R I G H T E O U S

“ oh. i think you heard me, pal. ”

wow, good one. “ hey, uh – sunglasses. two thousand three called, they want a refund. ”

there’s a small tug of Dean’s shoulders. mouth open and gaping like a fish as he tries to think of the best way to tell one of the most heroic superheroes on the planet that the next part of this, is that he kills it. once a monster, always a monster. or something like that. he’s hard pressed to think anything otherwise, anyway. old scars and past experience. Dean isn’t sorry. Not really. He only regrets that the guy he’s got an entire collection of baseball cards is gonna hate his guts after he says it. Dean cocks his gun, “We kill it.” 

“Well---,” Dean slants, swaying his weight from right to left. His lips split and his teeth show, “Heh,” fully aware of how fucking awkward this is. He’s sprayed with blood, his shirt, smelling of gunpowder, dusted rock salt on the lapels of his jacket, “S’no big deal,” Dean shakes his head, waving a hand. Get a grip. Holy shit. It’s just CAPTAIN fucking AMERICA. He clears his throat suddenly, voice a little deeper, “Werewolf. Y’know. Just yer standard monster.”

“What---,” the question drops from Dean’s mouth just as his eyebrows clench together. Trickster 2.0 has a knife, moving too quick, “Hey! Whoa, whoa, whoa,” too put-together, before he can do any more than let his palms fly out to--Dean doesn’t even know what. He raises the shield, shrinking himself on the other side, when the blade strikes the metal, not-metal, surface with a sharp schink!, then disappears back to wherever the hell Loki keeps it.   Dean peeks out from the shiny curve, “Dude!” He blinks, because what the actual fuck, “Whe--, where? Where are we going? Who are you calling?”  

Dean jostles his drink, watching it swish at the bottom of his glass. he hums around the taste of alcohol. first, a, “heh,” then a stretched lift of his lips, as he beams tightly at the young, take-no-shit, captain who thinks he can just walk right in and call Dean on his crap like this ain’t a mirror of take a big fat look. big guy, or not, that part of whatever this is, isn’t invited.  “maybe.” Dean sighs, shifting his elbows to either knee, “lil’ bit of pot callin’ the kettle black, dontcha think, captain? where’s pointy? sorry --” he smiles, “commander spock.” 

“So, what, uh--,” Dean double taps the center of his chest, “What’s that about, huh?”  / @avengingplayboy

“Jesus Christ -- s’not interesting enough that I have the damn thing? I already told you, pal. It was just here, alright? I don’t know. I came outside an’ it was stuck to the hood o’my car like some cheesy red, white, an’ bullseye. Don’t get me wrong, I love AMERICA as much as the next guy but this s’a little much, don’tcha think? I mean, who even? Wait--.” 

“Dude--I’m tellin’ you. I don’t know where the hell this friggin’ thing came from. You gonna quit givin’ me the third degree or what?”     /    @loptgangandi