Wasted Years

Wasted Years
Date of Scene:	23 August 2017
Location:	Hell’s Kitchen, NY
Synopsis:	Dean gets home after a particularly rough day to find his father perfectly fine. May comes to check on the younger Winchester. John gets an earful.
Cast of Characters:	Melinda May, Dean Winchester
Tinyplot:	Blood on My Name
Tinyplot2:	Tayaniye

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Melinda May has posed:
As the noise of Dean’s phone clattering to the floor comes through, May startles enough to stop in the middle of the Triskelion hallway, earning her more than a few concerned glances. It’s NOT like her to do anything like that. She’s listening as intently as she can again, and faintly hears the deeper voice that is answered by Dean.

Did he just say ‘Dad’?

“见他的鬼 (jiàn tā de guǐ).” She continues toward the quinjet hangar bay ahead, now walking at that pace that makes everyone else in the area get the hell out of her way and the flight deck crew just let her board the nearest already prepped jet. (Clearly, someone called ahead and said she’d be needing to take one.)

Switching the phone call to her earpiece, she buckles into the pilot’s seat and and with a series of hasty commands entered into the jet’s systems as well as spoken over the vehicle’s headset, she has the bird in the air and on the way to Hell’s Kitchen in record time.

Oh, and while she’s doing so, she also puts in a request to have Sam’s cell phone tracked and Lewis sent out to retrieve him and Fred.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean’s breath rakes in his throat and like a statue he freezes in the doorway. His eyebrows draw together and his lips twitch into a small frown. The demon traps that protect the apartment aren’t enough to grant him any sense of assurance, and the sound of heavy booted steps along creaky floors demonstrate the speed he closes the distance to his father. The flask of holy water that he’d so unceremoniously flung at his brother is tossed towards his father and mixed with a mitt full of salt.

And John just sits there as his son does each of these actions; nearly proud with the lack of trust Dean displays. His lips curve at the edges and he actually nods. “Smart,” he offers with a smug smile. “Where’s your brother?”

When nothing happens, Dean’s shoulders droop. “So… you’re fine,” he hisses angrily. “//Totally fine.//” Crowley’s departing words linger over his mind and his head shakes, “You did it, didn’t you?”

“Come on Dean. Man up,” his eyebrows lift expectantly as he remains fixed in the chair at the kitchen table. “I expected this from your brother. You know what this fight is. This is an all out war.”

Dean’s jaw tightens. His eyes turn back towards the door and the phone he’d dropped just moments ago, but he’s too angry to move to it, instead lunging towards his father’s collar. “You put Sammy on a wild goose chase to find me, didn’t you? You left me to be tortured for //a year//--” disbelief colours his expression, pulling at the edges of his eyes, lips, cheeks. Everything draws downwards as he finally puts it together “--all for what?!”

“To make you better. Harder. Stronger. To bring Sam back--we need him if we’re gonna--” John asserts evenly, too-calmly.

“What… win?!” Dean finally lets go of John’s collar and turns on his heel, forgetting about the phone as he retreats into the bedroom. Madly he begins to pack the black duffle bag. “You fucked it up, old man,” he calls back to the other room. “All of it.”

“Dean, you’re ready for this. We can get yellow eyes together. All three of us. Sammy is finally capable of doing this, you are strong enough to handle it--we can do this,” John replies. “We’ve waited decades to get that thing, and we’re in a position to do it. Together. Without that year in the ocean, Sam wouldn’t be ready, you know that.” He quirks a side-smile, “Besides, it’s not like you’re married to this place, are ya? This isn’t who you are. We both know that. We’ll get the two of you packed and we can find that son of a bitch.”

When Dean reappears in the main space, he swallows hard. With the black duffle bag around his shoulder, it might look like Dean is ready to follow John anywhere. But the glisten of his eyes and the way they train on the floor speaks volumes otherwise. “Fuck you.” He actually spits on the floor, only to immediately regret it. He’s going to have to clean that up. His eyes roll and he walks to the sink to grab a cloth only to catch sight of the phone on the way back. His shoulders slump and he plucks it from the floor and presses it to his ear. “...May…” There’s a long pause as he looks back towards John and shakes his head. “Sam and Fred are at the Crossroads by the junkyard near Mercy’s garage.” He frowns.

