han_solo | (no subject)

"We can ask him when — oh, hey. Yeah. I guess if Jack's bringing the body back, the dude's still in it. We can ask him then."

Dean prods at the edge of the journal, curious.

"What's this?"

Sam frowns and glances up, curious. "Jack's bringing the body back? Here? How did he know where it was?"

As for the curiosity, Sam reaches for another book. "It's a stack of paper bound with leather and glue, commonly known as a 'notebook.' See, it's like a book, but for notes."

"Looks like a journal." Dean tugs on the edge. "Since when do you keep a journal?"

"-- oh, Jack? Some kinda psychic thing."

All gifts Dean doesn't understand are by definition 'freaky psychic things', except Rachel's.

Which is probably freaky-something-thing, just not psychic.

Sam puts a hand on top of the journal to keep him from pulling it over, eyes on his book and flipping a few more pages. "Since I had to start taking notes on your job."

Which is technically true. The real reason he started keeping the journal had everything to do with Dean and a job then, too.

"So gimme." Dean tugs insistently. "Since when do you not share information?"

"Since when do you care?" Sam shoots back, looking up to frown. "You're double-checking my research now?"

But his hand is looser on the journal.

"My own didn't get me anywhere," Dean says, and frowns at the books Sam's reading. They're not the ones he found. "I had t'get used to working without you."

Sam forces the tease, smiling condescendingly at his brother. "And yet, you can still barely get by without me. This thing that got in her body, it's definitely not a demon?"

Dean shrugs.

"Can't know for sure without talking to it. Sounds like a demon, only it forced her mind right out instead'a just shutting it away."

"Doesn't sound like a demon," Sam points out, frowning again. He releases the journal to reach for another book, but doesn't bothering opening it, frowning into space. "Doesn't sound like anything, really. You think an exorcism will actually force it out?"

"That's one idea." Dean frowns. "That or we can scare it out. Or at least talk to it, find out what the hell it is."

"Scare it out?"

The look he's giving Dean asks if this requires jumping out from behind the corner and yelling 'boo' really loud.

"Point out that we're on its ass," Dean says, shrugging. "I dunno about you, but if Jo gave me that look and said she was gonna kill me I'd shit myself."

Sam stares at him. It's very obvious that he's trying (and failing) to hide a smirk.

"Somehow, Dean, I don't think threatening it with 'We don't know how to get you out of there but we'd like you to leave' is going to work real well."

"I said I had ideas," Dean grumbles. "I didn't say they were good."

His gaze returns to Sam's research, and he so-casually leans over to palm the notebook.

Sam is still smirking, shaking his head, reaching for his books.

He sees Dean's hand coming and pauses like he might grab for it but... honestly, how much of a surprise is it going to be? If Dean was anything but expecting it, Sam will be stunned.

The journal is half-filled with theories and notes on transporting displaced spirits and re-possessing them in their original bodies.

It also includes some details about healing the physical body.

It's way more than a week's work.

Dean flips through silently, expression darkening with each page.

Sam opens another book and flips through it, studious.

He isn't reading a word. Just waiting.

Dean reaches the end and starts again from the beginning, fingers tapping slightly on the table.

Sam shifts, uncomfortable.

"The words aren't going to change on the second read."

"There's a lot of work here."

Dean continues reading, grimly.

Sam doesn't make a sound, other than to flip the book closed and wait.

Of course there's a lot of work there.

Dean reaches the end and puts the journal down on the table with a slap.

"Dude. Seriously. Reanimating corpses?"

A hand lifts to rub at his forehead and Sam looks at Dean with both brows lifted.

What did he expect?

"Corpses?"

Dean's face is set in grim, angry lines.