His communicator's buzzing like it's going out of style behind him, though he's ignoring it for the moment. ]

Hey... Ned, right? [ And he tries to summon a faint smile if only in appreciation for what this guy's trying to do. ] ... Thanks. This is... more than you should've done.

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[wordvomit]

No, it's- it was nothing.

[Ned swallows a lump of guilt that feels like an ice cube traveling down his esophagus and settling uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He passes the box over the threshold and immediately shoves his hands into his pockets.]

Um. Yeah, I'm...Ned. And you're...?

[Sammy, who is a lot taller than the name would imply.]

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Sam. [ Good thing you didn't call him Sammy out loud, Ned. ] S'nice to meet you, though-- I mean, it'd be better another... time.

[ That is to say, when his brother hadn't been strung up. Still, he heaves a sigh and plays at another smile; Ned had brought him something as a kindness, after all. ]

You, um... been around here long? In the mansion?

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[wordvomit]

[He wouldn't dare.]

A few months.

[Three months, two days, eleven hours, and forty-five minutes, to be exact. But who's counting?]

I usually stay in the diner. I...bake. In case it wasn't obvious. Uh- It's pecan, by the way. Hope neither of you are allergic to nuts.

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Yeah, I got that. [ He smiles fleetingly at the pie. ]

Nah, that's fine. You, uh... know Dean, then?

[ Strangers don't bring consolatory pies, not in real life. Sam didn't know the guy, so he had to be at least an acquaintance of his brother's. ]

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[wordvomit]

Sort of. He visits the diner pretty often.

[And divests the Pie Maker of more than a few of his pies more frequently than the average soul. He assumes that Dean is a traditional Heartland sort-of-fellow, and the flannel shirts that seem to be a genetic trait in the Winchester family make that evident.

Ned shifts a little, rocking on the balls of his feet.]

I take it that's not uncommon for him.

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Bet he's tried a few of the pies. [ Dean is pies Biggest Fan. Obsessively so, Sam thinks. If they made alcoholic pie... ]

Yeah, you're right. It's a... habit. Of his. To put it lightly.

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[wordvomit]

[If by "a few" Sam means "all and then some," then yes, Dean has tried a few of the pies.]

Well, uh, I hope he enjoys...that one, then. And I'm- sorry to hear about all that stuff.