Supernatural: The Curious Case of Dean Winchester
January 9th 2010 23:47
A woman sits reading a tabloid that boldly exclaims, “THE APOCALYPSE IS HERE!”. She grins as a man suddenly bursts in the front door and scurries up the steps. “Hey babe,” she calls out. He ignores her. “Nice to see you too…” She goes back to reading.
Upstairs, the man shuts the bathroom door, frantically turning on the sink. He catches sight f himself in the mirror and freezes. Slowly his entire body starts to age. The veins in his hand gripping the sink become more pronounced, his face starts to wrinkle as his once full head of hair recedes and his eyes glaze over with cataracts. Horrified, he stumbles back, suddenly gasping for breath and clutching his chest.
Downstairs, his wife hears the commotion and jumps up. “Are you okay?” She rushes up the stairs, opens the door, and screams.
~*~*~
“You expect me to believe you’re CDC?” a coroner asks, giving Sam and Dean’s badges a skeptical look. Well this is new, they’re a day early.
“New administration,” Dean says with a grin. “Change you can believe in.”
“Right.” She shows them the body of an old man. “Date of birth, April 3, 1984.” At their looks, she adds, “I know. I ran the DNA twice, that’s definitely him.” What’s her theory? “All I know is that he’s male, 25 years old, and he died of old age.” With that, the coroner leaves.
Sam and Dean stare down at the body a moment, then Dean gets on his phone. On his way out, he tells Bobby, “You were right about this one, it’s definitely a job.”
“Thought so,” Bobby says from his wheelchair at home. “Any other stiffs in town?”
“No just the one body,” Dean answers as Sam tugs at the collar of his suit.
“Anything else?”
“Couple missing persons, but usual for a town this size.”
“Well check ‘em out.”
“You think they’re connected?”
“Call it a hunch.”
“You got it,” Dean says, then asks, “By the way, how you doin’?”
“Doin’?”
“Yeah you know, just, in general.”
“Oh you mean my legs,” Bobby answers sarcastically. “Well, I’m just weeping in my Haagen-Dazs, idgit.” Bobby hangs up and stares silently out the doorway .
~*~*~
Sam and Dean visit the wife of one of the missing persons, an elderly man who works a bit late on Tuesdays. “He always comes straight home.”
After looking at a picture of the man, tattoo on his right arm, white hair, holding a golf club, Dean asks to use the bathroom, and takes the opportunity to go through the house. He finds a receipt for the Golden Palace hotel. “Working late, my ass.”
~*~*~
“At least he’s consistent,” Sam says as he and Dean walk down a hallway where the doors have hearts on them for the numbers. “Same room every Tuesday, hourly rates.”
“I hope I’ve got that kind of kick when I’m his age.”
“Yeah, like either of us will live that long.”
“True.”
They stop at the door. “So,” Sam asks with a breath. “What do you think is in there?”
“A wrinkly gooey corpse.”
Together they take a step and Sam starts to take out his lock picking kit. When they suddenly hear a man shout on the other side of the door, they forget the lock-picking and just bust down the door.
“Hey! What the—“ A man and two women look up from a heart-shaped bed with garish covers.
Sam and Dean stop dead in their tracks, surprised. Whoops!
“It’s gooey” Sam mutters to his brother as both women make a mad dash for their clothes, leaving the man in the bed to scramble for the sheets.
“Sorry, uh—got the wrong room,” Dean says hastily, and the man urges them to close the door. The brothers quickly start to leave, but with his hand on the doorknob, Sam suddenly stops, recognizing the army tattoo on the young man’s arm.
“Nice tattoo.” He walks back into the room, heading for the dresser. “Ever know of anyone named Cliff Whitlow?”
The man on the bed shifts nervously. “Never heard of him.”
“Really? Well that’s weird.” Sam lifts something up. “Because you’re carrying his wallet.”
Dean walks over to the bed and shamelessly lifts the covers. “Huh.” He lets them go. “Your wife told us about your birthmark there, that’s nice. Well you look great, Cliff!” Dean says sarcastically. “Did you have some work done?”
Cliff sighs and asks the girls, “Could you give us some privacy?”
Dean smiles and winks at the girls then turns a stern face back on Cliff.
Now in a blue silk Chinese Robe, Cliff quickly pays the girls and turns around to beg Sam and Dean not to tell his wife about this. As far as she knows, he’s dead, and he wants to keep it that way.
