likedillinger | sixwordstories : I want you to hit me as hard as you can.

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sixwordstories : I want you to hit me as hard as you can.

Who: Dean and Sylar (

intuitivelyapt )
What: Dean and Sylar have a lot of manly issues to work out in a manly matter. So they kick the shit out of each other. It's how real men resolve things.
When: Thursday night. Immediately following this.
Where: NYC, an alley behind a bar.
Verse: Brave New World

If Sylar didn't have a clear idea of how pissed off Dean was from the way he banged the back door of the bar open hard enough to send it crashing against the wall, then he might have gotten a hint when he ignored Sylar's verbal jab and marched in silence down the steps.

He ran a hand over his face, taking a few paces down the dingy alley way. Something moved inside a dumpster, and he heard a cat rrowing. In the distance, there was the muted noise of traffic, and street bustle. Everything else in the world just moving along, all hunky dory, even if a couple days ago there were giant rocks of fire that killed people, destroyed property, wrecked cars. The city didn't seem to give a shit. It was like New York was daring the Apocalypse to try and touch it.

Dean had no doubt that if they didn't act soon enough, the Apocalypse was the one who'd win that game of chicken.

The city seemed just as oblivious now, to the fact that this guy who'd killed several innocent girls off the streets was just walking free. That he was rooming with the demon who'd screwed over him and Sam royally.

New York didn't care.

But he sure as hell did.

He turned back to face Sylar, fixing him with a baleful glare.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't kick your ass all the way back to the Company myself, right now."

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The bustle made Sylar smile slightly. People never really changed, did they? Always eager for a distraction. An opportunity to ignore the world around them, even as it was probably ending.

And who could blame them? Hell, Sylar wanted a distraction, too.

He made an incredulous face at Dean. It didn't really surprise him, but he acted the part anyway. "Table. You were just at a bar, Dean. Don't worry, you can order beer from the table just as easily."

And then there was a nice hostess there to guide them to a table. As Sylar was so nice to specify to her and put a damper on any of Dean's acloholic dreams.

Oh, right. Dean's natural instincts steered him in the direction of alcohol, but his stomach was also bitching at him that it was long past food time.

"Yeah, alright. I'm starvin'," he admitted, as they slid into a booth. He slung an arm across the back of it, glancing around and picking up a menu. There was something comforting in restaurant chains: no matter which one you walked into, the whole U.S. over, they'd be serving the same things. "You wanna split the two meal deal?"

Sylar picked up a menu and scanned it over, not really paying much attention to Dean at this point. It was hard to pay attention to anything besides food when the non-power-associated Hunger kicked in.

"Yeah, okay." He shrugged, still not looking up. Dean was paying, so it didn't matter much to him.

Dean wanted to keep conversation veered back away from Ruby and murder and probably Sam and Claire too, all things considered, so he searched his mind for other stuff of interest.

"So I ran into Buffy at the bar. She told me Faith's in the slammer."

The waitress walked up in time to hear that and cast judgmental eyes in his direction for his choice of friends, so he just afforded her a charming smile and a wink. "I'll take a beer."

"Faith? Really?" He raised his eyebrows at that, and bit his tongue on what his next comment was about to be ('I always knew she was too much like me for her own good') as the waitress walked up. He gave her an equally charming smile and ordered a coke. There wasn't much point in drinking if you couldn't get drunk, he'd discovered.

By the time she was gone, his comment had simmered down to a "It doesn't surprise me."

"Me neither, but for a murder rap..." He just shook his head. "You think she really did it?" He already knew what he thought, but he'd feel less bad about it if he heard the opinion out of somebody's else's mouth. "Hell, it coulda been a vamp for all we know. I've had murder counts on my own head. Hazard of the job."

He kept his voice low enough to attract weird eavesdroppers. He was used to that.

"Huh." He frowned-- that was a little more unexpected-- and shoved his menu back and forth across the table for the sake of having something to do. "I think she could have, if she wanted to. She's capable. But there's probably a story behind it." A light shrug. "Nothing ever makes sense without the context."

Wasn't that just the story of his life.

