A Simple Man

{ OPEN.

“You don’t love me and it’s all a lie. I know it. You little liar.”

     &&&. “this tastes far too much like good behaviour and morals,” nose scrunched, and lip curled. “both of which sound incredibly boring. tell me, dear, when did you stop being fun?”

              Sam can’t help but snort a bit at the Ted comment. Honestly, Dean’s right. If they just stuck with serial killer’s name, they wouldn’t be as feared as they are. With names such as The Co-Ed Killer, Bay Harbor Butcher, The Crazy Necrophile, The Human Dracula — They were all a little ridiculous. A total media frenzy. It was literally just news outlets trying to sell papers and minutes to the executives on late night television, to scare mothers and little ol’ grannies. How disturbing.

                He nurses his glass next to his brother, knees touching ever so gently, deft and trying to go undetected. Moments like this, they didn’t get often. They didn’t get to put their guards down. They were always in fight mode, ready to kill whatever was necessary to end the big bad — Fuck, it was exhausting. However, it was their means of survival. Even though they didn’t get paid for hunting, that was their job. Saving people, hunting things; The Family Business.

                                                                But.

                The two of them always had to remember that as much as they were the hunters, they were also the hunted. And that was why their guards were always up, always ready in the event of. It was a shitty life. But it was theirs and they had to make the best of it.

                  Sam had fallen quiet though, letting his mind wander as Dean’s did, thinking to when they first started, when things were seemingly easier than they were now. When they sought soft touches of comfort and safety — sleeping in shitty motel rooms so they could sleep so lightly that the baby snores between them could be heard. Times when if one shifted, the other sat straight up, hand on gun metal, ready and raring to go. — He snapped himself out of it, taking a rather large gulp of his liquor to tame the wandering beast. His curiosity.

                  He’s silent for a soft moment. “Actually, do you wanna watch, like, Cops or something? Maybe TLC is running that Strange Addiction show that you like so much.”

                    Maybe Sam has started to realize, much like Dean has a while ago, that maybe those serial killers and themselves were just a bit too blurred. One bad night at a bar, one hunt gone wrong, just one missing piece of research and they’d be the next headlines.

                    Born of Blood: The Winchester Brothers — Killers on the Loose and How To Keep Your Family Safe.

Dean had been starring into his cup, waiting for Sam to pick which broken bastard’s story would fill up their night, when mind is changed. Little mountains between brows as Dean debates his next move. “Hoarders” he reaches for the remote so that he could get to it quicker. “These people have so much shit- watch” it was amazing to him that someone could keep their entire life in one place. He’d never had that experience. Hard to hoard anything when you’re constantly moving and loosing shit in the process. 

Sam’s leg brushes his own and maybe Dean’s eyes fly up to his brothers face a bit too quick. Caught off guard is all. They haven’t- uh- there hasn’t been any- touching here for a bit. They’ve been working on and off. More on than off honestly. Physicality has been the last thing on Dean’s mind. Wondrously weird what a simple touch could do. 

An episode plays. In the background Dean hears the lady on the television go into a sad sob story about death and change that she couldn’t cope with. A thing that made her keep cat skeletons among other oddities. Can’t even see the floor, the shrink says, but he’s only half listening. The rest of his brain is devoted to Sam. What’s he thinking? What’s he over there pondering? Why’s he got that look on his face? 

So he drinks a few more big sips of his glass, drinks until he can feel the fuzz creep into his brain, then puts it on the table. “Alright I wasn’t gonna question it-” but “why the change? You finally realize serial killers are limp dick monsters?” His grin is cocky, easy because he can be here. With Sam. He can be whatever he wants instead of the stoic tough guy he has to play most of the time. He can just- be. 

                       sam said to dean        ‘ The Lagahoo is the only monster that brings a coffin for                             your body after it kills you. ‘ 

           rowena said the dean  ❛  this  is  a  putrid ,  disgusting  bowl  of  ethical  soup .  ❜

            Look. Dean always chose what they watched. Whether it was another rerun of Starsky & Hutch or trying to gode his little brother to watch porn; Sam was gonna make Dean watch something else whether he liked it or not. Baby brother, pain-in-the-ass privilege. He feels confident when he hears Dean’s reluctant response. 

          “Hey, I don’t judge what relaxed you.” Magic fingers. Tiger moms. Liquor. Sam’s had his reservations and let his brother indulge in those on his own. But as for killers — while it may be close to their regular work, this was different. They were human. That made them more terrifying than the monsters they hunted, built only to do harm to humans. While humans? They were the worst, the scariest, and, to Sam, the most interesting. Human psychology was the whole reason he was so interested in these killers.

            Sam holds out his glass to his brother, who’s heavily pouring into his own glass, almost selfishly. He forces a cough, and shakes the empty glass at Dean, pouting slightly. “I was thinking Ted Kaczynski — The Unabomber. He was like this little gremlin guy who conspiracy theory’ed his way into making bombs for his college professors and politicians. He thought all these different people were against him. Weird guy.” He shrugs and slouches into the couch he’s sat on, looking up to Dean. “Do you have someone you wanna look into?”

           Dean didn’t really get the allure of serial killers. Humans are fucked up. Fucked up. At least with monsters they have a method or they need to just, ya know, eat. There’s something that makes them need to kill in order to continue living but with humans- it’s just, broken. Like a genome snapped wrong. Gives Dean the hebbiejeebies to be honest. Not scared of’em but more grossed out. Like a centipede crawling up your leg in the middle of the night. 

          But he knows how to kill a human. Doesn’t even need to look that one up. Doesn’t need to ask anyone about any special ritual or weapon or nothing. Shot to the head is all it takes. Hell- you get something sharp enough and that’ll do it just fine. Even a hard hit to the right spot on the head. Monsters aren’t like that. The only thing that scares Dean about serial killers is just how far the lines between him, and them, have blurred. 

           “Yeah the super loner dude whose girlfriend didn’t love him enough, or some shit like that right? Went out into the woods and put bombs together in a weird little cabin. I remember that asshole” Dean’s pouring Sam’s glass now. Just as much. Would pour until Sam pulled the glass away before starting to nurse his own. “We didn’t get enough hugs either and look at us!” There’s a prideful snort inserted here “Maybe cause we made up for it in other ways” sideways look at Sam and he winks. Grins. Dean’s over here thinking about past hookups now.