collegedropout | Two Hunters and a Chef Baby

[Dean grits his teeth.]

Yeah, sounds like its M.O.

... How hurt are you, anyway? Full disclosure helps.

[Dean's not letting the cries get to him... But he is moving toward them. He knows it's probably the wendigo trying to get them freaked, get them into an easier position to be jumped again, but he's not about to stop now. They're close. Really close. He's not going to note to Sanji the small blooddrop trail that he's using as a path. Mostly because it could be the wendigos, or it could be Sam's.

He jabs his thumb behind them.]

Keep an eye that way, too. It looks like these tunnels are gonna get hard to keep track of.

[Damn, Sam just didn't make it far enough to realize, Dean notes.

'You better be okay, asshole.']

Broken rib. [wincing as he talks] Make that two, just in case. They're not poking into my shitty lungs, so I'll manage.

[And his damned cigarette was also a casualty. Pity. He'd dig out a second one but those voices are distracting, and Sanji isn't used to this bullshit like the brothers are. Jeez, if he were with his crew, half of them would be charging to the beat of war drums, so this well-versed stealth mode is disorienting. He still takes Dean at his silent word that they aren't misreading the cries, turning to glance behind his shoulder.

He sees nothing but dark and more dark, their progress being swallowed behind them. It's impossible to tell if the shifting shadows are the product of overactive adrenaline or something fouler, but Sanji quickly shifts his gun into a more aggressive angle, ready to take aim.

The sounds of the crying child get closer.]

[Dean gives Sanji a sharp once-over.

Well, as long as the guy doesn't keel over, works for him. He must be a hunter if he can deal with that kind of pain as easy as he does. A shitty one. See: the last point about naive ol' Garth, back before he grew wolf chompers (still freaks him out to think about, honestly).

The crying gets louder. Dean peers hard into the dark in front of him, but then glances back to Sanji. And he may be turning himself just a little more toward Sanji's direction, because — well. That wendigo is probably gonna swipe at 'em from that way, if that's how it's gonna play.] ... Sounds like it's trying to pull us in from behind.

[Louder. Louder. Dean presses against the wall, flare gun held at the ready.

He's about ready to fire, when—

A small boy, no older than six, stumbles out and collapses onto his knees, gasping. Dean is on pause for a moment mentally to wrap his head around it, because Wendigo's aren't that smart, are they? What's this kid doing out here? How'd he get away? Was it Sam, or—??

..........

And that's around when the Wendigo roars and charges at him from the other direction.

Suffice to say he gets pinned as the creature holds him down and screeches at his eardrum.]

Shit—!!

Edited 2016-02-29 20:13 (UTC)

[It's a stupid move - probably considered fatal from a hunter's perspective - but Sanji wheels around the second he realizes that surprise, Dean was wrong: that is indeed a little boy sobbing on his knees. Not a Wendigo, not a monster. Sanji already knows what's gonna happen.

The shadow moves past him, at Dean. A blur of motion and the chef can't keep up with it (shit, why, why can't I keep the fuck up). By the time he's got his gun in position, the Wendigo has a grotesque hand at the hunter's throat, screeching triumph in the other man's ears.

No hesitation. Sanji shoots point blank.

And it misses, of course it fuckin does, but the Wendigo isn't stupid enough to take a bullet to the face at this range. It releases Dean to leap across the small space of the tunnel. It ignores the little boy choking on his sobs, paralyzed - he's done his job already, it won't take any time to hunt him down again. The creature turns to face Sanji instead, and Dean--

The chef could use you not flat on your ass right now]

[Hey man, he's getting up to his feet right-quick. Most days, they're lucky if they can just knock out a hunt right-quick. Unknown to Sanji, this one's been an all-nighter, and Dean is just about sick of seeing this ugly thing's mug, let along having to utter the name 'wendigo' any friggin more. Worse yet, this lanky bastard kidnapped his own lanky bastard. And for that, Dean doesn't waste a second's time.]

