[text] there's friggin grease paint everywhere, I look like I got mugged by a mime
[ text ] please never ask how I figured this out, but
[ text ] baby shampoo.


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@permortempatrisarchive
[text] there's friggin grease paint everywhere, I look like I got mugged by a mime
[ text ] please never ask how I figured this out, but
[ text ] baby shampoo.

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godforsakenthingĀ :
āFive years, Queen.ā
He points an accusing finger across the center of the seat, and has to stop himself from leaning over again before they pull out of the alley and onto the street proper.Ā
Deanās always had a head for directions, give him a map and the sun and heāll find his way anywhere. But Starling City is slipping into the short list of places like Lawrence and Sioux City, where he knows the street names and turns from memory, not from good sense.Ā
āBlizzard of Ozz came out in 1981.ā
He slides fingers warmed by Oliverās skin against the dial, turning up the heavy bass riff of I donāt knowĀ until it fills the car around them, intimate in the spaces where public decency and laws donāt allow.Ā
(This short drive is way too damn long.)
āNo excuse for your crappy taste in music.ā
Itās true; five years on the island doesnāt excuse the preceding clueless years he spent wrapped around supermodels, buying champagne so expensive that he could have instead fed a medium sized family for a month, and generally muscling his way into the magazine gossip columns.
He lets out a laugh, quirks his brows in acquiescence of Deanās point.
The music seems to intertwine itself with the low rumble of the engine, so that Oliver feels rather than hears the music, carries it deep in his chest. He closes his eyes for a moment, lets it fill the hollow cavities of his bones, before he cracks one eye open to peer at Dean.
āFive years,ā he agrees, and then, a deliberate beat --
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ā -- before I was born.ā
The tease -- old manĀ -- hangs between them, good-humoured and unspoken, for all that Dean himself could only have been two when the album came out.Ā
And because heās impatient, and because heās had to train himself not to be, he reaches out to slide a hand onto Deanās thigh, not quite high enough to tempt a sudden car-crash. Itās part to tease, but part, too, because his self-imposed exile from this kind of easy intimacy is one of the harder parts about being who he is, doing what he does.
To reclaim it is addictive, breathtaking.
āI do have crappy taste in music,ā he admits, frankly.Ā āBut, hey -- Iām open to instruction.ā
queensgeek:
āDeal.āĀ Oliver was abducted by aliens sometime between last night and right now.
Ā An apology and a reasonable truce? There canāt be any other explanation. The amused look she gives him probably spells out enough of those thoughts that she doesnāt have to say them out loud (and ruin the moment). She can find her filter sometimes.
āDoesā¦that mean we get to meet himā with his clothes on, this time?ā Probably not.Ā āDo we get to know his name?ā Which she will not use to look up this guyās criminal history, obviously. Sheād just rather not call him Showerman in her head.Ā
And now, for the grand finaleā¦
āDoes he know about your other half?ā
Her face says enough that her lips donāt have to, and he fixes her with a stern sort of look, one eyebrow cocked, as if to say donāt make me regret this, Felicity.Ā
It is, apparently, too late that for that. At her onslaught of questions he lets out a huff of air, half annoyance and half amusement. Head shaking, he half turns away from her, before thinking better of it and facing her once more.
āNo,ā he says, firmly. Enunciates clearly, so that thereās no chance of her mistaking it for maybe, or sure, drop āround later.Ā āAnd another no, for good measure. Thatās not mine to share.ā Dean is, after all, a private sort of guy - and with good reason. Oliverās heard enough stories to guess what Felicity will find if she even so much as googles the name, let alone starts to run background checks.
And as for the last question --
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā -- his hesitation is answer enough, and arrests his lie.
āHe knows who I am.ā
A true statement, and truer even than it might first appear.
āAnd Felicity --?ā he waits for her acknowledgement before he continues on, for irrefutable proof that sheās listening.
queensgeek:
The pen falls out of her mouth.
āā¦āāādid you just say youāre sorry?ā This isnāt fair. She wasnāt recording, and there are no cameras around that could have immortalized this moment. Diggle is never going to believe that it happened.
