Sam Winchester (
st_andingtall) wrote in
strangetrip2017-01-30 11:34 pm
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[EP] What a nice surprise
"Eugene Thompson," repeated the Innkeeper, when Sam finally broke down and stopped searching for the wheelchair guy to ask. "One moment, please. Do you need any--"
"No. I have plenty of towels." What the heck was it with the towels, anyway? Sam shifted his weight to his other foot and tried not to screw up his face too much. The guy was just doing his job. Even if that was literally all he could do. "Um, but thanks."
"You're welcome." The Innkeeper did something that was probably smile, but Sam couldn't have described it, or his face for the life of him. "Ah, yes." He tapped a finger against the rounded black monitor screen that was as almost as old as Sam. "Mr. Thompson has checked out."
"Huh?" Sam's felt the surprise overtake his face and he had to work hard to plant his hands at the edge of the counter instead of reaching across to grab the guy by the collar. "I thought you said we couldn't leave."
"That is correct."
"But Flash--"
"Flash Thompson has checked out."
"How does that even make--" Never mind. The lyrics of Hotel California came to him. "So, you're saying he's dead and I should look for his ghost?"
"I have no record of His Ghost."
Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Okay, yeah. Thanks."
After he'd stalked away from the front desk, Sam dropped into one of the round red leather booths in the Copper Cafe and pulled out his cell...which was absolutely fucking useless and he still forgot half the time. "Great. The Innkeeper's useless. Flash has 'checked out'. And I can't text anyone to tell them about it."
Oh yeah. Life in the days before instantaneous communication sucked. And blew.
"No. I have plenty of towels." What the heck was it with the towels, anyway? Sam shifted his weight to his other foot and tried not to screw up his face too much. The guy was just doing his job. Even if that was literally all he could do. "Um, but thanks."
"You're welcome." The Innkeeper did something that was probably smile, but Sam couldn't have described it, or his face for the life of him. "Ah, yes." He tapped a finger against the rounded black monitor screen that was as almost as old as Sam. "Mr. Thompson has checked out."
"Huh?" Sam's felt the surprise overtake his face and he had to work hard to plant his hands at the edge of the counter instead of reaching across to grab the guy by the collar. "I thought you said we couldn't leave."
"That is correct."
"But Flash--"
"Flash Thompson has checked out."
"How does that even make--" Never mind. The lyrics of Hotel California came to him. "So, you're saying he's dead and I should look for his ghost?"
"I have no record of His Ghost."
Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Okay, yeah. Thanks."
After he'd stalked away from the front desk, Sam dropped into one of the round red leather booths in the Copper Cafe and pulled out his cell...which was absolutely fucking useless and he still forgot half the time. "Great. The Innkeeper's useless. Flash has 'checked out'. And I can't text anyone to tell them about it."
Oh yeah. Life in the days before instantaneous communication sucked. And blew.
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He rolled his shoulders, a settling kind of gesture as he considered things. "I just never saw any point in raising someone to think emotion makes him less of a man, but I suppose that hardly matters now and neither of us probably wants to talk about John anyway."
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"It's nothing serious, anyway." At least not the stuff on this side of whatever dimension shift they occupied. So far as he'd figured out. "Just little shit. Having to actually find Dean or page him instead of texting if I want to tell him something. Ghosts that won't stay banished. The hotel staff's obsession with towels and anti-obsession with answers... and not being able to figure this place out so we can go home."
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"The towels aren't even anything worth writing home about and I think the most frustrating thing is the permanence of the decor."
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Finally, he couldn't help it and had to blurt, "Enchanting notebooks? You can do that?"
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He waved all that off. "Nevermind all that. I could teach you. I'd be more than happy to." He'd even try not to be too smug about his analog ways finally becoming useful. "It'd be no problem at all to set something up that worked for you and Dean. Better if I show you how to do it than just do it myself. The enchantment relies on a central pivot, intent more than anything. No blood magic or curses or anything like that. Nothing weird or dangerous." He frowned. "i"m not doing a very good job at explaining it am I?"
He cleared his throat, trying to martial his enthusiasm just a bit. "Let's try that again. Yes you can enchant notebooks. You can enchant basically anything. Would you like to learn how?"
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"It's okay. I pick things up pretty quick. The idea of a pivot... you'd need one for any kind of magic to keep it grounded. It would be the thing that makes the messages go to the right notebook, right?" And his eyes had lit up, bright with curiosity. "And, yeah, please. I'd love to learn. Anything you want to teach me."
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"Well, most magic you'd want to keep grounded. There are some benefits to strategic chaos," which of course Sam already had to know by this point. Hunter or not, some principles were the same. "But yes, essentially that. The notebooks seem like a good and worthwhile first project, I think, and we can work from there. Is there anything in particular you're interested in? I'm happy to teach you anything I know."
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He cleared his throat and pressed on, thinking about that level of magic. "You're going to need to learn Enochian," he said, certain that John hadn't taught them because John probably hadn't learned in the first place. "Are you decent with languages?"
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It was weird to be so open about what he knew, was capable of, and wanted, especially with another Winchester. But it felt pretty good, too, because for once, the stuff someone wanted him to do was the stuff he was actually good at.
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Henry cleared his throat. "I'm willing to listen to whatever you have to say whenever you're ready to say it and wherever you feel we might need to have that conversation." He was pretty sure that nothing his grandsons said could surprise him at this point.
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"Uh, yeah. Maybe not today. Nothing about you, but I'd rather you and Dean were on speaking terms before I opening the family bone closet."
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"Anyway, whenever you'd like to get started learning, we can. I'd like a couple days to...lesson plan I suppose, maybe find a less public place to discuss what you might already know a little more freely?"
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