John shrugs.

Melinda May has posed:
Better. Stronger. Harder. May’s expression darkens as she picks up snippets of their conversation around the clomping of their boots on the floor which the phone is only too happy to translate. The man sounds more like a damned Daft Punk song than a father. And even May -- who has never been a parent -- can tell that.

Then finally someone picks the phone up again, and it’s Dean. “I already put a trace on Sam, and Lewis is on her way to get them. Stay where you are.” She sounds utterly and completely emotionless, which Dean might or might not already recognize as a Bad Thing™.

And for those with good hearing -- and the phone in their hand -- the still rather faint sound of a aircraft’s engines echoing the sound coming from outside. And overhead. Very shortly followed by a more felt than heard sensation of something settling onto the building’s roof.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Normally, Dean would just keep doing what he’s doing. Ordinarily, he’d not heed such an order from anyone. But today he stays put, save for scrubbing his own contempt from the floor’s surface. He sets the phone down again. This time choosing not to hang up. There’s rebellion in the action.

“You are a soldier,” John states evenly to his son without moving from his spot at the table. “And now Sam is too,” a grim smile pulls at all of John’s features.

But even with his decision already made, all he can do is shake his head. “No. No, Dad. I’m not.” His lips quirk into a self-deprecating grin--merriless, empty, but present. “I’m a slave.” His lips twitch and he turns his head towards the door. “And a whore.” His nose wrinkles as he spits out the next, “And a cheater.” He laughs. The sound is empty. “And it’s all because of you.”

Dean takes two steps towards John. His teeth clench and he hisses between them, “//You// did this. You didn’t parent me, you sure as hell didn’t parent Sammy. No, I got to do that.” His eyebrows draw together. “Sammy //died// when he was twelve. It was an accident. Kind of,” he emits an audible breath from the back of his throat, “We were hunting something and he drowned.”

“...he’s alive now,” John observes.

“Yeah. He’s alive now,” Dean agrees coolly. “No thanks to you.”

Melinda May has posed:
May sets the jet’s engines to low idle and disembarks as quickly and quietly as possible, still listening to what she can, then pulling a gadget from her pocket to more closely zero in on the Winchesters’ exact location -- she made a point of not asking for this apartment’s location, another gesture to help earn Dean’s trust. She’s got it for sure now, and she’s hoping it’s not too little, too late.

Upon reaching the correct door, she picks the lock with the ease of MUCH practice (if Dean even bothered locking it behind himself), and slips inside. Now is a test of both men’s situational awareness and reflexes. She’s palmed a couple of Natasha’s shocker discs just in case. She’s kind of hoping she won’t need to use them… and kind of hoping she does.

Dean Winchester has posed:
“I was never a kid to you,” Dean observes. His voice drops several octaves, “//Take care of Sammy. Watch out for Sammy. Keep the windows closed. Check that they’re locked three times. Don’t invite anyone in.//” His eyebrows lift. “//Don’t invite anyone over. Man up. Walk it off.//” He manages another flicker of a smile--not remotely convincing as he does so. “I was only ever a soldier. Your blond little warrior. Not a kid. Just another tool in your damned toolbox. Need your blunt instrument? Yeah, just call Dean.” Pause. “I’m not a person to you. I never was.” He’s too angry to pay attention to the sound of the door opening, and it definitely wasn’t locked. The shock of seeing John had consumed all of his attention.

John stares at Dean long after his son has spoken. But when he finally does talk, it’s with deft authority, “And now you’re ready. This is your fight too. Remember that, Dean. This thing stole your mother from us.” There’s a long pause. “And I don’t care how many Crossroads demons you kissed to seal the deal. You did what you had to do to be part of that fight. To tip the scales in our favour.”

