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tamingthemuseTitle: An Ordinary Job
Fandom: Supernatural
Prompt: 117 – Claddagh
Rating: PG13
Summary: Dean and Sam and an ordinary job.
Notes: Unbetaed! Written right before S04E05.
"Sammy!" Dean called from across the street, watching his brother come down the stairs of the municipal library.
Sam looked up with that air of exasperation and affection that Dean knew would follow every use of the word 'Sammy'. He waited for Sam to cross the street and draw closer before asking the usual question. "So, found anything?"
Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "Sort of. I think it may be an heirloom or something. Remember that a good part of the victims were all women with different surnames? Turns out that many are related to each other in small family groups – mothers and daughters, the occasional sister-in-law... I couldn't find much about the male victims, though."
"An heirloom, eh?" Dean knew the sheer amount of smugness in his smile would drive Sam off the wall, but he wasn't in the mood to let Sam off the hook. "Come on, I'll buy some pie and tell you how research is really done."
Sam frowned, opened his mouth, but Dean was already walking and Sam had to follow him. "So?" he testily asked.
"I saw this really hot chick going into this antique store-" Dean started with a gleam in his eyes.
"Is this going somewhere?" Sam cut.
"Actually, yes. Just let me tell the story at my own pace, will ya?" Dean paused for a moment and when Sam rolled his eyes and huffed as a sign of agreement, he donned his best smug grin and continued. "The chick was really hot, you know," he said drawing with his hands huge breasts. I went inside right behind her and it turned out she worked there. We started chatting, and she was telling me all these stories about the items for sale."
"Dean, can we get to the point? Today?"
Dean paused, looked at Sam with his best annoyed glare and pushed the diner's door open. "Hey!" he warned. Sam's eyebrow arched higher. "Well, okay," Dean conceded, going in. They walked up to a booth and Dean let himself fall to the seat.
"Point is," he continued, "She showed me this claddagh collection. The things were ancient, I'm telling you."
"Probably made in China."
"No dude, the real thing. She had papers to go with them and all. Anyway, just right after she gave me her number, she made a remark about how unfortunate the last owner of one of them had been and it kind of made a click."
"So you're saying that a ring was the cause of multiple stab wounds?" Sam arched a doubtful eyebrow.
"Well, that's the deal. She could trace the ring back to the end of the nineteenth century and she dropped a few names. I did a little checking and it turns out there were quite a few stories about stab wounds in a heart-shaped disposition associated with previous owners. How's that for research?"
Sam rolled his eyes and pulled out a sheet of paper from his jacket's inner pocket. "Let’s do a little cross checking."
"God, you're no fun."
Sam was about to let a jab fly when the waitress, an overweight red head in her fifties came to the table.
"What can I get you boys?" she asked.
Dean's smug grin immediately shifted to his overly seductive smile. Sam shook his head. Dean just couldn't resist flirting.
"I'll have the day special," Dean said.
"Me too," Sam said, only wanting the waitress to go away quickly. He had no idea what the day special was but knowing Dean's taste he would probably regret his hasty choice later.
The waitress jotted the other and was turning to leave when Dean placed a hand on hers.
"That's a lovely ring you have there..."
Sam watched in awe as the waitress – Sheila from the nametag – melted.
"Why, thank you! That was a gift from my husband for our thirtieth anniversary. It's called a claddagh."
"Is that so?" Dean asked, still holding her hand and turning it under the light. "And when was that?"
"Oh, two months ago."
Dean and Sam exchanged a glance.
"Right... Ooh, isn't that chilly, all of a sudden? Do you ever feel like that, a sudden chill?"
No, darling," Sheila replied. "You must be catching a cold, or maybe there's a draft. And no, I don't feel sudden chills. More like sudden heat waves. Menopause."
"Yeah," Sam said. "My brother is very prone to freakish chills and mysterious accidents, you know, when things get out of place and stuff..."
Dean rolled his eyes. Sheila laughed.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. My husband is going through this phase where the strangest things happen to him. Just the other day he-"
"Sheila!" came a voice from the kitchen. "We have other costumers."
Sheila rolled her eyes. "He's been testy like that. Well, I'd better get your order going."
She walked away, leaving Sam and Dean alone.
"Interesting, wouldn't you say?" Dean arched an eyebrow, mocking Sam.
"Come on. We need to find out more about those rings."
A week later Sam dropped to the motel bed fully dressed and covering his eyes with a hand. It was three am and they had slept less twenty-four hours during the whole week. Jeremiah Smith was one wicked sonofabitch but now his vindictive bones were ashes and the cursed claddaghs he had crafted and so 'generously' distributed around town were a piece of melted gold.
Dean leaned against the bathroom's doorjamb and sighed. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced. Sam grunted something in reply, but Dean was too tired to care exactly what.