“How can you possibly be Cliff Whitlow?” Dean asks, and when Cliff says he can’t tell them, adds, “Well either you tell us or we tell the Mrs.”
“Okay! Okay!” Cliff caves. “It was a game.”
“Like…Xbox?” Sam asks and Cliff gives him a confused look, asking, “What’s Xbox?” At Sam’s look, he continues, “No, poker. High stakes, instead of cash, you play for years.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Dean asks, confused.
“Look, I know it sounds crazy. Guy comes up to me in a bar and invites me to play. Gives me 25 of these weirdo poker chips to play, right? Chants some mumbo humbo over them. Says now, they’re 25 years.”
Sam and Dean exchange a look.
“Now,” Cliff continues . “I’m laughin’. But then I come out up. And look at me!”
“What was he chanting?”
“How should I know?” Cliff asks with a laugh, clearly not caring. “All I know is my bad hip’s good, I threw away my glasses, one of those ladies was here for free! Man’s some kind of miracle worker.”
“What does this miracle worker look like?” Dean asks, solemn.
“Just a guy. Maybe 35, brown hair, Irish accent. His name is Patrick.”
“Alright, alright, where is this game at?“
“Says he keeps movin’, never stays in one bar long. He finds you.”
Dean looks at Sam. Alright then . “Thank you, Cliff.” They head for the door and Dean leans over to add, “Oh and uh, stay classy.”
~*~*~
“That sounds crazy right?” Dean asks Bobby on the phone as he and Sam walk down the street.
“No, there’s lore on it, goes back centuries. Travelling card player pops into town, you beat him, you get your best years back. Course, most folks lose.”
“Well that would explain the crunchy corpse.”
“Supposedly this player’s a card shark,” Bobby answers. “Got a lot of years I the bank. You find the bar he’s working at yet?”
“There’s a lot of dives in this town,” Dean answers, still walking. “We’re gonna have to split up.”
“Well why’re you still talkin’ to me?” Bobby hangs up, glances at his keys, picks them up and rolls out.
~*~*~
“You find anything?” Sam asks his brother over the phone.
“Yeah, a whole bunch of squat, you?”
“No, not a thing.”
“Alright, well you come up dry, circle back to the motel in two. It’s your turn to grab dinner.”
“The usual?”
Dean nods. “Extra bacon.” He hangs up and orders a beer from the bar, asking the bartender, “You wouldn’t happen to know about a poker game goin’ on in back, would you?”
“It’s a bar,” the man answers, sounding bored as he places Dean’s glass on the counter. “Not a casino.”
“My friend Ben told me you’d know.”
“Don’t know any Ben.”
“Sure you do, balding, smart ass, real ladies man.”
“Listen pal,” the bartender says, leaning forward. “I told you. I don’t know any Ben. I don’t know nothing about any game.”
“You sure? Cuz uh,” Dean pulls out a hundred dollar bill and slides it across the bar. “He sure seems to know you.”
The bartender snatches up the money and quietly tells him, “Round back, take the elevator down.”
Dean heads into the darkening alley and nearly runs right into Bobby. Bobby? What is he doing there?
“Plantin’ daisies, what’s it look like?” Bobby answers, wheeling out from the elevator. “I came in on the case.”
“And you beat me here?”
“Well brains trumps legs apparently.” Bobby starts to wheel down the alley.
“So you found the game.”
“Yep.”
“Did you stop it?”
No answer.
“Bobby…”
Bobby finally turns to face him. “Not exactly.”
“What did you do?”
“I played, okay?”
Oh no. Dean doesn’t want to ask, but says, “And…?”
“I lost.”
“Are you kidding me? You played some he-witch?!”
“Don’t you take that tone with me,” Bobby warns.
“You idiot.”
“They’re MY years I can do what I want.”
“How many’d you lose?” Dean asks angrily.
Bobby’s anger falls away and he softly answers, “25.”
Dean watches as Bobby ages 25 years right before his eyes. “We’re not done,” he tells him then walks off back the way they came.