Except that shouldnāt matter, because Oliver looks as awkward and uncomfortable as sheās neverĀ seen him, and yeah. Probably not the best time to make light of the situation, Felicity.
āOkay, no, waitāā
Felicity waves her hands in front of her face. Time out. Do over.Ā
āYou donāt have to apologize.ā An easy smile and a shrug.Ā āItās none of my business, for one thing, and I shouldnāt have just let myself in, for another.ā She makes sure to meet his eyes now.Ā āJustā¦maybe let me know if youāre taking the night off? I can keep an eye on things here for you, if you and uhā¦Showerman ā decide to hang out again. And I can definitely make sure I donāt show up at your apartment and ruin the fun.ā
Sheās going to stop talking now, because her point has been made. Yeah.
ā -- well donāt get usedĀ to it.ā
Itās a joke, the kind heās capable of making, sometimes -- when he isnāt getting too caught up in something else, something serious, something that he thinks matters more. He smiles, an apologetic little thing, tucked away with a duck of his head as he raises a shoulder in uncertainty.
āFelicity.ā
How many times has he said her name, just like that? A whole sentiment wrapped up in the syllables of it: calm down, stop talking, just listen.Ā
āI made it your business when I put you in the middle of it without warning.ā Itās not the first time that heās had Dean in there, and itās not the last, but it is the first time that anyone else has turned up. Too comfortable in himself to much think about it, when heās with Dean. Too busy revelling in the ability to be.
āAnd I gave you a key. Itās not like you broke in.ā Another shrug, a hopeful look: truce.Ā āYou keep using it, and Iāll tell you when Iāve got -- company.ā For all that heād rather Dean she and Diggle didnāt have to wonder about this one -- about this relationship, about how long it will last, not quite understanding that this time, his violent, double life is no obstacle but rather a sort of common ground -- he respects them too much to lie outright to their faces. To claim Deanās just a friend.
Doesnāt mean theyāre going to braid each otherās hair and talk about love, though.
āDeal?ā
godforsakenthing:
People like us.Ā
All his life, Dean had spent his time searching for people like him, wantingĀ someone around who got it, who he didnāt have to make explanations with. But like everything else in his life, once he got what he thought he wanted, it wasnāt what he wanted at all.Ā
Oliver didnāt deserve this life, he didnāt deserve the road map of misery carved into his skin through burns and bullets and blunt force trauma. He deserved that pretty boy life that had been stolen from him in one night.Ā
āYeah.ā
He deserves more of an answer, but Deanās never been much good at anything but coming up short. He thumbs the button at Oliverās sleeve, tugging at the fabric for a moment before he smooths a callused palm along the other manās neck, grounding them both in one long touch.Ā
The world would come crashing in soon enough. Maybe he could keep from screwing this up until it did.Ā
He stays there for a long moment. Revelling in the situation defused, in the slow return of unguarded peace, he closes his eyes and breathes in Dean -- smelling like Oliverās soap and Oliverās shower and Oliverās linen -- with a heady satisfaction.
And then he pulls back, just a little, Deanās hand still curled at his neck, so that their eyes meet. He looks serious; his expression indicates that heās about to say something important.
Ā Ā Ā ā -- were you naked?ā
Well, important to him. Firstly so that he can refine the mental image of Dean, at ease in his place, and secondly because the thought of Felicity coming face to face with a naked man where she least expects it is funny enough to chase off, for now, the worries about what she might think, and how she might react.
Amusement is already tugging at his lips.

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@permortempatris
He can see the frosted edges of their breath with each exhale, and Dean has to remind himself that Oliver is more than capable, no matter how much this feels like walking a civilian into the middle of a case.
āFollow my lead.ā Oliver cocks an eyebrow at him and Dean gestures to the mirrors propped against every surface, their reflections covered in fractals of ice.
āI know you can handle yourself. This aināt about me trying to protect your delicate sensibilities, this is about making sure we gang this thing the right way, so she doesnāt come back.ā
Thatās enough to pull those shoulders down. Dean gives himself a long, greedy second to look. Oliverās in street clothes, bow strung over his back.
(Sam had questioned the sleek black wood in the trunk once. Dean shrugged it off. Heās got knives stashed all over Oliverās apartment. Least he can do is return the favor in his home.)
