![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
67chevyimpalaHi there! We would like to request an additional third person log sample. While you do provide us with a portrayal of what Dean would be like upon his arrival directly from canon, we would like to see into his head. What makes him tick? Who does he value in his life as a hunter? What motivates him and frustrates him? These prompts are not mandatory but to aid in ways to show more of how Dean operates inside his own mind.
Feel free to reply here within seventy-two hours of this request. Also, kindly reply to the main entry with a link to your addendum, so we don't somehow miss it. If there are extenuating circumstances that prevent you from complying with this time limit, please feel free to contact us and we will take it into consideration.
It was another diner near another motel in the butt-end of nowhere. Dean didn't even look at the laminated menu. Sam did, but Sam was Sam and when you sat in a restaurant, you considered your meal options. It was the normal thing to do. Dean didn't know if he was reading it, though. It was late for the dinner crowd and only a couple other patrons were around. That was fine with him. The fewer who saw them, the fewer were around to remember them. Funny how they spent so much of their time staying under the radar as to almost be invisible to the world.
Except maybe for that waitress, Dean thought, smiling at the pretty brunette when she glanced over at their table. A blush. How sweet. He wondered how likely it was for him to get her phone number before dessert.
"Dean."
Just that, his name, one word and yet, so much was conveyed.
"What's wrong, Sammy? Can't decide which kiddie meal to try?"
Sam glared at him. "Ha. Ha. You are. So funny." He kept his voice low, but the tension was evident. It showed in the tightness of his shoulders, too. Dean was tired. He knew his brother was, too, and yet, here they were, finally able to take a break after that nasty mess with the ghosts and now Sam was all pissy.
Dean leaned his elbows on the table and brought his head closer to Sam. "What is your problem? I'm sure they'll let you pick a toy from the treasure chest." He couldn't help himself sometimes. He loved his brother, would die for his brother -- had died for his brother -- but teasing Sam was about as normal as things were in their lives. This magical mystery tour of supernatural creatures that wanted to kill them or eat them, or both.
Sam slapped the flat of one hand down on the table, hard. It rattled the salt and pepper and the sugar container. The plastic ketchup bottle wobbled and fell over. Dean didn't have to look around to know they had some unwanted attention.
"We just put the ghosts of murdered children to rest and you're already flirting with the waitress?"
"Sammy, that was a hundred clicks ago --"
"It's Sam. How many times do I have to --" Sam paused and smiled at the waitress when she brought their coffees. "Thanks." She looked at both of them with uncertainty and hurried to another table.
"Look, Sam. We did what we had to do. It's over. They're at peace and I'm hungry and human." Dean shrugged. "Besides, she's cute, though after that little outburst, she probably thinks you're crazy and maybe so am I by association. Thanks a lot." He kept it light, the way he often did to get through the day. So much death and terror. It was how he coped. Across from him, Sam stewed, his mouth a tight line. He'd feel better once he'd eaten something. At least, Dean hoped he would. He took his coffee black, so he didn't really have anything to do with his hands to keep him busy. Sam sat back in the booth, his hand sliding to stop beside his coffee cup.
"Whatever."
"What, you think I'm insensitive or something? That we should be mourning for those kids? We did our thing and we nailed the bastard who killed them and they're at peace. We did right by them. You should feel good about it."
"How do we know?"
Dean paused in lifting his coffee cup to his lips. "What?"
"How do we know they're at peace?"
The cup went back down. Shit. "Sam, it's what happens when you avenge a spirit that won't move on. The wrong is righted and they're... at peace." God, Sam knew all those details, better than he did. And it was a bunch of kids, little boys and girls who had their futures taken away by some sicko who liked the power he'd had over them. Dean hadn't been unmoved by the circumstances. Hell, they'd reminded him of Sammy, who'd also had his future stolen from him, just in a different way. What could have been died with their mother in a burning house, sending their father and therefore, themselves on a crazy road for vengeance. It wasn't vengeance now, though. They'd taken care of that particular demon. Now it was saving people from something most would never be able to understand, so they wouldn't have to become another casualty -- or like the Winchesters.
Sam sighed and slouched a little. "Yeah, I know, I just..."
"It could've been you," Dean said quietly, eyes on his coffee.
"What?"
"Those kids. You could've ended up like that. Why do you think I tortured the guy? Because I get off on it? I wanted him to suffer first." His hand wasn't shaking, was it? He pulled it back, placed it in his lap. "It could have been you, Sammy."
When his brother didn't respond, Dean risked a look across the table at him. Sam's eyes were large and sad and though not on the verge of tears, it was one of those occasions. Dean had to try to keep it together, so he swallowed and said gruffly, "Hey. No chick-flick moments."