When he returned, Sam had changed into his sleeping t-shirt and boxes and lay in his bed with his eyes closed. Dean put out the lights and slipped into his own bed. He was dead tired but now that he could finally rest, his head was too full of thoughts. Sam's quiet breathing suggested that he had been out for a while but when Dean least expected it, his brother spoke.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Isn't this odd?"
"What's odd?" Dean asked from within a yawn.
"This job."
"Cursed object, open and shut. Nothing we haven't done a zillion times."
"That's not what I mean. Or rather, that's precisely what I mean. Think about it: you left hell and have a guardian angel, and we just fought over, well, my alternative methods and someone's calling the apocalypse... It feels too normal, like we just went back to the old days."
"Sam, shut up." Dean covered his eyes with his hand. Sam had gone full awake, had all the wheels of his big head turning, just as Dean’s were finally settling for the night.
"I'm just saying," Sam pushed on.
"What, you think this isn't real? We spent a frigging week stealing rings from the most improbable people and we had to dig three graves in two cemeteries before getting the right bones and you think that it was a piece of cake?"
"No, not a piece of cake. Just too normal."
Dean turned and punched his pillow. "Well, I, for one, like normal. Now sleep."
"Fine."
Sam retreated into a sulking silence but Dean could hear him tossing and turning in the bed. The gears in his brain had finally slowed down and his body was yelling for restoring sleep, but he couldn't give in, not without talking to Sam.
"Dammit," he said between yawns. "Couldn't you find a better time to fight? I'm dying here."
Sam huffed from his bed.
"I don't get what your problem is... What's wrong with getting the world safer, one ring at a time?"
"Dude, have you been reading Lord of the Rings?"
Dean snorted. At least Sam had made a joke, albeit a terrible one.
"Nope. Just tell me what's eating you."
"I think we should be after Lilith. There's a war going on and we're here, chasing cursed claddaghs. Does that make any sense to you?"
Dean sighed. "I don't know. Can we sleep now? I need some rest before going off to save the world. We'll talk to Bobby tomorrow, okay? Maybe he has some ideas."
Sam sighed. "Fine."
Dean heard him rolling to his side. The damned beds creaked beyond belief. Sam was right on one thing – if the Apocalypse was coming, they should be on the front line. But he didn't regret the job. At least they had worked together like in the old days, no dark freakish things coming out of Sam's mind, no death sentence hanging over his. They had joked and bickered and Sam had gotten his ears full for flirting with every girl he saw. It had been worth it.
Finis
October 2008
Fandom: Supernatural
Prompt: 117 – Claddagh
Rating: PG13
Summary: Dean and Sam and an ordinary job.
Notes: Unbetaed! Written right before S04E05.
"Sammy!" Dean called from across the street, watching his brother come down the stairs of the municipal library.
Sam looked up with that air of exasperation and affection that Dean knew would follow every use of the word 'Sammy'. He waited for Sam to cross the street and draw closer before asking the usual question. "So, found anything?"
Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "Sort of. I think it may be an heirloom or something. Remember that a good part of the victims were all women with different surnames? Turns out that many are related to each other in small family groups – mothers and daughters, the occasional sister-in-law... I couldn't find much about the male victims, though."
"An heirloom, eh?" Dean knew the sheer amount of smugness in his smile would drive Sam off the wall, but he wasn't in the mood to let Sam off the hook. "Come on, I'll buy some pie and tell you how research is really done."
Sam frowned, opened his mouth, but Dean was already walking and Sam had to follow him. "So?" he testily asked.
"I saw this really hot chick going into this antique store-" Dean started with a gleam in his eyes.
"Is this going somewhere?" Sam cut.
"Actually, yes. Just let me tell the story at my own pace, will ya?" Dean paused for a moment and when Sam rolled his eyes and huffed as a sign of agreement, he donned his best smug grin and continued. "The chick was really hot, you know," he said drawing with his hands huge breasts. I went inside right behind her and it turned out she worked there. We started chatting, and she was telling me all these stories about the items for sale."
"Dean, can we get to the point? Today?"
Dean paused, looked at Sam with his best annoyed glare and pushed the diner's door open. "Hey!" he warned. Sam's eyebrow arched higher. "Well, okay," Dean conceded, going in. They walked up to a booth and Dean let himself fall to the seat.
"Point is," he continued, "She showed me this claddagh collection. The things were ancient, I'm telling you."
"Probably made in China."
"No dude, the real thing. She had papers to go with them and all. Anyway, just right after she gave me her number, she made a remark about how unfortunate the last owner of one of them had been and it kind of made a click."
"So you're saying that a ring was the cause of multiple stab wounds?" Sam arched a doubtful eyebrow.
"Well, that's the deal. She could trace the ring back to the end of the nineteenth century and she dropped a few names. I did a little checking and it turns out there were quite a few stories about stab wounds in a heart-shaped disposition associated with previous owners. How's that for research?"
