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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"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."

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Dean asked. "That thing's been pesterin' me for months with letters. Maybe it'll stop now that I'm finally goin' there for somethin'." Of course, Hedwig had saved his life that one time, but he wasn't about to mention that he'd ever had to have his life saved by an owl.

And he definitely wasn't bring up his other experience with her. :| Ever.

He slowly raised an eyebrow, and decided to eat some more buffalo wings before weighing in again. He needed food to brace himself for this conversation.

"I'm pretty sure that makes you some kind of wizard or something." Which was a whole new level of fucked up that Sylar didn't even want to touch.

Dean's buffalo wing stopped half way to his mouth, before he shot Sylar a 'how stupid are you?' gaze.

"The bird wanted me to save Harry Potter, not be a freaking wizard."

At least he was pretty sure of that. Now you have planted seeds of doubt, Sylar.

"That's not why they give people letters--"

He stopped himself. Was he really arguing with Dean over something he saw in some dumb kids movies? Was this what his life had become? No. No, he wasn't letting this progress any further.

Buffalo wings sure were good.

Yeah, they were. Dean finished his, trying to suppress weird-ass thoughts about how he would handle it if he turned out to be a secret wizard. He'd probably kick something's ass.

"Either way, if they've got magic, Sammy and I know how to protect ourselves against that kinda thing."

Sylar was done with his buffalo wings, and decided to focus on fiddling with his napkin instead. Wasn't Dean... too old to be a wizard anyway? There had to be some kind of law against that.

"I'd hate to see you get your ass kicked by some twelve year old."

"I'm sure even wizards aren't immune to bullets." Yeah, Dean just implied he would... shoot a kid. He's a really good person. What do you want from him.

But thinking about an army of little wizard shits did give him some pause.

Aw, what the hell.

"You wanna come?"

Sylar just shrugged. What? Did you think he was going to tell Dean it was wrong to shoot a kid? Don't be silly. He glared at someone the next table over who was giving them looks. Bro needed to learn not to eavesdrop.

He tilted his head at Dean's request. That was unexpected, to say the least. "Wh-- you want me to?"

Luckily their food arrived at exactly that moment before Sylar could make Dean's question seem too touchy feely. Having manly chow in front of them and a moment in between helped to clear the air of that particular atmosphere. Dean smiled at the waitress, and waited til she was gone to pick up his burger and respond with a shrug.

"If they've got powers, it'd only be fair for us to have some on our side." Hell if he was gonna just say he wanted Sylar along.

He started digging into his chicken immediately. He was really hungry, okay. So much so that it takes him a few mouthfuls before he can get around to replying to Dean.

"I guess I could." He left it at that. He didn't want to sound overly enthusiastic or anything.

But it was nice to be wanted.

Heaven forbid either one of them show emotions. Other than hunger. Hunger is an emotion. For guys like them.

"I mean I'd hate to cut into your busy 'spending time with Ruby' schedule," Dean said, but the animosity in his tone was obviously all aimed towards her, and... almost joking. Almost. He still wanted to shank that dumb bitch. "But if you want." Shrug.

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

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