keepsthemsafe | SIXTH ENTRY

[Dean is in the process of shrugging and retracting the file when Shane changes his mind and snatches possession of it; that's the second fucking time an inmate has snatched their file out of his hand and he's kind of getting annoyed with it. If he had both hands he might have tried to keep it or take it back, but as it is, he just makes an impatient gesture with his now-empty hand and moves around the bed to study the picture on the wall.

And he rolls his eyes when Shane comes to the brilliant conclusion, but he gets the rest of that, remains wary of the loathing from behind his easy manner.]

Yeah, sure, you see a lot of that going on around here. Half a dozen of us at a time just perched on the railing, peering over the side.

It was the Admiral.

And what he thinks that I've done something wrong and I'm worth something better.

[he peers at him. Honestly it's not even the "there's something wrong with me" he's used to being wrong, having people think he's wrong. It's that people think he needs to be fixed. He'd be fine being unfixable.

Especially the way this system is run.]

...I don't suppose the admiral gave y'all the gift I asked for all the wardens. Book on how to correctly run a prison.

[No. he's horrible like that.]

[Dean shrugs; honestly, he doesn't buy into the philosophical side of this. He helps people when he can, doesn't stop to wonder about how redeemable they are. He'll help Shane, too, if he can because he's been promised Sam; he'd help him with his zombie infestation anyway, and it has nothing to do with worth or wrong.]

You're missing the point: this ain't your regular prison, and I'm not your average warden. There's no rule book for this kinda thing, just the go-flag and the finish flag. How we get from one to the other is up to us.

Capiche?

I don't deserve to be fixed. That's all there is to it. And to be frank. I don't fucking want to go back to a place where people are going to fucking kill me.

[His voice is blunt and hard] and if people are going to try and kill me here I want a goddamn weapon. Like with you.

...they at least give you weapons? [He nods to his wrist] fucking broke like that?

Well, then that's something we'll work on. [Dean flashes a quick, smooth smile, because he's not going to argue about deserving and self esteem, now or ever; he's learned it doesn't matter. There are other ways around what someone feels like they do and don't deserve and words never do it.

Besides, with that sort of thing, he can't be lying when he fires back and he doesn't know Shane well enough yet to know if that's true. There's a lot of good, decent things in that file.

And a couple really shitty things, too, but they'll get to that. Dean shakes his head immediately.]

Nope. Trust is a two-way street, poncho. You show me I can trust you, you'll get one. That's a promise.

I've got a firearm. [He glances down at the wrist in question, something in his eyes going still and dim when he does. He smirks, and it's not the friendly, amiable one he's been flashing around so far.] I did when I got this, too. And I did when my friend was killed, and I did when I first got here and got attacked by a kid who could turn into a lion. Didn't help me a lick any of those times. What has? Is paying attention and not trusting that the crazies around here are anything other than crazy.

I'm sorry I stopped at kid who could turn into a lion.

[He sags on the bed, head in his hands for a moment before looking up at him.] It's real then.

All this shit, because...I thought that maybe somebody had made a mistake - rehab or not but...

[One hand slides down across his stomach and rests there. pained. That's where Rick stabbed him. Then his hand slides up to his head.]

He really did fucking kill me.

[Dean can't help but smirk at that; it's not the weirdest thing he's ever seen, which he knows for a fact David wasn't expecting at the time, either. He also sees no reason to mention right now that having his Colt on him was the only reason David didn't outright win that particular fight.

He sobers a little while Shane processes aloud, and then the last line wipes all merriment - feigned and the tiny, mild sincere bit he'd been indulging in - from his face and eyes. Time to get down to this, then, looks like.]

You didn't exactly give him a choice, did you?

[Shane glares, he's up on his feet in a heartbeat]

Get the fuck out.

Get out. Right now. Get the fuck out right now or I'll break your other fucking wrist.

[Dean doesn't so much as budge; that edge in him that had softened goes hard and sharp again and he tenses, but he doesn't flinch.]