Sam rolled his eyes and pulled out a sheet of paper from his jacket's inner pocket. "Let’s do a little cross checking."
"God, you're no fun."
Sam was about to let a jab fly when the waitress, an overweight red head in her fifties came to the table.
"What can I get you boys?" she asked.
Dean's smug grin immediately shifted to his overly seductive smile. Sam shook his head. Dean just couldn't resist flirting.
"I'll have the day special," Dean said.
"Me too," Sam said, only wanting the waitress to go away quickly. He had no idea what the day special was but knowing Dean's taste he would probably regret his hasty choice later.
The waitress jotted the other and was turning to leave when Dean placed a hand on hers.
"That's a lovely ring you have there..."
Sam watched in awe as the waitress – Sheila from the nametag – melted.
"Why, thank you! That was a gift from my husband for our thirtieth anniversary. It's called a claddagh."
"Is that so?" Dean asked, still holding her hand and turning it under the light. "And when was that?"
"Oh, two months ago."
Dean and Sam exchanged a glance.
"Right... Ooh, isn't that chilly, all of a sudden? Do you ever feel like that, a sudden chill?"
No, darling," Sheila replied. "You must be catching a cold, or maybe there's a draft. And no, I don't feel sudden chills. More like sudden heat waves. Menopause."
"Yeah," Sam said. "My brother is very prone to freakish chills and mysterious accidents, you know, when things get out of place and stuff..."
Dean rolled his eyes. Sheila laughed.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. My husband is going through this phase where the strangest things happen to him. Just the other day he-"
"Sheila!" came a voice from the kitchen. "We have other costumers."
Sheila rolled her eyes. "He's been testy like that. Well, I'd better get your order going."
She walked away, leaving Sam and Dean alone.
"Interesting, wouldn't you say?" Dean arched an eyebrow, mocking Sam.
"Come on. We need to find out more about those rings."
A week later Sam dropped to the motel bed fully dressed and covering his eyes with a hand. It was three am and they had slept less twenty-four hours during the whole week. Jeremiah Smith was one wicked sonofabitch but now his vindictive bones were ashes and the cursed claddaghs he had crafted and so 'generously' distributed around town were a piece of melted gold.
Dean leaned against the bathroom's doorjamb and sighed. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced. Sam grunted something in reply, but Dean was too tired to care exactly what.
When he returned, Sam had changed into his sleeping t-shirt and boxes and lay in his bed with his eyes closed. Dean put out the lights and slipped into his own bed. He was dead tired but now that he could finally rest, his head was too full of thoughts. Sam's quiet breathing suggested that he had been out for a while but when Dean least expected it, his brother spoke.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Isn't this odd?"
"What's odd?" Dean asked from within a yawn.
"This job."
"Cursed object, open and shut. Nothing we haven't done a zillion times."
"That's not what I mean. Or rather, that's precisely what I mean. Think about it: you left hell and have a guardian angel, and we just fought over, well, my alternative methods and someone's calling the apocalypse... It feels too normal, like we just went back to the old days."
"Sam, shut up." Dean covered his eyes with his hand. Sam had gone full awake, had all the wheels of his big head turning, just as Dean’s were finally settling for the night.
"I'm just saying," Sam pushed on.
"What, you think this isn't real? We spent a frigging week stealing rings from the most improbable people and we had to dig three graves in two cemeteries before getting the right bones and you think that it was a piece of cake?"
"No, not a piece of cake. Just too normal."
Dean turned and punched his pillow. "Well, I, for one, like normal. Now sleep."
"Fine."
Sam retreated into a sulking silence but Dean could hear him tossing and turning in the bed. The gears in his brain had finally slowed down and his body was yelling for restoring sleep, but he couldn't give in, not without talking to Sam.
"Dammit," he said between yawns. "Couldn't you find a better time to fight? I'm dying here."
Sam huffed from his bed.
"I don't get what your problem is... What's wrong with getting the world safer, one ring at a time?"
"Dude, have you been reading Lord of the Rings?"
Dean snorted. At least Sam had made a joke, albeit a terrible one.
"Nope. Just tell me what's eating you."
"I think we should be after Lilith. There's a war going on and we're here, chasing cursed claddaghs. Does that make any sense to you?"
Dean sighed. "I don't know. Can we sleep now? I need some rest before going off to save the world. We'll talk to Bobby tomorrow, okay? Maybe he has some ideas."
Sam sighed. "Fine."
Dean heard him rolling to his side. The damned beds creaked beyond belief. Sam was right on one thing – if the Apocalypse was coming, they should be on the front line. But he didn't regret the job. At least they had worked together like in the old days, no dark freakish things coming out of Sam's mind, no death sentence hanging over his. They had joked and bickered and Sam had gotten his ears full for flirting with every girl he saw. It had been worth it.
Finis
October 2008