Thereās a whisper of breath behind them, words inaudible but still evident. Dean pulls his eyes away from taut muscle, watching the closest mirror out of the corner of his eye.
āYou stay inside the salt and she canāt get to you.ā
Dean toes the thick white line and steps over it.
She comes at him like a bullet, screaming through the air with clawed hands outstretched. Dean only just side steps her, but she takes a chunk of his outer shirt with her.
āHold steady.ā All the bravado, all the bullshit is gone. Dean is utterly focused, back to Oliver. He trusts that heāll stick to the plan.
The phrase āscream like a bansheeā exists for a reason. And this one is gonna make Deanās eardrums burst if they donāt ice her fast.
She makes a loop around, and this time she gets her hands around Deanās throat, sending him skidding on his back across the floor and into a massive mirror that wobbles dangerously over his head until it rights itself.
āDean!ā Oliverās voice rings out, concern etched into the words.
Cold fingers scrabble against the concrete, reaching, reaching until they can cure around the tire iron and-
Dean brings it down hard through the banshee, her body exploding into mists of snow. āNow! Three o'clock!ā
Oliver doesnāt hesitate. He spins on his heel and fires the iron tipped arrow into the mirror where the banshee was coalescing.
Her final scream as the mirror shatters is enough to leave his ears ringing.
The next thing Dean knows, heās being offered a hand up. It pulls him up into Oliverās space, where the tip of his nose is red from the cold.
(There might be frostbite on his throat, the way Oliver is looking at him.)
āNot bad for your first time, huh?ā If it comes out a little too loud, well Oliver is just as temporarily deaf as he is.
These Broken Bounds || Dean & Ollie
forĀ @godforsakenthing, ft. a poor rendition of @ashxnfeathers muse.
āItās like thereās a whole frigginā network of them.ā Dean weighs down a corner of the map with half-empty beer bottle, smoothing it out as fingers trace red that spread out at odd and violent angles across neat and ordered city streets. āWhat happened to āsolitaryā?ā
If Sam has an answer, he doesnāt get the chance to voice it.
āItās not them you have to worry about.ā
Dean just about loses a year off his life. He knows that voice ā or rather, he knows the real voice behind that one. Which is why he knows exactly what to expect when he turns, hand pressed to his jack-rabbit heart.
Still, itās surreal.
godforsakenthing:
There is a moment, a long one, where the air between them crackles with electricity. Standing at the edge of a storm, and Dean swears he can hear the freight train wail of a tornado building in his ears. Because Oliverās eyes have that dangerous stillness that comes before all hell breaks loose.Ā
Dean stiffens beneath that touch, mental inventory looking for weapons that arenāt in hand, and it speaks more to this situation than any words that might ever trip off of his tongue.Ā
His gun is in the glove box, the knife from his boot tucked underĀ āhisā side of the mattress. Close, but out of sight.Ā
Just in case.Ā
The moment breaks, and something inside of Dean breaks too.Ā
āPeople like me donāt get this.ā
Those ragged parts of his ego are soothed at the words, the way he hears familyĀ in the spaces between the words when Oliver talks about Felicity. He thinks of Cas, of Sammy, Kevin and Charlie. He gets it.Ā
They donāt do this in the daylight. This is dark of night talk, and Deanās gaze is skating between Oliver and the floor in front of his feet.Ā
How many times has one of them woken up breathless and petrified? When itās Dean, Oliver soothes him with reality, with fact. Youāre in my apartment. Your shoes are under the bed. Your shirt is on my couch. Tiny pinpricks of real that ground him in the moment.Ā
All Dean has ever been able to give is the lullaby of his voice and his hands, strumming out something like safety with breaths of youāre okay, I got youĀ against his skin.Ā
āThey donāt get happy.ā
Ā Ā āPeople like us.ā
A soft, slow, sad correction. A reminder: he understands. He is the same. Still, something meant for a smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. A hand reaches out -- gentle, this time, its intention to soothe and not to force. Fingers splay wide across Deanās chest, skate down ribs to hip.
