dudeimbatman: (cute and cuddley side what?)
In regards to this

The fucking door was locked. Of course the fucking door was locked. Dean blew air out his nose and paced in front of the door a moment. He had a chokehold on some white flowers he'd jerked out of the yard next door and he was half certain they were weeds instead of flowers. He kind of wanted to Rhett Butler the whole thing (Yes, he's seen Gone with the Wind. Deal with it) but he was pretty sure if he remembered right it had pissed Scarlett off and chances were good it was going to piss Brooke off too. Instead he went to the Impala and got his lock picks out of the trunk. He carried them back in the house, took a few seconds to pick the lock and opened the door. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him and looked up to Brooke. He figured his chances were about fifty fifty she'd throw his ass out right now.
dudeimbatman: (yeah i pray)
"You gonna call her?" Sam asked.

"Said I would," Dean answered.

"Well...you ought to."

"Sammy...shut up."

In response, Sam had shoved his earbuds in his ears and turned up his music. Right now he had his forehead against the passenger window pretending to be asleep. Dean fished his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and dialed Brooke's number. He wasn't mad. He hadn't been lying about that. He was hurt. He knew why but he didn't understand it. He hadn't been lying about wanting to get a jump on the research. That part was true too. The real reason he didn't want to go back and talk to her face to face right now was because he didn't know how to handle this. He didn't know what the hell he was thinking or feeling. He waited for Brooke to pick up the phone and hoped this wasn't Dean Winchester, screwing up.

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Dean Winchester

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