20: [Video/Action] Open Arms

[dashboardlite]

Dean is slumped in one of the easy chairs in his room, seemingly completely oblivious to the camera he's left on the bedside table.  It's at enough of an angle that half his face is obscured by the shadows in the dimly-lit room, and the only sources of illumination are the floor lamp off in the far corner, and the soft electric glow of the radio's face.

The only thing it's been playing today are Journey's greatest hits, but it's been stuck on a loop of Faithfully and Open Arms, which made Dean think, and thinking is always a bad idea when he's convinced that he's fucked up almost every close friendship - or relationship - he's had with anyone since coming here.

Dean is starting to see a pattern, and if the expression of grim pain on his face isn't enough of a giveaway that something is wrong, then the beer bottle dangling from his fingertips over the left arm of the chair ought to be.  Reaching down, he tugs off one of his heavy biker boots and chucks it at the radio, which clatters to the floor and fizzles out of whatever reception it was getting.

He knows he should be happier.  His brother is here.  Sam, Sasquatch that he is, is here - albeit older - the the guilt he feels over moping when he should be catching up with Sam is...really awful, actually.

But everyone has those days, right?

Right?

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[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

['Homely' isn't the half of it. It's a fairly kitschy Midwestern motel room, themed panels and everything. Dean shuts the door behind Arthur, shrugging as he makes his way - quite steadily, actually - back to his chair.]

Haven't been stationary since I was four. My car's my home, and my baby ain't even here.

[He sighs, realizing that this is the first time he's mentioned the Impala to anyone in...a really long time. Waving his hand again as settles on the arm of the easy chair, Dean grabs for his beer bottle.] Make yourself comfortable. Your poison's on the table.

[Dean smirks at the bottle of Johnny Walker, lifting his own liquor to his lips.]

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[Dragging his focus away from the unique décor, Arthur watches with an openly impressed look about him as his new-found drinking partner doesn't so much as stumble. But he's not one to judge, even if it does concern him somewhat.

He doesn't hesitate in doing exactly that, snatching up the bottle and dropping heavily into the next available seat. He doesn't say anything for a while as he observes Dean, and he doesn't know why, but he can't help feeling a little sad for him even though he's usually good at controlling his emotions.]

What car do you drive? [It's a lame question to ask, he knows, but he panics where distressed people are concerned.]

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[DING DING DING, we have a winner! Congratulations, the narration would like to give you the opportunity to pat yourself on the back for choosing a subject that interests Dean and may even lighten his pity-party mood!

A crooked grin stretches across his face.]

A 1967 black Chevy Impala. [He chuckles to himself.] And boy, does she purr. Definitely one of the loves of my life.

[Aside from a certain angel we're not talking about right now, no way. Dean tips his head to one side, pursing his lips as he looks over Arthur.]

But you don't seem like a vintage car man. Keep pretty tidy for a dude from L.A. [He tips his chin up.] Trade business secrets?

[In other words, you tell me your job, I'll tell you mine.]

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[The corner of Arthur's mouth curls upward, though he's laughing on the inside, because he's instantly reminded of a kid on Christmas morning.]

You have more than one love of your life? Because from where I'm sitting, you only have eyes for the car. [And he holds up his hands.] But it's a classic, so there's nothing wrong with that.

[And he finally cracks open the bottle, removing the lid to knock a fair amount back; he isn't that big of a drinker, though that's because he's usually working and prefers to be as professional as possible, but the time he spent in the military taught him to drink pretty much anything without flinching.] Good choice, by the way.

[He shrugs.] I don't suppose I am, really, no. I'm more of a practical car owner; I need something reliable that's going to make it from A to B. And - [he huffs a quiet laugh] - something less conspicuous.

[He pauses to consider this, ever one for thinking things through before taking action to consider the pros and cons. But he decides what the hell, they're stuck in this bizarre world anyway, one he's pretty certain isn't a dream he's been dragged into, and it's not as if Dean's going to blab it to all and sundry. And if he did, there's no one here posing a threat as far as he can tell.]