This time, when he moves into Deanās space, itās with head curled down to breathe warmth across Deanās neck, and no edge of danger save for that of their vulnerability.Ā
This canāt last forever. Ā Ā Ā (Theyād never figured it would.) Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā This canāt be kept. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā (Theyāre neither of them the keeping kind.) Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā This is oxymoronic. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā (This is everything it cannot be.)
The world is going to try hard enough to fuck this up for both of them. Oliverās eager not to give it any help; determined not to let an inch slip. Heās holding on tightly to it. Heāll fight, if needs be. And yet, here he stands, in this very room, and tells himself itās justĀ this or just that. Just, just, just. Only, only, only.
āSo letās take it where we get it.ā
Is that⦠not what Oliver was suggesting?
queensgeek:
@permortempatris
Why, no, she is not avoiding eye contact while she trolls through every mainframe available for villainous activity.Ā
On a slow night.
A very slow night.
Seriously, where are all the crazy colorful miscreants when you need them? God! This is ridiculous. What happened to all the criminals in this town?
Doesnāt matter. Even if theyāre taking a smoke break, Felicity is going to find them.
And continue to avoid eye contact.
Felicityās avoiding him.
Sheās got every reason, to be fair. Oliver can tell them that he was hanging out with an old friend until his breath runs out; Felicityās not an idiot. Sheād run into a freshly showered, mostly naked guy hanging out at his place, their clothes strewn and entangled together across the couch. Not really just-hanging-out sort of behaviour.
And heās capable of listening to advice, sometimes. Sometimes.
Ā Ā Ā Ā āSorry.āĀ
Heās just standing there, awkwardly hovering with nothing much to do and no other reason to be here. His hands show his discomfort -- they rest at his hips, then slide into his pockets, then are folded across his chest, only to drop down to his sides again.

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godforsakenthing:
Dean needs a drink something fierce.Ā
āItās notĀ a crime.ā Agitation meets agitation, and Deanās hackles are raising in response to the shift in Oliverās tone, in the way heās holding himself. Fine, the guy wanted to get mad?
Dean could get mad.
āBut your girlfriend came in here and found me naked in your goddamned apartment and looked pretty surprised about it.ā
Heās up and out of the chair, hands clenched into loose fists at his side.Ā āAll Iām saying is that if you donāt want people knowing what queer shit you get up to behind closed doors, then maybe you should stop handing out keys to people who might get a glimpse of your dirty laundry.ā
And damned if he canāt see his old man behind his eyes, shaking his head in disappointment.Ā
Itās funny how he can still hear I raised you better than thisĀ in the back of his head, even though his Dad has been dead for years.Ā
I couldnāt do any of this without her.Ā
It lands like a cheap shot to the liver, low and fast and kicking the breath right out of him.Ā
āWhatever. Iām out of here. I got a case I should be working on anyway, instead of playing house with you.ā
Oliverās hand drags across his mouth in frustration, the last remnants of a peaceful solution dissipating like just so much mist. Somethingās rising in his blood -- an anger thatās borne more of hurt than anything else. A selfish sort of anger, and heās disturbed to find that even when theyāre fighting, it feels like indulgence.
Itās the whateverĀ that gets him, casualness tossed out like a hand grenade. He snaps.
Without quite meaning to, heās got a hold on Deanās arm, gripping hard enough to keep him from moving. Swinging into the other manās space, heās there and heās unavoidable, and heās dangerous. Hereās the man who came off the island. Hereās the man those scars have made.
He stays there for a full three seconds, until heās forced to admit that he doesnāt want to do this, to be this -- not with Dean. Something in him softens from the tempered edge of anger. Heās just Ollie once more.
āSheās not my girlfriend.ā He sounds tired, all of a sudden.Ā āSheās my team, Dean. She was one of the first to know what I was, and sheās kept that secret even when it might kill her.ā
āI couldnāt do this without her. Sheās saved my life a dozen times over. Every time I save this city, she saves it too. Without her, the Green Arrow would be nothing.ā There. The truth, for Dean to do with as he sees fit. He drops his hand, steps back.