You can try. I'm not going anywhere.

I gave you fair warning.

[One hand curls into a fist]

[Dean is ready. So ready. A muscle in his jaw jumps, eyes steady on Shane.]

And I told you where you could shove it, poncho.

[It's honestly the nickname that checks him] ...Poncho?

[shit man, we're going to go together like carrots and peas. It'll be Tonto and the Lone Ranger man.

Yeah but which one of us is Tonto and which is gonna be JR.

...Honestly Rick, I'd rather be your partner any day]

[Shane snorts.] You've got a broken wrist it wouldn't be fair.

[And the thing is, it wouldn't. It wouldn't. Even in the field ultimately when faced with someone ready to fight Shane wanted him to raise his own gun]

[Dean snorts back, fingertips of his busted hand flexing and relaxing restlessly; he wouldn't have cared about it. He doesn't quite relax yet.]

Maybe. Maybe not. If we're gonna do this, I'd rather it were sooner than later. If we're not, you need to just drop it here and now.

You don't get to fucking talk about Rick. [His voice is hard] No. No fucking way. That son of a bitch is a snake.

[Dean may not be the sharpest emotional detector on the planet, but even he can see this isn't the time to push on this.

No matter how hard he wants to. It won't do any good, and at least part of the hunter's willingness to fight right now has nothing to do with Shane, Rick, Lori, or the things in the file; the corner of his mouth tugs but he just says:]

That ain't how this works.

...Then the rules are going to change.

Adapt. Trust me I know all about adaptation.

[Tension defused, he paces away and studies the clinical wall hangings.] What do you do? I mean before all this?

Uh huh. [Dean doesn't much bother hiding the roll of his eyes, even though Shane is turning away from him; he's a stubborn sonnuvabitch, but he's the least so of his family. He knows when to fight and when to back down in this regard, and words aren't going to be worth it.

Dean knows how this goes. That's just going to have to be enough.]

I'm a hunter. [There was a time he'd bothered to go out of his way not to talk about this; it's lost its importance, stepping around it, for multiple reasons, so now he just states it flatly and shrugs. He expects Shane won't believe him. No one ever does until they're being tossed around by a ghost.] If it goes bump in the night and harasses innocent people, I put it down.

[Shane stares at him. And stares.] ...like a walker?

[Dean smiles placidly.]

Like a walker.

we're in the same business then. Of sorts. [It didn't used to be.] I remember those signs and shit.

...What do those have to do with walkers.

Yes and no.

[Dean shrugs, moves over to the wall to study the blinds covering a sight he'd rather not see, so he doesn't try to look past them.]

Zombies ain't the only over-achieving dead thing lurching around. There's ghosts of all kinds, werewolves, vampires, black dogs, demons, rakshasas, shtrigas, wendigos...

[He cuts off with a dismissive hand gesture. All of this is old news to him, by the way he's talking.]

You get the point.

[Shane's expression has devolved into "Are you on crack" but honestly Dracula's here. Dracula."

He blinks]

...So you understand why I did what I did. Because you live with those things and those decisions.

[Some of the ease Dean has been regaining drains out of him, tension creeping into the set of the hunter's shoulders, but he doesn't turn around or stop inspecting the window dressings.]

You really wanna do this right now? We just met.

...There another time?

Sorry my social skills are a little lacking, we don't have a society back home. I've forgotten how to make nice.

[the sad fact of this however is that it's true]

I don't need you to make nice with me. But you do make a good point.

[Dean is, himself, barely acquainted with society as most people know it; he's nowhere near stuck in the situation Shane is, mind, but he wouldn't have much difficulty if he were. He's half-feral as it is.

Now, though, he turns back around and wags a finger between them.]

You and me? We got similarities, sure, and I'm willing to do whatever I can for you. But let's get one thing straight: I wouldn't pull the stunt you pulled. I wouldn't turn on my partner for anything.

If the world's out to get you, the last fucking thing you need to do is make enemies out of your closest fucking ally.

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