I work in the business of dream-sharing. What we do, it's not exactly what you would call legal, and few actually know that the technology that enables us even exists. [He stops and smiles, realising he no doubt sounds like a man who's lost the plot.] We're usually hired by big corporations to steal information from rivals, though not always. It requires a great deal of planning, and it can be dangerous, especially if we're unsuccessful, but it's a good income.

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[dashboardlite.livejournal.com]

[We're not talking about Dean's second love. Not just yet.

He pays quiet attention to what Arthur has to say, because determining who he can trust here is fairly important. And he and Sam could always use an extra hand keeping people safe around the mansion. Saving people, hunting things, et cetera, et cetera.

What is interesting is this concept of "dream-sharing", whatever the Hell that's about. Illegal, possibly stolen technology, serious planning, danger, decent amount of money. Sounds sort of familiar.]

Never heard of it. [Dean answers honestly, drumming his fingertips on the glass bottle in his hand.] And if you think your job is hard to believe- [He snorts with no small amount of derision.]

...in case you didn't guess, I'm not a door-to-door Bible salesman.

[Action] Sorry about the slow reply! ;;

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[Well, that's not the typical response Arthur's used to getting whenever he does divulge the ins and outs of the job. He isn't complaining, it's actually kind of nice not to get laughed at and be forced to make a undignified bitch-face for once.

And he's that little bit more curious now, though, and not just because of the lack of mocking. He rolls his eyes, but adds a smile in there for good measure.] Yeah. I figured. For a start, you're lacking anything that resembles a cheap suit. And you don't have the look.

[He knocks back a fair amount of whiskey before looking at Dean bluntly.] Having established you're not a salesman, what exactly is it that you are?

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[Talking about his job here never really seems to get old for Dean. He thinks it's because he doesn't get to talk about it back home, and now has to make up for every occasion (or potential occasion). At any rate, he also likes seeing the expressions on people's faces.

Arthur seems pretty rational, Dream Policeman or not. Dean chuckles at his own wit before looking at the man lucidly through the alcohol. A smirk plays across his lips.]

A hunter.

[He takes another sip of his drink, grinning around the lip of the bottle.]

I hunt monsters.

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[The bottle in Arthur's hand is mid-way in its journey towards his mouth when it stops, freezes in place only briefly, and then makes it to its destination. He takes a hefty swig of the amber liquid, relishing the burn as it makes the line of fire down his gullet hotter, and considered this.

A hunter of monsters? That isn't remotely close to what he was expecting. Thinking about it, though, he wasn't really sure what to expect, which thoroughly annoys him as he tends to know everything there is to know about someone's background before sitting down to a drink with them.]

And when you say monsters, you mean...what exactly? Vampires? Werewolves? [Rather than sounding disbelieving, he actually manages to sound curious, the tone of his voice expressing as much, though it might just be the alcohol talking.] The only monsters I've had the misfortune of coming by have always been in the form of man.

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[Arthur seems like the kind of guy who knows things. Or rather, researches things extensively and at-length before going into them. A planner. Which is why Dean finds it so funny that he's taking this so well. Asking questions, even. That's a nice change.]

Vampires and werewolves ain't the half of it, buddy. [Dean toasts the air with his beer bottle, taking another sip and swallowing before adding,] You name it, I hunt it. Can't argue with you there, though - Monsters are predictable. Now, people...

[Dean shrugs.] People are friggin' crazy.

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Call me cynical, but I don't think anyone here is leaving in the near future. [He shrugs as if he's unfazed by this fact, but knocks back more alcohol that might contradict the casual demeanour.] Feel free to share a few tales; I got time.

[And he laughs at that, the action making him a little dizzy as the whiskey takes effecct.] That's an understatement. People aren't something that I've ever understood. You can research them, put names to faces and learn their habits. But at the end, you can't predict what they're going to do next, not really.

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I think I got one too many stories. [Dean laughs, eyeing his beer bottle thoughtfully.] We had, uh...we had one case, once. Me and my brother. People were goin' missing, nobody knew what it was. We thought it was right up our alley.

[He leans in.] Sam got kidnapped. [He neglects to mention that Sam is in fact his brother, but when you're this tipsy, that sort of detail is irrelevant.]