righthemisphere | Deer Country IC Inbox

Interestingly, this strange combo Dean is presented tastes a lot better than it looks. He's never been overly wild about mushrooms (they're slimy, okay) but he's had to get used to them here in Trench and he's figured out ways to cook them that are palatable to everyone in the house.

Not that anyone appreciates it, he's coming to realize. Sammy is pissed at him, Sam is...soulless and pretty unappreciative, and Cas is..

Gone.

"Huh?" He looks up, torn from his thoughts, shaking his head to clear it. "Smash-- hell yeah, man."

"Cool," nice and simple. He's been doing this a lot, lately. Usually at ass o'clock while Chuck is asleep and he can't. There's a hell of a lot of junk on this property, plus all the wooden crates from supply runs in town and run down farm equipment they've inherited. What better than to smash it all down into teeny tiny bits and have it taken away.

He'd burn it, but having a fire that big might draw attention from the local beasties and he doesn't really feel like dealing with that.

So, quench their munchies, gather up their liquor, and Raleigh will tug himself up with a groan to amble their high asses towards the barn.

Not a bad idea. Good stress relief. Dean's been out hunting monsters and getting into fights underground.

Which Sammy was pissed about, but it sure got them some good food on the table more than a few times.

Brat. He'll have to cover his tracks better in the future.

"Where'd it all come from?" Dean asks, liquor in tow, as he teeters after the blond, curious, peering into the evening.

"Some of it was here when the house appeared. Some of it's junk from bringing supplies in," he says, tucking his thumbs behind his belt buckle like it's nothing as they saunter out across the yard.

To their right, every twenty feet or so, is a monster ward on a stake that has been hammered into the ground and runs like an invisible fence. There's a second ring of them around the perimeter of the property but being able to see them like this is comforting.

The air is different out here. It's fresher. More crisp. And while it doesn't have the walled protection of the city, Raleigh far prefers being able to see enemies approach than be surprised and trapped amongst buildings. All the recent problems with the zealots and body farm don't seem to extend as far out as Ache and Feed. The population isn't big enough to venture out, it would seem.

It is quiet, though, very quiet, but there are pros and cons to that, too.

"We've got the mushroom farm which is new, but I'm gonna plant potatoes and sunflowers if I can find the seeds. Enough chickens to feed us and a few others but I want them to breed so we can scale up."

There's similar warding all along Dean's property, too. Doesn't keep out Peter Rabbit here, but it does the trick with the monsters - especially since they've got animals - the horse, the dog. Their omens.

Themselves.

He takes a long, deep breath - while Trench is it's own kind of hell, Dean likes it.

Like(d) it, before things went to Hell in a handbasket, before his brother showed up Soulless, before he and Cas tried to do some scrying and ended up screwing everything up, because that's just what they're good at, apparently.

"Yeah, breeding them is a good idea. We've just got a dog and a horse, not a lot of help, though Mr. Ed is pretty handy with a plow for the herbs, I guess. And the flower farm."

"Mr. Ed," he laughs, grinning nice and wide.

"That's amazing."

Nice smile, he idly thinks, then immediately starts thinking about static because half the assholes in this city can read minds.

"Yeah. Used to watch it when I was a kid. It was always on those old TV stations, you know what I mean. The only ones you got when there wasn't cable available."

No mind reading here. You're safe.

"I know the ones. Good ol' PBS, am I right? Four channels of despair but I love those old movies. I'm not even sorry."

Thank Gawd.

"God, yeah. That and Me TV. You remember that one? God...I grew up on those old shows and spaghetti Westerns."

"Loove spaghetti westerns," he agrees and sips his beer.

"Anything Hollywood hayday is where I'm at, man. Gone With the Wind, A Street Car Named Desire, High Noon, Pff.. man. All completely lost on Chuck."

He laughs, taking a swig of his drink and rolling his shoulders.

"Same. I love all that old stuff." It's all that was on motel TV.

"That and Scooby Doo. Love that dog."

Another laugh.

"Me too. It's a little before my time but I don't care. There's so much I wish I'd had. Saturday morning cartoons.. comics in the paper, actual newspapers. I was born in the wrong decade."

"Before your time, huh? What are you, fifteen?"

It's teasing sarcasm, because Raleigh is clearly older than him, right?

Or at least...now he is. Before, no. Dean had been thirty-five and full of rage. It's different, now. Those memories linger, simmering under his skin, but they're his and not at the same time.

"Yeah? Wish you were born in the forties?" That's the vibe you give, Rals.

"Twenty nine in a few weeks but I was robbed a year 'cuz'a when I came to Deerington. So like.. twenty eight twice?"

S h r u g!! Who knows, not him.

"And I mean. I woulda taken the eighties. Forties were fascinating but I'm gay as fuck and that is a solid no bueno"

"Yeah...I feel that. I was thirty five when I got here and now I'm....barely...thirty? I don't know. It's weird."

It's hard, not to blame Cas for getting the spell wrong. Of all people, he should know what the fuck he's doing, right? And yet.

And yet.

"Y--" He barks a laugh, surprised at the phrasing, but nnnot so much at the content. That's obvious.

"Yeah, that's fair." Raleigh's so....comfortable with it. Dean isn't gay gay, but he aint straight, and he's definitely banging a dude, so.

Look it's the product of a year of very hard work that he's been so flippant. A year and a joint of very strong weed. Fuck he's so.. wheee

He laughs, glancing over with bright eyes. So, you know. You and Cas. You're in good company out here in nowhereville with all the other weaponized rainbows.

"Forget the forties, let's go twenties. Zoot suits and a real fedora, film noir style. Big coat, fast car. I'd drive a rolls Phantom first edition.. maybe I'd be a spy."

Thank god he's out here with all the other dudes who like it up the duff. Back home...God. He's just grateful his dad will never know.

"Man...I'd be a mobster, for sure. Pinstripes, and...the 20s were great but I want a 1934 Voisin C15 Saloit Roadster. Sleek, beautiful. Black, obviously."

"C15 roadster..," he has to think about that for a second.

"That's the coupe, right? Convertible?"

He sighs, wistful.

"Yeah. Long nose, sleek look, drop top. Gorgeous car."

"I would."

Have one. Fuck one. Either/or. If it's the car he's thinking of? Absolutely.

"I could see you in that. Welcome to my office, Dean."

They get to the heap behind the barn and Raleigh sets down their beer before presenting his array of smashing implements to choose from. What will it be, the classic steel pipe? Crowbar? Baseball bat?

You'd fuck a car, huh Raleigh?

"Damn, this is great." He sets the bottle he's holding down by Raleigh's, and he'll opt for the crowbar. Go with what you know, right?

Don't pretend for a second that you wouldn't.

"Not bad, huh," he says and goes for the bat. It's his favourite.

"Age before beauty, Dean."

Accompanied with a grin and a gesture.

"Please," he scoffs, laughing as he steps forward. "I got what, a year on you, tops?"

But he'll take the opportunity and heft the crowbar in his hands, stepping forward, fingers wrapped tight around metal.

"As if, boomer. December 11th, 19~98~~," Raleigh quips back with triumph, knowing full well it doesn't count- but he's from the future baybeee~

"Okay, I'm still only thirty," he says, pointing the bar at Raleigh with a laugh.

"And I'm GenX, thanks."

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