Hey, asshole, over here!

[He doesn't wait for the wendigo to actually turn around. He fires the flare and it catches its slip-sliding, dead-like skin. The monster screams, bloody mouth tipped towards the cave ceiling as it begins to collapse to its knees. The effect is extreme and welcomed. Dean moves towards the kid, gripping his shoulder a bit roughly — the Mark's got his blood buzzing, the death of the beast a want that was sating the ugly scar on his arm.]

Hey — kid, hey.

[Goddammit, reel it in, Dean.]

You remember the others? Your brother and sister? We're gonna go get them; think you can help us out there, kiddo?

[He glances back at Sanji. You good, man? Because we need to find those three.

That monster had blood on its mouth, and he's not sure if that means a bite, a death, or if the asshole was bleeding from a bullet or three to the head. Not like it kills it, but there's some pretty big differences between those three choices, thanks.]

You good, blondie??

Aa. I'm fine.

[Feels like it was over before it really started, but never has Sanji been so glad for a short row. It's enough trying to keep his heartbeat under control; it leaps and tugs inside of his chest, adrenaline unwilling to settle down until he finally sets to motion, lowering the gun but not pocketing it. He begins to walk in the direction they were heading.]

Please tell me that was the only shit we've gotta fight. [Because he noticed the blood, too, and they've still got three people to account for. The little boy is struggling to form words between his hysteria, but he does point further down their darkened route, in the direction he came from]

Don't jinx it.

[Seriously, man, we don't need anymore surprises tonight. He adjusts his jacket, moving a bit slower than before; he's no young spring chicken, alright? He moves to pick up the kid, holding him as supportively as he can. Even with his panic for Sam and the humming in his bones for blood, he can at least keep his mind clear enough to get the civilian. Sam would kill him if he didn't.]

You good? Let's go get them the hell out of here. Move quick, but keep an eye out.

Since you've probably jinxed us.

[He starts moving, an emergency flare prepared in one hand while he lets the kid sit on his arm, hands clasped behind Dean's neck. The further in they go, the wetter the place is, with a foul stink that could be death. Surprise, there are old and new human bones scattered across the floors.

Dean swallows hard, pushing through it.

You'd better be alright, Sam.]

You still with me?

[Better to be jinxed and prepared than gloating a premature victory and paying the price later, is what the chef thinks with an irritable twitch. Sanji considers grabbing the flare out of Dean's hands since he's got the kid, but thinks better of it. The gun will have to suffice. Paranoia eventually prods him into training the barrel on the shadows again, index finger held stiffly on the trigger.

The further they walk, the more the stench hits his senses like a hurricane's wind, and despite himself, the chef nearly gags on his own breath. He winces through the smell, only granting himself a moment's reprieve by covering his nostrils with the cuff of his shirt. The gun stays up.]

Fine. [That's all the air he can spare for talking. They've got three survivors to find, so while he keeps his stance cautious, Sanji sweeps the area with a glance, on the hunt for bodies instead of bones. The tunnel has opened into a crude, circular area, one that branches off into two different tunnels. That certainly explains how the bastard was able to get around so easily, but Sanji is more focused on... whatever the hell is hanging from the ceiling. Coccoons? The flippin' shit is that]

When they finally get deeper into the mines and hit the area where the monster stores it's food, they're greeted by two young kids hanging up by their arms — Dean rushes over to one, gives them a small shake, being gentle as he can while her brother cries her name from in his arms. She's just unconscious. Lucky. The third child — a taller brown-haired boy who's probably nine or ten, kicks his legs and is plenty awake just nearby.

"There was a monster!" the boy cries, "It -- did you kill it?!"

"Sure did; hey, calm down, we're here to get you guys out. Nothin's coming after you guys again." Dean's careful to cut down the girl, lowering her to the ground as he scans the area for his brother. Sanji can see it, probably: the curdled concern in the hunch of Dean's shoulders. Because Sam appears to not... be here, and that means he could be one of those unidentifiable carcasses nearby, and —

Then there's a cough, and Dean wanders further into the dark, damp area.