āIām not playing at anything.ā If Dean wants to go... well. Whoās Oliver to stop him?Ā āHouse or otherwise. Iām here because I want to be here. With you.āĀ
The words are unbearably frank; how long since he felt this vulnerable.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āSo -- why are you here?ā
(An olive branch -- an extended hand -- a chance to bury this.)
godforsakenthing:
That pause gives him enough time to think of about ten worst case scenarios, and each one is worse than the last. Girlfriend. Wife. Love of my life. Oliver pauses and Dean swears he can feel his stomach shrivel up and lodge itself in his throat.Ā
āTech support.āĀ
Does he have to call bullshit? Because that sounds pretty much like bullshit to him.
āLook. You donāt owe me any explanation or anything.ā
He holds a hand up, and it feels like a retreat, like the worst possible thing to do, but Deanās got his back to the wall here and he needs to cut and run before it gets too obvious that heāsā¦invested.Ā
āIām just letting you know she saw me in here. So if you need to come up with something to tell people, give me the heads up and Iāll rock your alibi or something.ā
If you need me to lie about what this is, just tell me.Ā
This has spiralled too far out of control too quickly.
Normally, he would be quick to pull back those last vestiges of control, to shore them up with foundations of his own determination, his own preparedness, his own firmness. Here, now, heās not determined or prepared or firm -- heās reeling still from the whiplash-change from the peace of untroubled existence to... this.
āAlibi? I donāt know about you, but I really wasnāt considering this a crime.ā
Hereās the defensiveness, rapidly rising; Oliver is stung by the assumption, hurt by the ease with which Dean proposes to negate all this. It manifests itself in squared shoulders and tight muscles and that sharpness his jaw takes on when itās clenched.
Ā Ā Ā āShe monitors my systems.ā Way to make it sound less suspicious, Ollie.Ā āMy computer systems. She hacks and she keeps an eye on me, and the bad guys, and everything in between.ā
His arms rise and fall in the frustration of being able to describe what is so simple a dependency.Ā āI couldnāt do any of this without her, Dean.ā
godforsakenthing:
The t-shirt is thin, well worn and well loved, always at the top of the pile, and it stretches across Oliverās shoulders in a way Dean has no shame in soaking up. Who doesnāt like seeing someone else look so damn good in their clothes?
He says nothing, drumming his fingers on the roof of the Impala until Oliver slides into the passenger seat. Then Dean is dropping behind the wheel, his baby purring to life under his fingers.Ā
This is one of those things thatās just supposed to be fun. A bizarre one time hook up that became two times, and three, and four andā¦
The leather seat squeaks as he slides across the bench, a hand warm on Oliverās hip as he leans into a kiss, slow and lazy and the kind of bone marrow deep territorial that he canāt think about or itāll drive him to drinking.Ā
Fingers feather against the soft cotton, and Dean lingers in that space for a moment before he clears his throat, turning up the radio and getting his hands back on the wheel.
āYeah, I do.ā
Thereās a smile teasing itself out across his lips as he watches Dean coax the car to life. He continues his staring -- unaffected, knowing -- even as Dean moves towards him, and when the kiss comes, the smile is still pressed against his teeth.
Itās lethargic and itās slow-soft, like the quiet spread of summer sun across cool skin. He basks.
Whether intended or not, he chases the retreat of Deanās lips when they go, before he falls back against the seat in defeat, thwarted. He can be patient, when needs must; itās not a long drive. His fingers drum against his thigh, vaguely in time to the music that heās not familiar with.
Ā Ā Ā āWhat even is this?ā he asks, leaning forward to nudge the volume up by another fraction of a turn, as though hearing it better might prompt recollection. He tips his head, but devoid of his own answers, casts his gaze at Dean instead.Ā
godforsakenthing:
@permortempatris
āSo whoās the hot blonde?ā
This definitely feels like an ambush, even as much as heās trying not to make it. (Deanās fully clothed now, boots on and up on the table, prepared to hit the road, to be told to get scarce and never come back.)
āBecause she got an eyeful when I got out of the shower earlier.ā
Yeah. Oliver clocks the boots, the keys in the pocket like theyāve just been stuffed there, as though they might have been tangled in fingers only seconds before. He clocks the slight tension, too, the defensive-come-offensive challenge to the words thatās not all that well concealed.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Shit. Heās known a few blondes in his time, many of them hot, but really, thereās only one these days -- and thereās certainly only one whoās free to come and go as she pleases.
