[AU] two worlds, a lot of demons, and a new set of problems

[gavemea_45]

It's still hard to believe it's over; that the yellow-eyed demonic bastard they'd spent their whole lives hunting is finally dead.

Sam figures it'll sink in eventually. Given everything else -- right now he's still pretty numb.

He's also desperately tired, but that doesn't matter. There's something he needs to do, and he can't afford to delay.

He waits until they've settled in for the night, and then waits still longer. Once Dean's been asleep for half an hour, Sam picks up his messenger bag -- already stuffed with books and his computer -- and heads straight for the bar.

He orders black coffee and snags a table with a good view of both doors and the stairs, then pulls out the first of the old texts and starts to search through it.

There's work to do.

Comments

[pacificator]

You know what sounds like way more fun at a bar than working? Not working.

Maybe even drinking. Who knows? It's not like Wynonna's got a plan. Or, well, she has one, but it begins and ends with 'go to the bar, maybe get a bottle of tequila.'

Go to the bar, check. Not Shorty's; she doesn't want to worry about running into Doc... or Dolls... or Nedley... or Waves. Instead, she tugs open the door to that other bar, the one with the good drinks and weird clientele, and swaggers up to spot at the bar where she can keep an eye out for unsavories, then drums her hands on the wooden surface. "Bar," she wheedles, winningly. "Got something nice for me tonight? Huh?"

[gavemea_45]

He barely rescues the book he's reading from the irritated squeaking of a waitrat when it clambers up on the table to slam his coffee refill down, pointedly. "Sorry! Sorry," Sam apologizes, clearing his notes to the side to make room for the mug.

As he does, he catches sight of a new figure at the bar. For an instant she looks almost familiar, a little like Jo if she'd dyed her hair dark for some reason, but a second look tells him otherwise.

[pacificator]

A whole bottle of whiskey materializes... and two tumblers. Wynonna frowns and pushes one away until it dissolves back into the bar, only for it to rematerialize in the same spot.

Again. Again. A – "What?" she snaps. "Can't a girl drink on her own in this place? If I wanted a babysitter, I'd have gone drinking with Dolls."

[gavemea_45]

It's been a while since he's felt like smiling, but he can't help it. "I think she's giving you a hint," he calls over.

[pacificator]

She glances over her shoulder at the guy, then reaches for the bottle itself, unscrewing the top and taking a swallow. "I don't do hints," she says – to him, to the Bar, to –

Okay. Maybe just to those two. As she tips the bottle up, she glances down at the sheaves of paper and stacks of books on his table, the laptop he's working on. "Sheesh."

Wynonna sets the bottle down. "Actually, maybe you need this more than I do. What's with the homework, braniac?"

[gavemea_45]

"Just some research." At least here he doesn't have to hide the basics of what he's working on. Sam takes a fast look at the visible notes and browser tabs, concluding it's okay - if weird, for a civilian - then looks at the bottle she's holding.

"Celebrating or drowning sorrows?"

[pacificator]

"Research."

She tips a measure of the whiskey into a tumbler, just so she can scoff into the glass as she takes a sip. "You should meet my sister. She's a nerd, too."

His question gets a lift of her eyebrows. "Maybe it's both. Maybe I'm multitasking."

[gavemea_45]

"You sound like my brother," he drawls. "Don't knock the book work. It can be useful."

It's got to be. Humor fading, he looks down at the entry in front of him for a moment.

"Don't let me keep you, then."

[pacificator]

"Oh, believe me, I know exactly how useful it can be."

She drags out another stool and sets one fringed black boot on it, then crosses her other foot over the first. Peacemaker's tucked in, nice and cozy along her calf, the handle of the ancient revolver poking up over the edge of her boot. Lounging like this, she sips at her whiskey and considers him.

She's already multitasking. Why not add one more thing to the list? Say... finding out what Nerdy McGiant over there is so focused on. "Okay, I'll bite. What kind of research?"

[gavemea_45]

He clocks the weapon sticking out of her boot, and in the next instant his eyes narrow in interest as he sees the deep polish to the wood that speaks of age. "Nice gun."

Sam eyes her, then shrugs and turns the book so she can see the title page, which proclaims an English translation of Goethe's Faust.

[pacificator]

"Thanks." She rolls her wrist, letting the whiskey slope around the tumbler. Research, he'd said. Her eyes narrow a little, though her tone stays easy.

"Someone you know make a deal with the devil?"

[gavemea_45]

Sam gives her a second, sharper look. "Most people would ask if I was an English major."

[pacificator]

Up go her eyebrows again, and she cants her head to the side. That book, and all those papers, and the way he'd clocked Peacemaker –

"Are you?"

[totalitarstupetballs]

You are now the keeper of the bones.

The skull feels strangely smooth and heavy in her hands. Waverly stares into its empty eye sockets, the note from Uncle Curtis tucked safely into her pocket. "Who are you?" she wonders.

And where should she keep it? She looks around the empty saloon, then heads with the skull to the door that leads to the basement.

But it doesn't lead to the basement today: it leads somewhere she'd thought was a figment of one of Wynonna's benders. She edges into the new space, skull in hands, blinking. "This is new."

[gavemea_45]

He hadn't been able to settle after leaving Wynonna in her room. Sam tries it for about half an hour, then gives up, takes a cold shower to shock the alcohol from his system as much as he can, and goes back downstairs to refuel with more coffee and take up looking at his books again.

On hearing the young woman's observation, he looks up. "First time here?" he asks.

[totalitarstupetballs]

Waverly turns to him with a bright smile, forgetting the skull in her hands. "As far as I know," she says, then casts a curious glance over the books and papers on his table. "Ooh, that looks interesting."

[gavemea_45]

"So does that," Sam says, dry as dust. He nods to the skull. "Friend of yours?"

[totalitarstupetballs]

"What? Oh."

She looks down, then shrugs at him. "Inheritance."

[gavemea_45]

"Theater family?" Sam shoves out a chair with his foot in clear invitation and whistles for a waitrat. It doesn't look like a prop skull, but anything's possible.

"I'm Sam, by the way."

[totalitarstupetballs]

"That would make more sense, wouldn't it?"

She takes the seat and sets the skull down carefully, then holds out her hand with a bright smile. "Waverly."

[gavemea_45]

Sam startles a little at that and covers it by shaking hands and smiling back. "Nice to meet you."

[totalitarstupetballs]

She frowns a little, though her smile doesn't go anywhere, like she's just missed a joke and wants to be part of the fun. "What?"

[gavemea_45]

"Nothing! Just..." Sam eyes her. "Not Waverly Earp, by any chance?"

As he asks, the waitrat runs up and squeaks sternly at him, then turns to her with an expectant look.

[totalitarstupetballs]

Her eyes grow wide. "How did you know that?"

She turns the same bemused look on the thing that scurries up. "Um... hello."

[gavemea_45]

"Lucky guess." To the rat, Sam adds, "It's her first time in, give me a second to explain?"

It lets out a squeak, and he looks back at her. "They're the waitstaff. You can get pretty much anything you want here. First drink's free."