~*~*~
“So you’re saying that you’re a mind reader,” a man asks another man in a bar, and the other answers in an Irish accent, “Ah come on, no such thing.” He lowers the toothpick in his mouth and leans forward, adding, “But, I can read people. Take your lovely companion here,” he says, nodding towards the woman on his arm. “I’d say judging from her exquisite posture, she used to be a dancer.” The woman gives a small laugh of surprise. “Not much of a drinker, very independent.” He leans towards her. “Looking for adventure.”
The man on her arm glances between the two but Dean interrupts them before he can.
“Hey man,” he pushes the Irish man away and tells the couple, “Excuse me. Can I borrow you a second?” he asks the first, making sure he sees his gun.
“Oh yeah, great, good to see ya.” He excuses himself from the couple and heads after Dean.
Now at a table away from everyone else, Dean says, “Sorry to cut you short from Mr. and Mrs. Easy Marks over there.”
“Oh no biggie, wasn’t a total loss.” Patrick holds up the watch he lifted and Dean pulls out his gun under the table. “Look,” he says. “I don’t know what it is you think I did to your wife or girlfriend, mother or sister, but I just want you to know my feelings were real.”
“That ain’t my problem Manwitch,” Dean answers. “You owe my friend some years.”
“Oh that’s what this is. I’m sorry, he lost, thems the breaks.”
“Well then, un-lose him,” Dean answers, cocking his gun.
“Oh go ahead and shoot me if it makes you feel better. Besides, I could use a good, you know, tickle.” Dean doesn’t move or answer, so Patrick adds, “You want years, great. Play me for them.”
“Fine.”
“Dean, no,” Bobby warns and Dean just turns to tell him, “They’re MY years I can do what I want.”
Bobby starts coughing and the witch holds up a cough drop. “Lozenge?” Bobby just stares at him. “What? It’s barely linty.” Still no answer. “Okay, well, suit yourself, just trying to help.”
“Alright, alright, come on, let’s do this,” Dean interrupts.
Patrick becomes more serious. “You understand the terms.”
Dean nods.
~*~*~
Patrick pulls out his chips, chewing on his toothpick a second before saying, “Buy-ins 25 years.” He hands the chips over.
“Make if 50,” Dean tells him.
He smirks. “I like the cut of your jib.”
Dean smirks mirthlessly and Patrick hands over 25 more chips. He holds up a hand, whispers an incantation, and a soft glow washes over the chips. Dean takes them and separates the stack.
“Twenty-five. That’s 25 years,” he says, pushing them towards Bobby. “They go to him. And he’s cashing out.”
“Dean—“
“Bobby.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
The man nods, whispers another incantation, and the chips light on fire. As the ashes flow over Bobby, he’s back to normal.
“That’s 25 years you just pissed away,” the man tells Dean. “Make sure you can win ‘em back.”
Dean taps the table. “Shuffle up and deal.”
Patrick grins. “This is gonna be fun.”
~*~*~
“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean asks Bobby, chewing on his sandwich. “He’s a witch, he’s been playing poker since guys wore tights.”
“You just don’t get it.”
“Yeah I get it Bobby. You saw a chance to turn the hands of clock back and get out of that damn chair. Pretty tempting. I can imagine what—“
“No you CAN’T,” Bobby interrupts gloomily.
“Okay you got me,” Dean answers. “I’ve never been paralyzed. But I’ll tell you something, I’ve been to Hell and I there’s an archangel there wantin’ me to drop the soap. Look at me, my junk’s rustier than yours! You hear me belly-achin’, huh?”
“Actually, yeah,” Sam interrupts softly, and suddenly Dean’s stomach does just that. They both look at him as his food doesn’t seem to be setting quite so well with his new old body.
Dean has to sit down. “I’m gonna have a heart attack!”
“No you’re not,” Bobby says, rolling his eyes.
“What is it?” Dean asks in a strangled voice.
“Acid reflux. Guy’s your age can’t digest certain foods,” Bobby explains. “You’re gonna need to put down that cheeseburger.”
Dean looks down at his cheeseburger and sadly sets it back on the table as Sam tries not to smile.
“So,” Bobby asks dryly. “You want to keep emoting or you want to talk about solving this little issue of yours? It’s gotta be about the chips.”
“I slid ‘em across,” Dean recalls, mimicking his actions from the poker game. “Patrick did his little witchy number, then you prettied up in a hurry.”
“Then what are y’all thinking? Some kind of magic chips or something?” Sam asks, sitting at the table with them.