"Sammy!?"

Sam's hanging by his arms, too, head bowed forward. Apparently waking up after being knocked around by the wendigo; Dean's blood runs cold when he sees the bite mark on Sam's arm. He's not sure if the bastard was going to try eating him or was planning on killing him for being such an over-grown pain in the ass, but he's at least soothed by the fact that it's not contagious.

"... Dean...?" Sam's eyes flutter. Concussion. Sanji's familiar enough with the pile of feathers having one. Speaking of which... "Where's Sanji..."

Sam is Dean's brother; he gets dibs, so when the hunter goes to anxiously prowl through the dark, Sanji steps in and takes over babysitting duty. He focuses on the little girl first. Neither brother will be in any state to carry her, so he trades the stability of his gun for her dead weight, silently thankful that she's not heavy.

"I-Is she okay?" From the younger boy, who has traded his wide-eyed panic for a subdued, trembling tone. Poor kid is looking for comfort, and while the chef can't say he's familiar with how Wendigos treat their victims, he feels a faint, steady thump resonating from the girl's chest. Sanji glances down at the boy with a tired smile.

"Aa. She's fine. We'll get her to a doctor."

And Sam as well, he thinks to himself before turning a glance over his shoulder. Yes, he hears the summons - "Oi, I'm fine - you damned idiot." There's plain relief in his voice, enough to edge out the creeping numbness when he tries to feel Sam's aura - his heart, his spirit, anything - and instead feels an emptiness. Like one of his senses have been cut from him.

Sam smiles in relief as Dean lowers him down to the floor, kneading the muscle there to get the blood flowing again. The older brother is glancing from Sam to Sanji -- trying to make some kind of connect here. After a moment, the lightbulb goes off, and he points at the chef as he tends to the children.

"Wait, you're saying that's one of your weird-ass pirate friends? Wow."

"Now's so not the time," Sam winces, slowly getting to his feet as he puts a heavy hand over the wound on his arm, and Dean gives a short nod before rushing over to the kids; it's easy enough to help the girl, to carry her gingerly as Sam staggers over to Sanji's side. "You sure you're good? We've got a hike ahead of us."

He figures Sanji, being a fucking powerhouse and all, can handle it...

But he looks pretty spent in the dimness of Dean's flashlight.

"He's gonna have to be," Dean says. "Let's get them out, get a call out to the rangers."

Regardless of whether or not Sanji can make the trip, the pirate doesn't have the heart to tell Sam what's slowly becoming a reality for him. That something isn't fine; there's a huge-ass problem as large as the one that shoved Sanji into this world in the first place. But Dean's right, they've got kids to look after, so he squares his shoulders and strains to look impassive.

"Of course I'm fine. Worry about yourself." You, who was just hanging from the ceiling, about to get the blood sucked out of you or some shit. "That gonna be alright?"

Pointing to the wound, mouth dipped into a frown. It's not even that Sanji doubts Sam's stubbornness to push through pain and agony for the sake of others; in fact, that's exactly the problem. He can guess verbatim the line his friend will give him, and steels himself for it with a sigh. Before Sam can say anything, the chef turns and begins slowly herding the boys to follow Dean's lead. "You're lucky Chopper isn't here to chew you a new one."

"Me? I'm fine. Hunky-dorky."

It's of course spoken in the most telling grunt and huff of breath as he forces his legs to carry him. He motions for Dean to ditch him to help with the ten-year-old boy, but Dean's already got the kid loose and he's holding his younger brother's hand for dear life. They're terrified — traumatized. These are the hardest cases, for Sam. The ones where there's no real victory. These kids... they're gonna need a hell of a lot of therapy.

They lost their parents.

Who can really be okay after that?