Dean’s eyes widen, “You’re obsessed! What I did had nothing to do with this war and everything to do with taking care of Sam!” he blinks hard as his eyes redden from unshed tears. He sniffs equally hard to push down the emotions that demand release. “Be a father for once! I do what I do to protect //my family//! You’re the one that can’t take care of //any// of us! You’re the one that couldn’t protect mom! The one that wasn’t there when Sam died! I was sixteen years old and I didn’t even have a number to call! I called the Roadhouse to get us out of that house because I couldn’t handle it. I tried to talk to you about this for nine years--I only had ten after it happened and you stole one from me! All for your fight?! You’re a shit father.”

John finally shifts, sliding from the chair. His gaze deadens and he treads towards the younger Winchester. Gruffly, grimly, he closes the distance between them. “Say that again.”

And while Dean won’t lift a hand to his dad, he also won’t back down. “You’re a shit dad.”

The right hook that Dean takes to the face creams him against the floor. He breathes hard, trying to collect himself as he does so.

Melinda May has posed:
May was willing to stand by the door and let Dean finally get out everything his father deserved to hear. But when the man stands and then his Dean for standing up to him, she’s done being an impartial observer. Moving quickly but still near-silently, she flicks one of the shocker disks at the nearer of John Winchester’s calves then puts herself squarely between the two men.

“Touch him again and you’ll wish I’d stuck to electricity.” Her voice is level, but pitched angry-low, and she’s staring at the elder hunter with a look like a cobra just waiting for its prey to move so she can strike.

Dean Winchester has posed:
The electric shock to John’s calf has his crumpling to the ground with a low-sounding curse. He tugs at his calf, trying to soothe out the muscle as he continues to emit a string of similar sounding words.

Hot tears stream down Dean’s face. He wasn’t prepared to deal with this today. Sell his soul again? Sure. Punch Sam? If necessary. Yell at his father for letting him lose a whole precious year? Not a chance. He chokes them back as he breaks the cardinal rule for surviving the Winchester house: don’t cry. But it’s unsuccessful. His back heaves with gasps for air in between the emotions he’s finally processing. He slides his legs towards his hands and forces himself to look up at May, once again mopping his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt.

Dean’s expression steels some, scrunching into an indiscernible mess as he looks up at her. “Hi, May.” His throat clears and his gaze trains on the floor.

“You’ve gone soft,” John observes as he continues to massage his calf. And then a glance towards May, “Not like you to let someone else take your fight. Take it you know this bitch.”

“...don’t call her that,” the warning in Dean’s voice is unmissable. He pushes himself to a sit and presses his hand to the eye that just took the hit.

Melinda May has posed:
Better ‘bitch’ than ‘The Cavalry’. May can think of all kinds of cutting things to quip at this man -- she HAS been around Darcy increasingly of late -- but she keeps it all to herself. She knows he’ll only use them to further cement his deluded opinions about everyone and everything.

“Let Dean talk, Corporal Winchester, or I’ll tase you and then let him talk while you drool into the carpet.” She stays very decidedly between them until the man chooses to back down. If he chooses to.

“Dean, Lewis has reported back. They’re safe and headed back to the Hyperion.” Dean can’t NOT know she’s wearing a comm link in one ear. John can just wonder how the hell she knows that. She couldn’t care less.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean takes another long breath and releases it slowly. He’s finally locked down the tears. His hand motions towards Agent May, “May.” And then towards his father, “John Winchester.” His eyes actually roll at that. The relief in Dean’s expression is palpable when May says that they were heading to the Hyperion. “Good,” he mumbles. He doesn’t feel like playing referee tonight, especially with everything feeling so raw. It has the bonus of buying him time before he needs to jet as well.

John brings himself back to a stand. His eyebrows lift at May and a sly smile spreads over his lips. “No ties, Dean,” he almost coos as he treads back to the table. He doesn’t see the need to be tased.

“Shove it, Dad,” Dean deadpans back. He looks towards May. The defeat in his eyes can’t be missed. “Lewis say if Sam was mad?” his eyes actually narrow at that. His dad can punch him and not get an iota of concern, but Sam’s anger isn’t something he wants. He swallows hard and levels a look at John. “Why are you even here?”

