Control - Dean Winchester [1]

18 ; Regrettable Encounters & Murderous Tulpas

With a glistening grin, Odessa muffled her snickers with the over-sized flannel she's temporarily stolen from Dean, stuffing her nose into the fabric. She steadied her hand as she clicked the button on Dean's phone, making sure she'd gotten the full view of the lodged spoon in Sam's mouth. The camera shutter clicks, and she closes Dean's phone, giggling once more before handing him his phone. Glancing from the rearview mirror, she admires Dean's beaming smile as he cranked the volume of the stereo, banging his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel. She enjoyed when Dean relished in his momentary delight. With his father missing once again, she hadn't really seen his smile in ages.

Sam's eyes fluttered open, before they widened in panic and fumbled to tear the plastic spoon from his teeth. Odessa laughed, loudly, as Sam licked his lips in disgust and examined his hands while scoffing. "Ha Ha," Sam laughed sarcastically as he lowered the volume of the stereo. "Very funny." He sneered, wiping his chin. Although his tone was strident, Odessa was certain Sam wasn't upset. 

Dean chuckled. "Sorry. Not a lot of scenery here in East Texas—kind of got to make your own." 

Odessa leaned forward, laughing again. "And you Sammy boy, are by far the best scenery I've seen all day." She ruffled his shaggy hair, and she chose to disregard his glare from the rearview mirror. She reclined back against the leather interior of the Impala, folding her arms across her chest. 

"Man, we're not kids anymore, Dean. We're not gonna start that crap up again."  Dean feigned confusion as he asked what he meant. "That prank stuff. It's stupid, and it always escalates." Odessa felt a pang of envy and sorrow as she recalled her 'prank wars' when Costello was alive and breathing. Though she and him were frequently scolded of their improper and childish behavior, they continued their childlike antics until either one forfeited. Odessa shook her head. Thinking of Costello, and Moira, or even Drexel, reemerged entombed feelings of remorse. Attempting to push aside her shame, she mentioned something she remembered Dean once told her months ago. "Come on, Sam," She teased, "memories of your little Nair incident resurfacing? I wouldn't have pictured you as one to give up so easily." 

She smirked as Sam sighed, knowing she'd successfully gotten under his skin. Years of training in the art of manipulation does come in handy. "All right. Just remember, you both started it." She grinned, shaking her head softly as she peered intently at the passing blurs of green from the towering trees. "Where are we, anyway?" Sam appeared to be doing the same.

"A few hours outside of Richardson. Give me the lowdown again." 

Sam snatched the loose paper on the dashboard. "All right, about a month or two ago, this group of kids goes poking around this local haunted house—"

Dean intervened. "Haunted by what?" 

"Apparently, a pretty misogynistic spirit. Legend goes it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters. Anyway, this group of kids see this dead girl hanging in the cellar."