The ten-year-old — Jason, as the youngest mumbles — moves quickly to Sanji's side, eyes resting on the middle child: the young girl Sanji's carrying, and he's biting his lip as he looks at them. The protector of sorts, Sam mentally notes.

Dean says, tired but firm: "Just... keep following the trail. Sam, you good?"

"Yeah," he lies, though he's not about to die or anything. He's definitely not that great on his feet. As they movie, Dean retrieves his phone from his pocket, lighting the way and checking for a signal. It's not long before they're out, tense in the silence. Even with the danger stopped, it's still a large, dark unknown. The forest is only lit by stars and Dean's flashlight.

Sam staggers behind them but finds the strength to carry on with Dean's wary glance.

By the time they get to the Impala parked at the entrance, Sam's quick to slump wearily against the hood. Ah, good times, right guys? Dean moves to call the authorities. To report that they've found some kids, chased off some big animal. It's cold and dark and Sam aches for a bed.

He looks at Sanji, still holding the girl.

"Still okay? You -- got hit bad, back there. What's the damage?"

The entire march, Sanji has refrained from speaking. No back-sassing, no dour expressions aimed at Dean. Everyone's too exhausted for conversation as it is, and so lost in his thoughts, he barely gives a glance to Sam behind him, instead letting Dean carry the brunt of that worry. He lets little Jason stay close, the boy who either stares listlessly to his front or turns to watch his sister breathe. Sanji would let him carry her, if he thought he could - just to offer the child some measure of relief. His future will be fueled by nightmares soon, of fully-formed monsters hiding under his bed. He's lost the luxury of innocence too young.

Once they're out of the cave, near the odd-looking vehicle Sam slumps against... the chef's eyes are on the little girl, but he speaks quietly under his breath. "Broken ribs." He doesn't sound like he cares. Eventually, he looks for Sam in the dark. The stars reflect tension and weariness too thick for a spat against a Wendigo.

"...Where we headed, after this?"

We, because Sanji has no where to go right now. A blank truth that weighs in his stomach like lead now that there's no monster to fight.

"Back to the bunker — uh. Home base, you could say."

They lull into silence again for a short while; Sam lets the youngest squeeze his hand as the child chews his nails anxiously. Poor kid, and even with all these years of being a hunter... these cases aren't easy. Not ever. His expression softens and he squeezes the small hand back.

When the rangers arrive, they give them false directions and wave off medical attention; they're fine at handling their own, and Sam just lies about his concussion and bite outright. They offer more information, and the oldest child, well... he's smart. He's quick to get them off the hook for kidnapping, so that's a relief. It's only when the proper opportunity arises — when the girl is taken by the EMT and the other two children are walked to the ranger's patrol car — that Sam nudges Sanji toward the car.

"Lets get moving. Before they have a reason to hold us here."

There's a lot of room in the back seat, so feel free to stretch those legs out, buddy. Also, hope you're not claustrophobic in cars because they are zooming off the moment he can get that car door closed behind you.

Because yep. That's it.

You do the job, and then you disappear.

And that's that.

They're leave the town in their rear view.

Dean just sits in silence... for a short moment. But god, is it clear he's got Questions.

A car's a lot smaller than a ship. A lot faster, too, and Sanji's stomach drops to his knees when Dean slams his foot on the gas to get them out of there. The children quickly twinkle out of sight, swallowed by a sea of wood and the kick of flying dirt from underneath the back wheels. It's like they never existed in the world to begin with.

Sanji stares out the back window and dreams of ocean spray until his chest drums with the ache of fractured ribs, a pain so familiar it's more an annoyance than a concern. It's a blessing for these cushions, even if Sanji doesn't dare relax further than a slight recline. He can feel the pressure building in the front seat.

Bastard's got questions, no doubt. Sam, too.

They'll both be disappointed when it comes time to answer them.

"How long until we get to the..." A pause. "Uh, the bunker."