“I told you. We need to rally and get yellow eyes now that you’re both ready--”

Dean’s tongue licks his lips. “I all but told you I have a year to live--I’ve been telling you for years that my time is short. Can you just stop?” His eyes flit towards May for a moment only to turn back to John. “Just stop. Sam is in legit trouble--”

John interrupts, “--because you weren’t watching out for him. I always told you to keep an eye on Sammy. You know that’s what you were supposed to be doing.”

Wordlessly Dean casts another look towards May. Helplessly, his hands press to his forehead.

Melinda May has posed:
“She didn’t.” And considering Darcy’s tendency to blather on about everything, there’s no way it would have gone unmentioned. She watches the man stand and return to the table then, as if to make the promise of stepping in again clear, she pulls her ICER and sets it on the counter above Dean’s head as she passes him into the kitchen. Her goal: to get him an ice pack for that eye.

John’s interrupting earns him another death glare. “Shut up and let him talk.” It might be exactly the sort of thing that Ellen Harvelle might tell the man, but the VERY clear promise of violence in her deadpan words are likely unique.

Damn. No wonder these boys are some of the most stubborn little punks she’s ever had to deal with. They’re actually not as bad as their father. By far.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean nods at May’s response. That, at least, gives him small comfort. And then decidedly, he levels a look at John, “You can’t be here.” That’s the long and short of it. “You found us. Good for you, but as I was trying to tell you, Sammy isn’t okay. When he was a baby A--” no, John does not get Azazel’s name “--yellow eyes,” his eyebrows lift pointedly, “gave him demon blood.” His eyes turn towards May, “He’s hooked. Been doping… somehow,” he actually shrugs at that, not knowing Sam’s source still. He stares at John, “If you talk to him like this, Sam will tear you apart.”

The freezer is painfully barren save for a ridiculously large box of burgers and a bag of peas that Dean had called rabbit food when Sam had actually cooked it. There are reasons the peas were tucked so far back behind the box of burgers.

Dean’s head shakes. “I’m not staying anyways. I have to go.”

“To get yellow eyes. We have a trail to blaze, Dean. I’m hot on--” John begins again.

“...No. I have to go because I changed my deal.” He shoots May a semi-apologetic look. “I bought more time so I can help Sam navigate--” his eyes lid and he emits a soft breath “--whatever he’s going through. But there’s a deadline. And I need to… apologize to someone in advance.”

John looks towards May a moment and then squints at Dean. “No ties. You know the rules. Ties just bog you down. They’re liabilities. They get killed. They get you killed.”

Dean’s lips twitch. “Or they make life worth living.” There’s a long pause and his eyebrows draw together sharply, “Good to know what you think of us, Dad.”

Melinda May has posed:
Hooked. On demon blood. “流口水的婊子和猴子的笨儿子。 (liú kǒushuǐ de biǎozǐ hé hóuzǐ de bèn érzǐ。)” There’s another softly uttered Chinese phrase, the inflections clearly implying that it’s a curse. THAT’s what was in those injections that Hydra was plying Sam with, and why they didn’t come up on any tox screens.

Hearing that Dean changed his deal makes May turn and frown openly, though she finds herself to be completely unsurprised by WHY he did so. That does explain some of the other comments she’s heard from him and John, and from that as yet unidentified voice that had been in the car.

And, seeing as Dean’s planning on cutting out, she doesn’t bother with trying to make that bag of peas into a cold compress. She turns back to pick up her ICER -- which undoubtedly looks nothing like any sidearm John has ever seen before unless he’s been stealing from SHIELD -- and aims it squarely at the elder Hunter. Two of the people in this room know the weapon isn’t lethal. Is the third going to bet on it?

“Go do what you need to do,” she tells Dean. “Your father and I need to have a chat.”

