somebody tryin&#39; just to stay alive

Hell yeah I'm gonna hit up the beers, but I'd rather have pie than cake any day, buddy.

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timisnotme.livejournal.com

*shrug* It's your birthday. Have whatever you want.

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Cas wanders in a few minutes later, his attention drawn to by the music, and Dean's humming (not that he'd admit it, but it's nice, okay). His gaze falls on the scotch, and he frowns.

"Dean, why are you drinking. It's 9am." Dean has schooled him well in the Etiquette of Booze, and he's pretty sure one is supposed to wait until evening. Or at least late afternoon.

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He lifts his head from his scintillating magazine - really, it's almost torture to read this shit when he doesn't have his baby here - and quirks a smile.

"Because, my nerdy friend," Dean grabs the bottle, lifting it in a mock toast before taking a swig. He coughs at the spicy liquor and chuckles a little. "It's my birthday."

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"Oh. Happy birthday, then." He attempts a smile; it looks awkward on him, but not terrible.

There's a pause while Cas holds the smile stiffly, then asks, "...should I be drinking too?" Is it a birthday rule or something?

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Dean sort of stares at him for a minute, lips pursed, then breaks into a laugh. "Dude, it's a birthday - It ain't a funeral. And it's not..." He looks at the bottle of Scotch guiltily. He really shouldn't be drinking. His liver will kill him before the goddamn Operator does again.

"...you don't have to. I figure I'll get something from the kitchen to celebrate."

Dean snaps the magazine shut and tosses it to the foot of his bed, uncrossing his legs and getting to his feet. "You wanna come? I was thinkin' of makin' some pie."

While he could ask for some, it's never quite the same as homemade, and it's one of the few things he could probably wrangle up on his own.

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"Uh. Sure." Making pie sounds as good as anything. "You know how to prepare food?" Castiel's face is straight, earnest as ever; Dean will never know that last bit is a joke, even if Cas is the only one amused by it.

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"Yeah, I know how to, uh...roast...things."

Mostly set things on fire. Cooking's hard, okay? It takes time and effort, which Dean usually has in scant supply. Here, though, he can at least managed a damn pie.

"Just...yeah. I'll manage. C'mon, Clarence." Dean picks up his room key and spins it around on his finger, waiting in the doorway.

"You comin'?"

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"I do not believe pies are roasted," remarks Cas, gravely. "But I will accompany you. Perhaps I can assist." Or at least put out fires.

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Dean grunts in affirmation, wondering if he should regret inviting Castiel long on his baking adventure. The angel seems genuinely interested, so there can't be any harm, right?

...right?

He leads the meandering way down to the kitchen, pulling out a few bowls and spoons and other things that look appropriate for making pie, and go through the inventory in his head. A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, Dean had made pie. He could remember the ingredients. Hopefully.

"We need, uh...sugar...some green apples, butter, flour...cinnamon," Dean thinks harder before adding, "...eggs."

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"And are there not books of directions for preparing food?" Cas adds, looking around the kitchen he's never been in before, "Or do you know how to make one without it?" It's rather like a ritual, he supposes - the right ingredients, the right arm-motions, and out the other end comes your desired result. If all goes well, and demons don't interrupt.

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totallycheerio.livejournal.com - Date: 2011-02-27 01:23 am (UTC) - Expand

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[ The transmission starts off with a sheepish look from Phil, but quickly turns into his best perfectly cheerful and our last meeting didn't end on awkward terms nope no way smile.

And granted, he actually is in a fairly good mood for a change, so now is as good a time as any to make sure he doesn't break off contact with his new acquaintance. ~~Neurotically worried because Dean didn't get back to him for over a week? Him? No way!~~ ]

Hey... [ SMILE. ]

Happy birthday!

...Did you actually just almost forget about that? Your own birthday?

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[He looks surprised at first, mostly because, admittedly, he hasn't kept in touch with Philip since the last time they hung out and shot guns and Philip had wandered away sort of mumbling to himself and looking vaguely guilty about something.

And then there was that thing where Dean went hunting the Operator with very little information to back him up, and he got disemboweled and Cas put him back together.

But Dean shrugs off any spiteful comments in favor of accepting the birthday wishes, and he cracks a smile, rubbing the back of his head.]

...yeeeah, sorta. In my line of work, we don't exactly find time to celebrate a buncha stuff. But thanks, man. Feels kinda weird to be so close to thirty, but...eh. What're you gonna do, right?