Sam opens his mouth to reply, arm cradled in his lap and swatched in temporary bandages—

"A day," Dean says first, blunt and a bit more serious. "But we're gonna stop and get a place for the night. We'll get you a room, figure all this out. Which I'm still waiting on an actual answer on."

He glances wordlessly after that to Sam. Sam clears his throat.

"Um. Sanji, this is Dean. My brother. Dean, this is — uh. One of the pirates I told you about, one of my friends from Adstringendum." Dean's looking ahead at the road, but Sanji can see him in the rearview mirror, scrutinizing Sanji with a raising eyebrow as Sam continues, "He's kind of... out of his world."

"The guy who kicked you in the head?"

Ahm.

"Y-yeah, well..."

"--I lost my strength."

Like the crack of a fired gun, blurted out with no finesse in the middle of Dean and Sam's conversation. If Sanji sounds pissed rather than panicked, then good, it's how he prefers it, and he meets Dean's stare like he'd prefer nothing better than to suplex the car in a fit of rage.

"Getting dragged here, somehow it..." Well, frankly, it turned him into what probably equates to a normal human on Sam's world. Ability to sense auras? Gone. Clearing a building with one jump? Nope. Moving your feet fast enough to take flight? Ha, that's some funny shit right there. It's a with a twitch and a hand to his temple that he continues, turning his grimace at the ceiling of the car. "Maaah, whatever. I'll deal with it." Not like he's got a choice. "But I'm telling you shits now, I might not be much help in a fight."

It's a bitter admission for him to be making, and only Sam is gonna understand the implications that Sanji is spelling out in clear letters. He's useless in a way he's unaccustomed to, weak as a newborn babe. This isn't his world; these aren't his rules. While he plans to buck up and earn his keep for as long as he's stuck in limbo, the chances are high he'll be suckling on their resources until they send him back to his own world.

That, assuming, sending him home is their top priority. He vaguely remembers some of the weird shit that the brothers deal with on a daily basis. There might not be room for a lost pirate chef.

Dean hardly reacts to the news — he doesn't really know Sanji, after all, can't possibly know just what that entails — but there's a clear surprise on Sam's face when he glances back toward the chef. No strength? Jesus. It reminds him of Adstringendum the weeks after they had transferred to a new area; people had lost their powers then, too. But here...?

He pauses, rubbing his chin, considering the logic behind it.

"Maybe — maybe it's because the physics of your world don't match ours."

It would make sense. Sam has no strength whatsoever in contrast to Sanji; it's like a tree versus a small stick, and he's confident in saying that Sanji on a normal day could crush his bones into a lot of friggin pieces. After a moment, he breathes a sigh.

"It's alright, man. We'll help you out, get you some training at least so you know your stuff—"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Dean says, waving a hand. "Did you forget that we have some bigger problems on our hands? Like getting this mark off my arm? We don't exactly have time to spend teaching a new guy the ropes."

Sam glances at Dean. "He's my friend, alright?"

Dean huffs, but whatever he's thinking, he's apparently keeping it to himself.

Sam continues, looking back at Sanji, "Ignore him, man, he's just cranky without a nap."

"Oh, whatever, bitch."

Sam ignores that, quirking an eyebrow. "Bet those ribs are really feeling crappy. Welcome to our reality; try to rest until we get there, alright? We'll look into the lore books, the magic, all that. See if we can help open a portal back up for you."

Despite the dip in mood on his part, the longing to throw himself into the darkness outside the car like it might send him home, Sanji can't help but watch the exchange between Sam and his brother, brow quirking that much higher on his forehead. Shit, this is as bad as a sparring match. It's suddenly easy to reason why Sam's always been good at tolerating the chef's attitude.

Not that Sanji can find it in him to blame Dean for his opposition. No shitty idea what this mark thing is, but it's probably got something to do with the world ending. That kind of standard shit. He sighs and sinks into the cushions again, subconsciously following his friend's orders.