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean nods at May. “Can you… could you just make sure he’s not here when Sam gets back? Please.” His eyebrows draw together, but he’s trusting her enough to do the simple task of showing John Winchester the door. He brings himself up to a stand, takes a long breath, shaking his head all the while, and slips out of the apartment, all the while wondering how on earth he’s going to explain this. He only just took this leap. He’s convinced she won’t forgive him. But, despite his instincts, he wants to tell her. It’s exactly what John Winchester wouldn’t do.

The weapon levelled at him earns stiff, but arrogant stoicness from the elder Winchester. He eyes May evenly from his spot on the chair. “Didn’t think Dean ever needed anyone else to fight for him.” His lips purse. “That seemed more like Sammy’s territory.”

Melinda May has posed:
She keeps the weapon trained on John for a solid five minutes after Dean slips out the door. “I’m not fighting, unless you really want me to. What I am doing is protecting him from the biggest negative influence he’s had to deal with his entire life.” She doesn’t mention that one of the first things that SHIELD teaches anyone that receives combat training is how to NOT fight. It’s the more difficult skill to learn, by far. And in May’s mind, Sam has proven that he has already learned it well. Entirely because of Dean’s influence.

In fact, she can detect very little of John Winchester’s arrogance and bravado when she thinks about the youngest Winchester. Just the stubbornness. In spades.

“Tell me everything you know about demons, of the crossroads variety and otherwise.” Maybe he’ll say something that will help her identify that voice from the phone conversation in the car. She’s fairly certain that the man was a crossroads demon, but there has to be something more.

Dean Winchester has posed:
“I don’t need to fight you, Lady,” John replies with a smirk. “And anything good in either of those boys came from me. I raised them alone,” the way he says it suggests he actually believes it. “I made sure they were fed, clothed. I taught them to be independent. To be aware of what goes bump in the night. That was me. No one else was there for them. At all.”

John actually squints at May at the last. “Demons are all very different. Crossroads demons though? They’re their own brand of special. Salespeople. All they’re about is collecting souls. It’s like Doctor Faustus if you ever read it. People make deals with them in order to get something--in Dean’s case, sounds like Sam’s life.” His eyebrows lift as if to suggest it a perfectly normal practice. “It’s not advisable, but it’s real. Normally the deal is sealed with a kiss.”

His lips hitch up smugly on one side. “In general though? Most demons have black eyes behind those they possess. From what I know they used to be people,” his lips purse at the last. “That’s why the collecting is so important to them.”

Melinda May has posed:
May tucks the ICER away inside her jacket, though she is still VERY much prepared to take the man down if he decides to resort to violence. “I don’t know. The way it looks to me, Dean was the one that made sure Sam was fed and clothed and attending school.” Again, she implies that she knows more but doesn’t outright say it. But it most definitely cements in her mind that she wants to go speak with one Robert Singer.

She listens to John as he discusses the crossroads demons, and mostly it only confirms what she’d already gleaned on her own over the past several days. The mention of the kiss reminds her of that unidentified voice again. And, being more familiar with the Chinese version of Hell than Western, she latches onto that small loophole.

“If the deal isn’t sealed in that manner, can it be contested?” That might be a way to get Dean free while minimizing consequences. She’s still not counting out taking more drastic measures such as tracking down and speaking with an Asgardian.

Dean Winchester has posed:
“Where do you think Dean learned to do those things?” John asks gruffly. He rubs his cheek and hums quietly. “Anything they are, I did.” He swallows hard around the thought. It’s entirely possible it’s just what he tells himself at night in order to sleep. “And yeah, Dean did a lot, but he was equipped for it.” His head motions towards the door, “He’s still looking out for Sammy. I’d count that a win.” His eyebrows lift. “Only time he didn’t seems that Sam got himself into some real trouble. Kid shouldn’t have gone off to school.” Except John left one son with the ocean people to be tortured while leading the other on the weirdest wild goose chase… with the goal of strengthening them both.

The question about the deal being contested earns May a sharp cant of John’s head. “Depends. I’ve heard of some contracts being signed. Physical signature would be imminently important in that case if there’s no kiss. Verbal contracts?” His head shakes. “Don’t think it’d hold up. For either party. No resurrection of the dead. No sacrifice later on.”