"Yup. Too bad we're not likely to hear it anytime soon," Dean said. "Maybe Buffy knows more. I sent her off to deal with that whole Hellmouth thing. She wants to help but she's gonna get in the way here. That chick's way too bossy for his own good." He sounded more irked than she really deserved, but dealing with Buffys always left him that way. He couldn't help it - he'd never really get over being bugged by the Dean he'd met who was happily involved with one. It just put him off. All that contentedness made him itch.

And made him wonder how in the hell they did it.

His thoughts threatened to drift to Brooke again, so he quickly changed subjects.

"I wonder who's in charge of picking out the crap on the walls in these places."

"Sounds about right." He replied in regards to Buffy's bossiness. Man, she was hot though. If she wasn't a self-righteous bitch, and he wasn't in a ~~kind of~~ gay relationship, man. Those could have been times. It'd be like Faith, only... blonder.

Oh, right. He should stop fantasizing about attractive blonde women and pay attention to the conversation again.

"Aren't the walls the same in every one?" He glanced around the restaurant. It wasn't something he normally paid that much attention to. "What would you put on the wallsi if it was yours, Dean? Pictures of your ghost hunting exploits?"

Edited 2010-07-15 00:19 (UTC)

"More or less. But different pictures and stuff." Dean was pretty intimately familiar with restaurant and diner decor, especially ones with tacky shit all over. "And no, I can't advertise that kind of thing, you know that," he said, only half serious in his chastisement. "I don't know. I'd have more hot bikini babes up, that's for sure."

His beer arrived and he gratefully opened it up and took a swig. The waitress asked if they were ready to order, and he threw another glance at Sylar.

"Yeah, we're splittin' a two for twenty," he said, poking at the little advertisement for it held in place in the middle of the table. "What'd you want?"

"The pictures look the same to me." But Sylar didn't really care enough to be attentive. His tastes ranged from high end to take out to slumming it in trashy diners. There wasn't much room in his life for the in between that was Applebee's. "That too, I suppose." There was a wry smile after all the chastising. "But I didn't say you had to be in the picture with them. Think bigger than than that."

Luckily, drinks were there to distract them. They did not, however, distract Sylar from looking at Dean like he was a moron. How many times did he have to repeat the 2 for 20 thing? Was it really that exciting? God, it was like eating with Peter.

On that note, he hoped the waitress didn't think they were a couple.

"Well, what do you want for an appetizer? I was thinking of mozzarella sticks, but..."

"Buffalo wings," Dean replied. He liked to get as much food for his money as possible and mozzarella sticks didn't fill him up as much as wings did. Plus, the more meat, the better. And since apparently -he was paying-, he could do whatever he wanted.

"And then I'm gonna have the bacon cheddar cheeseburger," he added, "with everything." Like a friggin' heart attack on a bun. It would be ironic, really, if in the end he was taken down by heart disease before some monster. Then again, he never worried about it too much. Hunters didn't have long life expectancies usually. Hell, how many times had he already died? Maybe it purged his system every time the angels sent him back.

He could at least pretend.

Sylar shrugged. He was paying, and food was food. Sylar would eat pretty much anything that was set in front of him. Had he always been like that, or was it just since he stole Claire's ability? He couldn't really remember, but it seemed like it'd been a pretty constant thing. Maybe it was all the free time he'd had since Claire jumped off the ferris wheel and he'd retired from killing. Unless he felt like going out and spending significant amounts of time in shapeshifted form-- he usually didn't-- there wasn't much else to do besides watch TV and eat massive amounts of junk food. At least he hadn't turned into Candice Wilmer yet-- but he did double check sometimes.

"And I'll have the fiesta lime chicken." There were worse things he could have had. And wasn't tonight a fiesta sort of night? Heh. He collected up their menus and handed them back to the waitress, smiling.

As she headed off to put their orders in, Dean watched her go appreciatively, sucking down more alcohol and leaning back in his seat.

He considered asking Sylar where he planned to go if he left Ruby's, but he didn't want to get into it, and he figured it would just lead to Sylar bemoaning shit between him and Peter, and he didn't want to hear it. Plus, it wasn't like he could invite him to stay with him, since he was technically homeless. He figured he could stay in hotels or something. It wouldn't kill him.