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Grin and bear it?

...It's really not that bad once you get past it.

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[To be honest, it doesn't really bother Dean - He's never cared much about his age, since he looks attractive all the damn time - but being on the tail-end of his twenties is weird.]

That ain't exactly the issue. [He quirks a wry grin.] In my reality, I'd be dead right now. I wasn't gonna live past twenty-nine no matter what.

[Angels be damned, Castiel can talk about the Apocalypse all he wants, but Dean is pretty set on the fact that he's going to Hell and nothing's going to bring him out of The Pit.]

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[ Oh. Wow.

I mean... ouch. ]

You're...

[ He stops himself. Nope, 'prod further to find out what Dean is going to die of' is not on the list of approved things to ask during this conversation.

Even if 'wasn't going to live past twenty-nine no matter what' sounds oddly specific for a disease. Prognosis, sure, but there's always some leeway and besides--

And that really doesn't exactly matter now, does it? ]

I'm... sorry.

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Don't be.

[Dean waves off the condolences, shrugging a little. It doesn't bother him to talk about so much, anyway - Particularly having experienced a death as gruesome as he has recently, at the hands of the Operator. Hell will be Hell; it's not supposed to be a cakewalk.]

S'my own damn fault, and I had my reasons.

[It's then that Dean remembers that not everyone is up-to-date on the lore of his own world, so he elaborates.]

I sold my soul to save my brother. [He explains bluntly, unbothered.] Normally you get a pretty sweet deal - Whatever you want, and you fork it over after ten years when the repo man comes callin'. [Dean is quiet for a moment.] ...they gave me one year. When I first got here, I had around two months left, so I'm way past my expiration date. I ain't complainin' since Hell ain't exactly dinner with the Kennedys, but I didn't expect to be older than twenty-eight when I bit the dust.

Edited Date: 2011-01-31 06:08 pm (UTC)

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[ Selling your soul is hardly a foreign concept in Phil's world, but it's been very exclusively restricted to fiction, so that story... is kind of a lot to take in. ]

...Wow.

[ Give him a moment. ]

And there's-- There's nothing you can do, you're just going to die when you get back?

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Yep.

[Dean picks at his cuticles, glancing back up at Philip after a moment to take in the Englishman's expression. Oh wow, he really is surprised. Dean chuckles dryly.]

Yeah, 'm gonna die when I get back. You're like my br- [He did not just nearly make another comparison to Sam. Dean is feeling the loss a lot more recently; like he's emptier without his brother and desperately trying to find parts of Sam in other people.] ...someone I know.

[He nods slowly.] I made a deal with a demon, Phil. I can't break outta that no matter what I do, and believe me - I've tried everything. The bitch has me by the short 'n curlies. Hellhounds are on my trail. [And practically breathing down his neck.]

Not gonna lie, man...I'm not lookin' forward to it. But as long as my brother's alive, s'all I need to know.

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[ Philip nods slowly, but what follows then is yet more silence during which he frantically searches for a direction he could take this.

Hellhounds? What are those? And wait, demon? Not Satan? Then can't Dean just kill the demon? Isn't that what he does? And if he dies when he gets back, maybe he could just stay here? Apparently they can't get him here, right?

But any question Philip begins is followed by a sting of guilt, by the belief that they really shouldn't be talking about Dean's death on his birthday in the first place.

In the end Philip opts to keep his thoughts to himself, at least as far as follow-up questions are concerned. ]

Your brother is... lucky to have you.

[ Philip is fairly certain that nobody he knows would trade his life for him like that. Or vice versa. ]

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Lucky? [Dean snorts. He's long-since decided that luck has absolutely nothing to do with how he and Sam manage to scrape by. It's more like the skin of their teeth.] Eh...you could say that.

[He scratches his chin, thoughtful.] He's a lot like you, actually. Likes research. Thinks I'm irritating. [Here, have a snarky grin. Dean rolls his shoulders in a casual shrug.] But he's got his demons, too.

[Not that Sammy is possessed, oh no...but he's using these weird, psychic powers with the help of some demon bitch named Ruby, and Dean feels like it's all gonna go to pot when he isn't there. But enough comparing. If he keeps finding something Sammy-like in everybody, he might actually regret it when he dies again. Speaking of which...]

Y'know, I went after the Operator.

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