“Definitely,” Bobby answers.
“Do you remember what he chanted?”
“Yep, every word.”
“Alright, then let’s find out where he stashes his chips.”
“And steal a neat fifty,” Dean grumbles. “Benjamin Button’s me back into burger shape.” His acid reflux acts up again and he chokes it back. “What do you think?”
Bobby looks at him. “I think you oughta put some clothes on.”
~*~*~
Dressed, Dean heads for the door. He meets the housekeeping maid on the other side.
“Ready for housekeeping, sir?” she asks with a smile.
Dean leans his arm up on the door frame, answering, “Born ready.”
The maid laughs. “You’re just like my grandfather. He hits on anything that moves too.” With a broad smile, she walks in. “You’re adorable.”
“And dangerous,” Dean quickly adds.
“Awww.” She laughs again and heads inside. Both Sam and Bobby are trying very hard not to laugh.
Dean sighs. “Can we just go?”
~*~*~
Bobby, Sam, and Dean sit in the car staking out Patrick, and suddenly a car comes around the corner and slams into the man as he’s crossing the street. They can only stare in shock as the driver jumps out and runs over to see if he’s okay. Patrick drives out with the man’s car, much to the poor driver’s astonishment.
“I gotta say,” Dean says with a chuckle. “I kinda like the guy.”
Sam stares at his brother.
~*~*~
They follow Patrick and wait until he leaves the building and gets back into his newly acquired wheels. He drives off and Dean opens the glass doors of the building as Sam wheels Bobby through. Bobby stops.
“Well I’m out,” he says dryly as they all stare at a sign reading: ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER—Sorry for the inconvenience. Sam gives Bobby a sympathetic look then heads for the stairs he runs up, then stops to wait for Dean who has to use the handrail.
“Dean.” Sam points to the level number. It’s only 2. Dean just glares at him and Sam shakes his head, going on without him. Dean finally makes it to the landing to go squint at the number. What? Only two? He takes a deep breath and readies himself for the next flight.
Sam enters the hallway and rushes to the door. A long moment later, Dean follows, out of breath and leaning on the wall as Sam picks the lock on Patrick’s room.
They get to work searching the place, and Dean finds the hidden safe. “Sam.”
Sam comes over to see what his brother’s found, and Dean smirks at the safe . “Dime store model, piece of cake.” He starts to turn the dial. He squints at the blurry numbers, his hand going out of focus, and finally Sam can’t take it anymore.
“It’s like Mission Pathetic, watch out.” He takes over and has the safe open in an instant.
“I coulda done that,” Dean insists.
Sam glances at him then starts pulling out the poker chips.
“What are you doing?” a woman asks, suddenly appearing behind them. Dean squints at her.
“Aren’t you the chick from the bar?”
“I’m a lot more than that.” She thrusts out her hand, twisting the air in front of her and both Sam and Dean grunt in pain.
“It’s alright sweetheart, it’s alright, they’re harmless,” Patrick says rushing in to stop her. The brothers relax. “You boys want chips?” he asks them. “Take ‘em. They’re just chips, Einsteins, it’s showmanship. This may come as a shock, but the magic does not lie in the pile of crap you play with. Or in any phony abracadabra. It’s in the 900 year old witch.” He pauses. “You boys want years? Score ‘em the old fashion way, Texas Hold ‘Em.”
“Fine,” Dean tells him. “Let’s do it.”
Patrick holds up an eight of hearts and asks Dean. “What card am I holdin’ up?” Dean squints at it, then frustratedly looks away. “That’s what I thought,” Patrick says. “If your eyesight’s that bad, what about your memory? I’m not a murderer.” He lowers the card and turns to Sam. “You on the other hand…”
“No Sam.”
“Dean.”
“What?” Patrick asks, chewing on his toothpick. “Sam not much of a player?”
Dean looks at him. Apparently not.
“Okay, well, happy trails then Dean. Enjoy the twilight of your life.” He bows towards them, then adds, “Should have taken better care of that ticker though.” He steps back and opens the door. “You’re free to go.”
Dean begrudgingly walks out. When Sam follows, Patrick stops him.
“But Sam,” he says. “Your brother’s situation, that’s punishment enough, but I can’t let you lead without a small parting gift.” He claps three times slowly.
“What are you doing?” Sam asks, and Patrick answers, “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Let’s get out of here, Sam.”