āFelicityās my...ā
Itās a terrible time for words to fail him. But itās difficult to define what Felicity is to him, and every phrase he thinks of sounds more euphemistic than the last.
ā...technical support,ā he finishes, lamely. Heās doing his best to stay deliberately neutral, non-threatening. Relaxing into the situation as much as heās able, he desperately hopes -- more so than heād like to let on -- that it can be defused. That Dean doesnāt leave.
withshieldoronit:
āFelicity mentioned you had a guestĀ tonight. I figured someone should be manning the police channels, just in case.ā
The chastising hangs more heavily on Felicity than it does Oliver taking the night off. John understands, heās a man, they have needs. But Oliver wasnāt exactly being discreet here.Ā
He cocks a brow, leaning back in the chair.Ā
āSo are you going to tell me about it, or do I have to get Felicity to do it?ā
Thereās enough of the eveningās goodwill left over to draw an amused huff of air from his lips, any annoyance little more than perfunctory.Ā āYou two spying on me now, Dig?ā
Well, Felicity might be -- unintentionally, at least. Thereās a twinge of guilt, there, tempered by the part of himself thatās convinced that Felicity fell out of her feelings for him a long time ago. Sheās a good woman -- honest and kind and loyal -- and heās not always those things. Canāt afford to be. She may believe in him for what he does, but not who he is.
At least, thatās what he tells himself.
āWhat is there to tell you, man? Iām hanging out with an old friend. If Iād known you were so invested, Iād have drawn up an itemised report.ā

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ashxnfeathers:
āI donāt hover.ā It reminds him all too much of another conversation, years ago. āIām not here to perch on your shoulderā. Castiel is still a soldier, despite everything thatās happened. He may not follow Heavenās orders anymore ā but he will follow Dean.
āYou wonāt know Iām there.ā He has no intention of remaining visible while he keeps an eye on Oliver.Ā
Heās tempted to put up more a fight; the only thing that stops him is the fact that itās Dean whoād sent him -- the very best of selfish intentions. Though he might not realise it, they share a loyalty that lends to the stubbornness of each. Looking physically pained to do it, he gives in to the compromise.
āYou get in my way, I wonāt hesitate to throw you under the pointy end of an arrow,ā he warns, in the gruff tones of the vigilante.Ā āSo donāt get in my way.ā
godforsakenthing:
āYeah?ā
Fondness sits low and warm in his belly, watching Oliver smack a hand against his baby. Itās a familiarity thing and heās greedy with it, with the fact that heās here and theyāre themĀ and no demon or monster is going to swoop in and try to take it from him.Ā
āThen weād better get out of here.ā
We.Ā
Dean clears his throat and gestures to the trunk.Ā āThereās a change of clothes back there if you donāt want to ride shotgun in your kink suit.ā
Let it be known that Dean Winchester has noĀ problem with the kink suit. But itās pretty damn conspicuous and there are enough streetlights and stop signs between here and Oliverās apartment that someone could catch sight of him along the way.Ā
(It doesnāt cross his mind that the Green Arrow might want to get back to his place any other way.)
āJust donāt drive off with it.ā
Truth told, his bike is stashed around the corner. Thatās how he got here, and thatās how heād been planning on getting back, but he doesnāt even bother to raise the fact. Instead, he circles around to the back of the car and pops the trunk, un-self-conscious as he peels himself out of the hood.
Dean has seen his scars. Dean even knows about the stories behind them all, pretty much, though theyāve never run through a catalogue of them, exactly. He pulls out a t-shirt -- grey and crumpled and probably clean, save for the faint smell of guns and metal that must linger around it.
He doesnāt bother with the pants, the boots. Theyāre only driving. The trunk is slammed shut, and soon enough the passenger door is opened, Ollie swinging himself in with a hand on the roof above him to steady himself.
āAlright. Letās hit the road.ā He pushes himself down in the seat, kicking his legs out as far as theyāll go. Elbow against the window, he leans his head into his hand, raises an eyebrow at Dean.Ā āYou know the way.ā