"Right, right." With his dirty secret shared, the panic has lessened somewhat, and left the deepening ache in his ribs. It's starting to hurt to breathe. He opts to grit his teeth behind his lips and ignore it. "If you shits got food there, I can at least make you both a proper meal."

Might as well earn his keep, he figures. The least he can do. And that will keep his fingers from itching with anxiety, if he's got people to feed.

Dean looks back at him again, this time with a greatly lifted mood.

"Wait, wait, you're the chef one?" He grins tiredly in Sam's direction, then looks back at Sanji. "Well... I mean, we could use a chef. Pretty sure you'd have a heart attack if you saw the creatures growing in our fridge."

Sam groans, leaning back into the seat. "You mean the leftovers you forgot about."

Dean looks at Sanji in the mirror like he's about to quiz him on Who Wants to Be A Millionaire.

"Can you make a decent burger?"

Sanji knows a glutton for meat when he sees one. It's so familiar a look, the face of a starved predator, and he barely keeps from rolling his eyes at Dean's question. It's been a rough-ass day, he's still processing half of what's happened to him, so his voice is hardened with selfishly-coiled pride.

This isn't about making a good first impression; cooking is the only security he's got outside of Sam.

"Tch. don't make "decent" burgers." His chin lifts with smug intent. "I make the best shitty burgers anyone's ever tasted."

Dean is pretty much on the verge of hiring you as a personal chef, Sanji. :|

But Sam in the meanwhile just shakes his head slightly, as if he's so in tune with his brother that he reads the guy's mind. The drive is relatively calm — mostly Dean asking Sanji here and there about different food, or about pirate life, and it's clear that Dean's got a sort of (annoyingly) child-like wonder that spirals into questions of peg legs and eyepatches and walking planks. Between those bouts, though, Sam and Dean talk about the case a few towns over, how they'll have to call Rudy in to hit that one instead while they recuperate.

When they pull up to the motel and Dean gets them their keys, Sam nudges Dean to go on ahead, he'll catch up after he checks with Sanji and makes sure the guy is physically okay. After Sanji gets his key and is allowed a moment in the confines of his own motel room, Sam knocks before slipping in quietly with a well-stocked first aid kit.

"... Hey. You doing alright?"

For all the lacking subtlety of Dean's questions, it does plenty to keep Sanji's mind on the "can"s instead of the "can't"s. He entertains the hunters with amused replies and (mostly) patient answers, all while carefully burying the ache that only a seaman ripped away from his mother sea can feel. It's as much a blessing as a curse when they arrive to the hotel and Sanji is allowed a moment's reprieve from talking.

... And he sits there, hunched at the edge of the bed, fingers flexed and folded against each other while one of his last cigarettes hangs from the corner of his mouth. Sam will find him in that position. The pirate barely glances up at the appearance of his friend.

"I'm fine."

Don't give him any lip, hunter. He can fake it, too.

... Feh. But then that means he'll have to use up precious energy on false smiles when all he wants to do is sleep and wake up from the nightmare. It's not worth it. So there's a sigh before Sanji begins the laborious ordeal of shedding his jacket. He figures Sam'll want it off so he can get a better look at the bruises on his skin.

"Sure, sure, we're all fine," Sam says with a cheeky little smile; apparently, he's a hell of a lot braver when you can't kick him into a concussion. Um. Not really counting that he's already got a mild one. Anyway. He motions for Sanji to sit down, frowning at the bruising. Give him some credit, he didn't try to help you remove that coat. "Jeez, it sure got you good. I've got a few small ice packs; nothing fancy, but it's better to get these on there in the first few days than to leave them as it is."

A pause.

"Lay down and relax. If you're a good patient, I'll go get you a new pack of cigarettes."

This totally sounds like the beginning of a porn (and hey, remember he digs the blonds, hyuck hyuck), but he's quick to return from his kit with the ice packs in hand, ready to be placed. You're gonna have good fun laying down for the night, aren't you, buddy.

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