Downstairs, Dean follows his brother, who’s kind of walking funny and pulling at his pants. Sam walks through the door, face scrunched up and gives his brother an ‘I don’t know’ antsy sort of look.
“Dude,” Dean tells him. “I believe that he-witch gave you the clap.”
Sam straightens, trying not to wince and walks off. Dean watches his brother go, unable to stop a smile from forming on his lips.
~*~*~
The next morning, Sam and Dean and Bobby head towards the hotel parking lot. Bobby gets stuck on the ramp and calls out, “A little help here?” Sam turns around and wheels him up, saying, “You know, I still think I should play.”
“No no,” Dean stops him right there. “You’re not good enough. I’m better, Bobby’s way better, we both lost.”
“Exactly,” Bobby agrees, wheeling around to face them.
“So what?” Sam asks. “I don’t get a say in this anymore?”
“Sammy, when you get to be our age—“
“You’re 30, Dean!” Sam interrupts. “Look, I’ve watched you hustle plenty of poker—“
“Knowin’ the game is not enough Sam,” Bobby interrupts. “It’s not about the cards—“
“It’s about playing the other guy, I know that.”
“Well hoo-ray for you,” Bobby tells him. “All I’m saying is that I’ve played this guy, I know his style, I can take him.”
“No Bobby,” Dean answers. “You don’t have enough years in the bank.”
“I gotta enough.”
“No,” Sam insists, “You’ll DIE if you lose, Bobby.”
“So what if I do, huh?” Bobby asks, suddenly angry. “What EXACTLY am I livin’ for, huh? The damn Apocalypse? Watchin’ men die bloody while I sit in this chair, can’t take a step to help ‘em?!”
“Bobby, come on,” Dean tries sympathetically, but Bobby interrupts him.
“No, no! It’s the facts.” Trying to keep his emotions under control, Bobby says, “I’m old and I’m broke down, and I can’t—” His voice breaks and he struggles to breathe. “I. Ain’t. A hunter. No. more. I’m useless. And if I wasn’t such a coward, I’d have stuck a gun in my mouth the day I got home from the hospital.”
Dean has a pained look on his face, as if he can’t stand what he’s hearing and Sam, equally emotional, insists, “Bobby, you are not. Playing. Again. I’m not—letting you do that. There’s another way out of this, there’s gotta be. And I’m gonna find it.” Sam glances from him to Dean and walks off.
Dean and Bobby go back to the hotel room, where they find the woman they ran into at Patrick’s now sitting on a bed in their room. She holds out a piece of paper. “Take it. It’ll help you.”
Bobby wheels up and takes it. “What is this?”
“The most powerful reversal spell you’ve ever laid your eyes on.”
Dean doesn’t look convinced. “And it reverses what?”
“Patrick’s work,” she answers. “All of it.”
“You saying I could be normal again?” Dean asks hopefully.
“You and everyone else he’s ever played. Who’s still alive,” she amends with a nod of the head.
Dean crosses his arms, leaning back against the dresser. “Why the hell should we trust you?”
“Trust me, don’t trust me, I don’t care. The spell is real.”
She gets up to leave, and Bobby asks, “If it zaps everyone, don’t that include your man?”
“And me too.” She shrugs. “I look good for my age.”
“Lady, this don’t add up for squat,” Bobby tells her. “Why would you want that?”
“I have my reasons.” She fingers a locket on her neck, then tells them, “Do it quick. We leave town tomorrow.” With that, she leaves.
~*~*~
Meanwhile, Patrick is holding two Kings in his hand as the old man seated opposite him absently plays with his chips as he studies his hand. Two nines. Patrick watches him try to decide what to do, then finally the older man tosses his chips into the pile. “Bet.”
Patrick takes out his toothpick. “I sense you’ve got me by the jewels on this one, Hash,” he lies. “I fold.”
The old man starts to gather the chips to him, and Patrick says, “What are you up like 13 years there, Hash? What do you say we call it a day?”
Hash lets out a relieved breath. “Thanks, Patrick.”
“Hash here is gonna live to see his granddaughters bat mitzvah isn’t that right, Hash?” Patrick tells Sam, who has just entered.
“Thanks again, Patrick,” Hash says and Patrick nods to him. “Shalom my friend, Shalom.”