Which implies that Dean’s original contract stands. It’d be useful if Dean knew that.

Melinda May has posed:
At that confirmation, May curses again, though it sounds a bit different this time -- because it’s Japanese. She pulls her phone and dials, and … the phone on the counter rings. Which elicits another curse. And then she touches the comm link in her ear. “Ops. May. Trace Dean Winchester’s vehicle and get me his current location.” She knows that this is going to take time, as the SHIELD analysts will have to use traffic cameras to try and spot the Impala.

She looks at John Winchester again squarely. “What do you know about addiction to demon blood?” Might as well pull as much intel as she can out of the man while he’s here. Though, he might clam up now that she’s openly revealed that she’s a fed of some sort. She remembers only too well how Sam reacted.

Dean Winchester has posed:
John frowns at May. “Demon blood for most of us is just… unsanitary and really gross. I have no idea why Dean seems to think his brother is hooked.” His frown deepens, “But if yellow eyes gave it to him as a baby?” he shrugs. “Could explain some things.” His lips twist to the side. “A lot of things,” while he may be a grifter, May knows how to read people. He knows more than he lets on. A lot more.

And knowing full well that May is packing something, he cringes, “Look. Agent whatever you are,” because she’s clearly a fed, “yellow eyes has some plan for Sam. I know that. He killed Mary for it. If,” and the way he says it implies a big if, but his eyes don’t speak the same truth, “Sam got demon blood as a baby, it’s possible he reacts to it differently now.”

Melinda May has posed:
“Then it sounds like you need to get back to tracking that demon down. Leave your sons to fend for themselves, it seems to be what you and they are best at.” Of course, now they also have May watching out for them, and John can take that however he sees fit. She, again, could not care less.

“Now, are you going to leave, or will I need to show you out?” She’s got other places to be. And if that’s all the intel the man has, he’s wasting her time.

Dean Winchester has posed:
“Oh, I’ll go,” John manages a nearly feline smile as he stands from his chair. “But be sure to tell Sammy I said hi.” He shoots her a sidelong glance, “Dean won’t. You’ve seen how much those two keep from each other.” There’s a pause. “And if no one tells him, he’ll be mad.” John may or may not be right about that.

“Good meeting you, agent.” His eyebrows lift and he treads to the door, all the more determined to find the youngest Winchester.

Melinda May has posed:
May stays where she is and watches John Winchester leave, then after giving him about a thirty second lead she also leaves the apartment, but not without first taking a moment to lock the door behind herself. What? Never heard of using lock picks to lock a door?

Back on the roof she gets the quinjet into the air. “Ops. May. Notify me the moment you have Dean Winchester’s location.” She then contacts Darcy to get Sam’s whereabouts from her and sets the quinjet moving. Let’s see whatever car Winchester is using now beat the fact that she is completely circumventing traffic.

Because she’ll be damned if that ass drops in and surprises Sam. That would be the worst possible thing that could happen.

Dean Winchester has posed:
“Aye, May,” a Scottish voice returns through the earpiece. “This is not an easy one, yeah? I’m tellin’ you, you could get these agents to get the subdermal tracker. No one will know it’s there. Heck, they don’t need to know it’s there. We can do it next time they’re here. Just ask Simmons. Would save a lot of time, yeah?” the voice is chipper enough.

“If it’s easier, we can even do it while they’re out. I mean… of consciousness. The pair of them seem to get hurt enough.” The observation is easy. “But yeah, I’ll let you know when we have progress.”

Melinda May has posed:
“Fitz,” May says curtly, “no.”

The flight over to this Hyperion place is a matter of just a few minutes, and she determines that the building itself is likely not structurally sound enough to support the quinjet, so she lands the aircraft on the top of a parking garage about a block away and cloaks it. It’s necessary, but has her mentally cursing the delay the whole way.

Now there’s just four flights of stairs and a block to run to get to Sam. He’d better still be there or she will be very. Put. Out.