(no subject)

[salver]

He's had time to think and consider his approach.

Especially once he plugged the card into his laptop, after the alarm went off letting him know that the land line was dead.

All the beer's down cellar, in the room. He's packing -- a gun, an extra clip, a couple of knives, some charms (never hurts), a ziploc bag of salt, some sterno, matches, and a small flask.

And now he's sitting peacefully in front of his computer, playing a few rounds of Bejeweled.

Comments

[mynamesnotmeg]

Wandell was practice.

Slaughtering this old fart will be a pure pleasure. Especially given what he'd helped do the last time the demon was here.

'Sam' walks slowly across the front porch, listening to the wooden boards shift underfoot, then knocks steadily on the front door.

Come on, old man. Let's get this party started. We're gonna have one hell of a time.

[salver]

Once I get through this I'm buying myself Marlon Brando's Oscar. Or maybe Gary Cooper's. I'm not going to be picky.

Bobby throws the door open.

"Sam?"

And he does sound shocked, and surprised, and -- it's got to be said -- pleased.

[mynamesnotmeg]

"Hey, Bobby."

He, in turn, manages to sound almost sheepish.

"How's it going?"

[salver]

"Well, it's been a while," he says -- and steps back from the door. "Come on in."

[mynamesnotmeg]

"Yeah, it has, hasn't it? Sorry about that."

He glances up at the ceiling as he crosses the threshold--

--just in case--

--then gives Bobby another sheepish look and meanders in the direction of the study.

[salver]

"So -- "

He doesn't put his hands in his pockets as he follows.

There is nothing particularly incriminating in the study, either. (No more incriminating than usual, anyhow.)

" -- what brings you?"

[mynamesnotmeg]

Sam shrugs, stepping to one side to idly examine a book.

"Working a job nearby, close enough that I figured I'd stop in and say hey."

[salver]

Bobby blinks. "Well, where's Dean?"

Gary Cooper, he thinks.

[mynamesnotmeg]

"You know Dean," Sam tells him.

His quick smile's a little crooked.

"Holed up somewhere with a girl and a twelve-pack."

[salver]

Bobby raises his eyebrows before wandering into the back room.

He opens the refrigerator for effect, and calls, "Oh yeah? She pretty?"

[mynamesnotmeg]

He tilts his head back, studying the ceiling with morbid curiosity.

Darkness spills across his eyes, pooling like ink.

"You ask me, he's in way over his head."

It was this room before, wasn't it? The demon wasn't here long last time before the fucking Winchesters got all exorcism-happy, but it's not like the house is that big.

In any case, there's no sign of the devil's trap now, and no sense of restraint as he cautiously edges his way further into the room.

[salver]

Well.

Here goes nothing.

He comes back into the room, hands spread. "Looks like the fridge in here's out of beer -- "

One more thing he'd tested.

There's a closet in the study that for some ungodly reason has stayed empty. He'd checked it earlier -- and smiled.

He opens the door to the closet, and gives Sam a grin. "But I hear there's a couple in here."

Beyond the door: sounds of glasses clinking, and low conversation.

[mynamesnotmeg]

Something flickers in his expression.

Milliways.

This could be a real downer, especially if any of the busybody weak-sister milktoast do-gooders from last time are running around and sticking their noses into things.

On the other hand, he doesn't want the old man to get suspicious, and come to think of it, it might not be a bad idea to get him out of his rathole.

Might just make it all that much sweeter to do it there, watching him realize how thoroughly he'd been tricked and that he'd never, never, be coming home to his messy little nest.

Sam smiles.

"Bet they've even got a lot better stuff than what you usually keep on hand, too," he quips.

[salver]

Mildly, as he holds the door open: "Sam, if you knock Coors I won't buy."

[mynamesnotmeg]

"Hey, if you're buying..."

Sam grins at him, and ducks through the door.