He spun the bottle top in place on top of the table, not really saying anything for a little while.

He started swishing his straw around in his drink as the silence prevailed. Yes, he was fidgeting; no, he wasn't mature enough to care that he was. He didn't know what Dean was thinking, but he figured it wasn't good. When was the last time someone actually had thought a good thought about him?

"So... how much longer do you think we have?" It sounded fairly inconspicuous to anyone who might have overheard. Like Sylar meant for the night, probably. But the reality of it was that he was asking how much longer they had until the end of everything. Part of him felt like it wasn't worth seeking redemption if they weren't going to make it past next week. But he'd never say that part out loud, regardless of what company they were in.

Edited 2010-07-18 05:13 (UTC)

It took Dean a second to adjust to the fact that Sylar had jumped to that particular subject. He figured he didn't mean how much more time they had to hang out that night before one of them turned into a pumpkin.

It was a good question, and he wasn't sure how to answer it, so his response came out slowly, cautiously, even.

"Things are heating up pretty fast out there, but Bobby's been thumbing through Revelations for us. And it looks like the party's just getting started. I'd say we've got... another month? Tops."

"Hm." It wasn't a scared hm, or even a remotely concerned hm. It was more of a silent acceptance. The worse his personal troubles felt to him, the less he really cared about the whole apocalypse business. Let everything crash and burn. What was the point of living if he couldn't even touch everything that was so important to him anymore?

But he couldn't say that. Not to Dean's face. And he did hope Dean was a big damn hero who saved everything. He guessed. If only for Dean's sake.

So he tilted his glass towards Dean in a half-assed toasting motion before taking another swig.

Dean just smirked humorlessly at that. He understood that Sylar supported him, but they both knew what he was up against. Impossible odds was putting it lightly. But he still figured something would come up.

It always did, didn't it?

They'd jimmyrig something, at the last minute, to save Sam, but still stop Lucifer. End this Armageddon.

He had to believe that.

What choice did any of them have?

"One more ring to go. In England, I guess."

The word England made Sylar raise an eyebrow. For throwing such a fit whenever planes were mentioned, Dean sure had been racking up the frequent flyer miles lately. And Sylar had no problem pointing this out.

"Working on your world tour?"

Oh, this again. He just took another sip of a beer, and shrugged.

"Hiro's probably bringing us or somethin'. That's what we did last time. It's hardly like goin' anywhere at all." And by 'probably' he meant 'definitely' because he sure as hell wasn't going the other route. "Never been to England before." The phrase 'you comin?' found its way to the tip of his tongue and he had to bite it back.

Sylar shouldn't be going anywhere.

Should he?

"Me either." He shrugged, not really caring as far as the topic of England was concerned. England didn't excite him. Although he did notice the expression Dean made-- like he wanted to say something more-- and it made him really curious. But he tried his best not to drill him.

Luckily, at that point their appetizer arrived.

"You can't get food like his in England." Sylar remarked casually before he started gnawing on a Buffalo wing.

"Didn't think of that," Dean said, a frown tugging across his features as he bit into one. "Luckily it should be a short trip. Find this Dumble-whoever dude, snatch it, get out. It can't be any harder than... Batman, or tracking down muggers."

He noticeably didn't knock on wood after this statement. Good job, Dean. Good job.

"Dumble...." He gave Dean a long stare. He wasn't Harry Potter's number one fan, but the Claires had forced him to watch the movies when they were crashing at his and Peter's apartment. The humor wasn't lost on him.

"The guy in Harry Potter who looks like Gandalf? That's who you're robbing?"

Dean might have spent a lot of his free time watching TV, but somehow movies about twelve year old British boys had never really held his interest, and he'd always ended up just switching to Skinemax.

"I guess so, yeah. It's the same school that damn bird's been tryin' to get me to go to for months now."

There aren't words to express the look Sylar gave him. Sure, he was used to things he once considered fictional to have some foundation in reality at this point, but...

seriously?

"... You mean an owl?" He felt the need to reiterate what Dean had just said, in case he suffered from some kind of aneurysm that made him hallucinate the words. "An owl has been trying to get to you to go to Hogwarts."

sixwordstories : I want you to hit me as hard as you can.

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