Sam watches Hash go, then turns to Patrick. “That was nice of you.”
“I’m a nice guy,” the Irishman says simply, shuffling the cards. “What can I do you for?”
Sam approaches the table. “Deal.”
Patrick grins around his toothpick.
~*~*~
In a foggy graveyard, Dean struggles with his shovel, grunting, “Jaw bone of a murderer, yeah great.” He puts the shovel down, looking up at Bobby. “You know, this sucks. How do we even know her spell works?”
“We don’t. But we ain’t got a plan B. Now less flappin’ and more diggin’.”
Dean gets back to work, letting out a painful cry. “Ow, my elbows. I’m all creaky.”
Bobby sighs, rolling his eyes. “Hurry up you crybaby.”
“Pound it up your ass, ironsides,” Dean grumbles back, as he gets back to shoveling.
“One little grave,” Bobby says, and Dean answers, “Then you do it!”
“Fine, I’ll hop right in.”
“At least your legs are numb.”
“Shut up and dig, grandma.”
Dean gets one shovel in before he lets out a, “Oh, ga—my back!”
“Can you straighten up?”
“Yeah, but a little sympathy wouldn’t hurt,” Dean answers, annoyed.
“Butt cheek tinglin’?” Bobby asks.
“Well that’s kind of personal.”
“So yeah?” At Dean’s look, Bobby finishes, “It’s sciatica, you’ll live. Keep diggin’.”
“You know Bobby?” Dean asks, looking up at him from inside the grave. “Killin’ you is officially on my Bucket List.”
~*~*~
“I like you Sam, I do,” Patrick says, seated across him at the poker table. “You’re smart and you’re heart’s clearly in the right place.” He sets down his toothpick to take a drink. “I can tell a lot about a guy by lookin’.”
“You mean you’re psychic.”
“No, not even cheatin’. I’m talkin’ about good ol’ fashioned intuition.”
“Right, yeah, let’s just play.”
“We are playin’,” he answers, setting his glass down. “Does your big brother know you’re here?”
Sam ignores him and picks up some chips to add to the pile. “Bet five.”
“Didn’t think so.” Patrick picks up a stack of chips and sets it in the pile. “I raise.”
Sam works a kink out of his neck as Patrick continues, “Here you are trying to clean up THEIR mess, and they still want to set you at the kiddie table.”
Sam tries to ignore him, flipping the chips in his hand.
“You’re not the little brother anymore Sam,” Patrick says conversationally, taking his time with his drink. “Then again, maybe you are.” Sam looks up. “You’re in over your head here, Sam. I mean, you can keep making these moves, you know, playing it cautious. But I’m still gonna kick your ass into the nursing home.”
“Does this armchair psychology routine usually work for you?” Sam asks, and Patrick laughs.
“You tell me. You’re the one who’s losing.” He puts the toothpick back in his mouth.
~*~*~
Patrick sets his toothpick down to kiss his girlfriend and winks over at Sam. “Little break?”
~*~*~
Sam pushes the doors open into the dark alley where Dean is waiting. “How’s it goin’ in there?”
“How do you think it’s goin’?” Sam asks, then adds, “What about you, do you have everything you need?”
“We still need a little he-witch DNA.”
Sam holds up a toothpick. “He was chewing it.” He hands it over. “Hurry up Dean, please.”
“Alright. Just keep him busy.” Dean gives his brother a worried look. “Sammy, don’t lose.”
Sam heads back inside and Dean starts down the alley. He stops a second, wincing and taking his arm in pain. The moment passes and he continues on.
Back at the poker table, Patrick sits down and pushes the deck towards Sam.
~*~*~
Out in the ally Bobby reads through the spell, which Dean mouths with him and throws something into the flame, which grows blue. Bobby reads some more, then tells Dean to, “Drop it in.”
Dean stares at the toothpick, hoping it works, then tosses it into the blue flame. After a second, he looks up at Bobby. “Well, how do I look?”
It didn’t work.
~*~*~
“Question,” Patrick says, pulling a toothpick out of his pocket. “Is this what you meant to give your big brother?” Sam stares at it and he adds, “The one you gave him? Never passed my lips. Won’t do a scrap of good.”
Patrick tosses the toothpick across the table and pointedly tells him, “I don’t, like, cheating Sam.”