Sam smiled. Damn, he knew his older brother too well. "Sure, Dean. Sure."
Feel free to reply here within seventy-two hours of this request. Also, kindly reply to the main entry with a link to your addendum, so we don't somehow miss it. If there are extenuating circumstances that prevent you from complying with this time limit, please feel free to contact us and we will take it into consideration.
It was another diner near another motel in the butt-end of nowhere. Dean didn't even look at the laminated menu. Sam did, but Sam was Sam and when you sat in a restaurant, you considered your meal options. It was the normal thing to do. Dean didn't know if he was reading it, though. It was late for the dinner crowd and only a couple other patrons were around. That was fine with him. The fewer who saw them, the fewer were around to remember them. Funny how they spent so much of their time staying under the radar as to almost be invisible to the world.
Except maybe for that waitress, Dean thought, smiling at the pretty brunette when she glanced over at their table. A blush. How sweet. He wondered how likely it was for him to get her phone number before dessert.
"Dean."
Just that, his name, one word and yet, so much was conveyed.
"What's wrong, Sammy? Can't decide which kiddie meal to try?"
Sam glared at him. "Ha. Ha. You are. So funny." He kept his voice low, but the tension was evident. It showed in the tightness of his shoulders, too. Dean was tired. He knew his brother was, too, and yet, here they were, finally able to take a break after that nasty mess with the ghosts and now Sam was all pissy.
Dean leaned his elbows on the table and brought his head closer to Sam. "What is your problem? I'm sure they'll let you pick a toy from the treasure chest." He couldn't help himself sometimes. He loved his brother, would die for his brother -- had died for his brother -- but teasing Sam was about as normal as things were in their lives. This magical mystery tour of supernatural creatures that wanted to kill them or eat them, or both.
Sam slapped the flat of one hand down on the table, hard. It rattled the salt and pepper and the sugar container. The plastic ketchup bottle wobbled and fell over. Dean didn't have to look around to know they had some unwanted attention.
"We just put the ghosts of murdered children to rest and you're already flirting with the waitress?"
"Sammy, that was a hundred clicks ago --"
"It's Sam. How many times do I have to --" Sam paused and smiled at the waitress when she brought their coffees. "Thanks." She looked at both of them with uncertainty and hurried to another table.
"Look, Sam. We did what we had to do. It's over. They're at peace and I'm hungry and human." Dean shrugged. "Besides, she's cute, though after that little outburst, she probably thinks you're crazy and maybe so am I by association. Thanks a lot." He kept it light, the way he often did to get through the day. So much death and terror. It was how he coped. Across from him, Sam stewed, his mouth a tight line. He'd feel better once he'd eaten something. At least, Dean hoped he would. He took his coffee black, so he didn't really have anything to do with his hands to keep him busy. Sam sat back in the booth, his hand sliding to stop beside his coffee cup.
"Whatever."
"What, you think I'm insensitive or something? That we should be mourning for those kids? We did our thing and we nailed the bastard who killed them and they're at peace. We did right by them. You should feel good about it."
"How do we know?"
Dean paused in lifting his coffee cup to his lips. "What?"
"How do we know they're at peace?"
The cup went back down. Shit. "Sam, it's what happens when you avenge a spirit that won't move on. The wrong is righted and they're... at peace." God, Sam knew all those details, better than he did. And it was a bunch of kids, little boys and girls who had their futures taken away by some sicko who liked the power he'd had over them. Dean hadn't been unmoved by the circumstances. Hell, they'd reminded him of Sammy, who'd also had his future stolen from him, just in a different way. What could have been died with their mother in a burning house, sending their father and therefore, themselves on a crazy road for vengeance. It wasn't vengeance now, though. They'd taken care of that particular demon. Now it was saving people from something most would never be able to understand, so they wouldn't have to become another casualty -- or like the Winchesters.
Sam sighed and slouched a little. "Yeah, I know, I just..."
"It could've been you," Dean said quietly, eyes on his coffee.
"What?"
"Those kids. You could've ended up like that. Why do you think I tortured the guy? Because I get off on it? I wanted him to suffer first." His hand wasn't shaking, was it? He pulled it back, placed it in his lap. "It could have been you, Sammy."
When his brother didn't respond, Dean risked a look across the table at him. Sam's eyes were large and sad and though not on the verge of tears, it was one of those occasions. Dean had to try to keep it together, so he swallowed and said gruffly, "Hey. No chick-flick moments."
Sam smiled. Damn, he knew his older brother too well. "Sure, Dean. Sure."