Gone is the playful Patrick, replaced with the powerful 900-year-old witch he really is as he reaches towards Sam and twists the air in his fist. Immediately, Sam gasps and grabs at his neck as Patrick chokes him without even touching him.
“Patrick, let him go!” His girlfriend grabs his arm.
“He tried to kill us!”
“I did it, I gave him the spell!”
In his surprise, Patrick lets go of Sam. “What?” he whispers in both pain and shock, standing up to cup her face. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“You know why,” she answers, fingering her locket. “You know.”
Patrick’s hands slid from her face and he turns to Sam, face darkening. “Keep. Playing.”
~*~*~
Dean and Bobby are driving.
“Everything we put into that spell was kosher.”
“Everything except the damn toothpick,” Dean answers, staring out the window.
“You gotta go get a speck of DNA. Strap on your track shoes.”
“Oh goodie,” Dean answers sarcastically. “More stairs.”
~*~*~
With an 8 of hearts, two Queens, and a 2 of diamonds, Patrick lays down The River card. It’s an Ace of clubs.
~*~*~
“It’s too damn clean in here,” Dean tells Bobby over the phone as he searches Patrick’s room. “First witch I ever heard of didn’t spew bodily fluids all over the place.
“Toothbrush, comb, anything!”
~*~*~
Sam sets down his chips and Patrick says, “Well look at you. A percentage player bettin’ the farm. Awfully transparent of you, Sam. I mean, if I had a monster hand like you have, I’d trap me. But you get so excited you bet yourself right out of a big pot.” He picks up his cards. “I fold. Set a ladies I’m guessing?” he asks of Sam’s cards, and Sam looks at him like he’s right.
He silently pulls the chips towards him then sets his cards on the table. A 3 and a 5. Patrick is surprised and his girlfriend’s lips quirk into an almost smile.
“Nice bluff,” Patrick admits. “If we had time I could make a real player out of you.”
“I got time,” Sam answers darkly.
“Maybe.” Patrick nods. “But I can’t say the same for Dean. Your brother’s gonna be dead soon.” Sam looks up. “And when I say soon, whooo—“ He leans in to whisper. “I mean, minutes.”
Sam immediately starts to get up, but Patrick pulls him back down, forcing him back into his chair. “The game’s not over until I say it is. Blinds.”
They both hurriedly put a chip in the center.
~*~*~
Dean spots an wine glass, but before he can start for it, he doubles over in pain, gasping, “Sam—“
~*~*~
Patrick deals, Sam takes one swift look at his cards and tosses chips towards the pile.
“So,” Patrick says, turning over the flop: An ace and two fours. “When it’s about your brother, you get so emotional your brain just flies right out the window. Good to know.”
“Go to hell.”
~*~*~
Dean lands on the floor, gasping for breath.
~*~*~
Sam pushes all his chips towards the center. “I’m all in.”
Patrick’s girlfriend looks like she wants to stop him, and Patrick looks at his cards. He sighs. “Don’t do that, son.”
“I can’t leave until it’s over? Fine. Now where’s my brother?”
“Look, there’s poker and then there’s suicide.”
“Just play the hand.”
~*~*~
“Dean?” Bobby asks into the phone. “Dean, you there?”
~*~*~
Patrick pushes his chips in and nods. “fine.” He burns a card then flips the last two over. Both he and his girlfriend watch Sam for his reaction.
Dean’s breathing is slowing.
Bobby’s not getting an answer.
Patrick shows his hand. Two aces. “I’m sorry, kid. Aces full.”
Dean’s last breath is leaving…
Sam lets out a breath of another kind, and notices something about Patrick’s girlfriend. “You’re crying.” He glances at the cards and softly adds, “For a witch you’re so nice it’s actually kind of creepy.”
The woman glances at Patrick and Sam whispers, “It’s okay.” Turning to Patrick he wearily adds, “It was a great hand.” Patrick starts to reach for the pot, and Sam adds, “Just…not as great as—“ He sets down his cards. “As four fours.”
Sam lets out a long relieved breath and Patrick leans back. “Well played. You know with that whole, goin’ out of your head bit, very method. Well there’s more to you than meets the eye.” He raises his glass to Sam.
Sam swallows hard. “Cash these in for Dean please.”
“With pleasure.”
~*~**~
“Dean you hear me?” Bobby shouts into his phone. “Dammit, Dean?” Suddenly he looks up to find Dean, back to his usual self, all but dancing happily out the glass doors. Grinning, Dean leaps into the air, clicking his heels together as he heads for the car.
Bobby rolls his eyes. “Idgit.”
~*~*~
“I can’t do this Leah,” Patrick whispers sadly to the woman he loves not sitting opposite him at the table.
“Yes you can.”
“Don’t make me,” he whispers, tortured. “I don’t want to win.”
“I buried my daughter,” she answers tearfully, opening her locker to show two pictures, one side a baby one side an old woman. “And she looked like this.” She points to the old woman. “It’s not natural.” She closes the locket.
“You know,” Patrick says quietly, tearfully leaning forward. “When you decided to come with me…this is what you wanted. You’re still young, you’re so beautiful. You have me.”
“I miss my family,” she answers gently. “I’m sorry, Patrick.”
“I thought you loved me.”
“I do. Sweetheart of course I do. I thought I was cut out for this, but I’m not.”
“I don’t think I can do this without you,” he breathes honestly.
“You got on along okay for a long time before you met me.”
He stares at a long moment then says, “Check.”
She pushes in all her chips. “All in.”
He lets out a tearful breath, a whisper of a “no”, then shakily pushes all his chips forward. “All in.”
Slowly he reaches for his cards and turns them over: A King and Queen. Although it’s great for his hand, it’s exactly what he didn’t want. She turns over her hand: a 3 and a 5. Nothing.
“Thank you.”
Patrick watches with tears in his eyes as Leah ages before him.
~*~*~
“No tricks,” Bobby says skeptically, “you actually beat the guy.”
“How the hell?” Bobby asks.
“Just lucky.”
Sam heads out the door just as Dean enters, cheeseburger in hand.
“Alright, I’ll see y’all guys later.”
“Where you goin’?” Dean asks and Sam shrugs.
“Ah, nowhere.”
Bobby and Dean are still looking at him.
“A booster shot,” Sam finally admits, holding up a finger to Dean. “Don’t say it.” He leaves quickly before they can make fun of him.
“Well I guess we can get the van loaded,” Bobby says, wheeling his chair towards the open door, but Dean lowers his sandwich swallowing and holding a finger before saying, “I shouldn’t have called you an idiot.”
“Which time?” Bobby asks dryly.
“I’m sorry,” Dean says, meaning it. “I mean I actually, I-I get it. Getting’ old ain’t a bachelor party. And dealing with the crap you’ve got to deal with—“
“Don’t you go on pity patrol—“
“I’m not. I’m not, I just, I’m saying if I was in your shoes…”
“You’d never stop complaining,” Bobby interrupts.
“Fair enough.” Dean pauses a moment, then has to make sure friend knows something first. “You’re not useless, Bobby.”
“Okay,” Bobby says, heading for the door again. “Good talk.”
“No wait a minutes, listen to me.” Dean sits down in front of him, stares at his hands a moment, then says, “You don’t stop being a soldier because you got wounded in battle. Okay? No matter what shape you’re in, bottom line is you’re *family*. Now I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but me and Sam? We don’t have much left.” Bobby lets out a breath, not looking at him, and Dean tells him, “I can’t do this without you.”
Bobby slowly looks up.
“I can’t,” Dean says again. “So don’t you DARE thing about checkin’ out. I don’t want to hear that again.”
Bobby swallows hard, then whispers, “Okay.”
“Okay…good.”
They sit there in a vulnerable moment, then Bobby finally says, “Thanks…Now are we done feelin’ our feelings? Because I’d like to get out of this room before we both start growin’ lady parts.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we’re done.” He gets up, picks up his sandwich, stares at it a moment, then throws it away. “Let’s go, ironsides.” He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder.
“Oh that one’s stickin’, huh?”
Dean grins, pointing at him and Bobby can’t help but smile. Once Dean’s out of the room, his smile fades. He rolls a step, then looks up and lets out along breath.
Awwww, Bobby! You know we (and Sam and Dean) can't do this without you! Great episode, hilarious and sadly touching at the same time. Old Dean cracked me up, and I loved his sparring with Bobby and Sam just rolling his eyes at them both. When Dean came out happily jumping around, that was too funny. Wonder how long it'll take Dean to forget he's trying to eat healthier?
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