trans_9 | Don't call it a promotion, call it longer hours

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Don't call it a promotion, call it longer hours

The Precinct had been hopping of late with people needing to be sent to the Brig. Dean hated how short handed they were between people getting re-podded and the mission taking a good chunk of the crew. Left the rest of them with a skeleton group and a lot of newcomers thanks to the recent podpop. He was still struggling with going over notes and reports from previous attacks. Trying to put together as much information as he could and catalog it all. If he got it right, it'll be a great help for any future incidents and at least give other Security a starting off point of where to go.

Plus it gave him a chance to bury his troubled emotions into something, but he was clearly running himself ragged of late. He hadn't been at the house much, mostly sleeping fitfully at his desk the few times he slept. Plus meals been mostly of liquid content though he was avoiding the tavern for the most part for personal reasons.

He just hoped some of the new members could lend a hand or two.

(!NOTE: This is available for people in the brig to thread as well)

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Enter Shoutarou - new to the ship, and new to Security.

And apparently, this was his boss. One of them, anyway. Been a while since he had a proper boss that actually knew what they were doing. His condition, though, that seemed to be less than ideal.

"...Dean, was it? I'm Shoutarou - we spoke on the network."

Dean wiped a hand over his face before slowly getting up from behind the desk. He held his hand out.

"Good to meet you. Uh have a seat if you want." There were some chairs around to grab.

Shoutarou took the hand, shaking it firmly before he pulled up a seat.

"How can I help out? If you'll pardon me saying, you really look like you could use it."

Dean nodded before moving back to flop into his chair again with a sigh.

"Yeah, working on a project here, and like I said, we down several crew members, plus our co-head of Security because of the mission. We had some new people acting up, plus a repeat offender. And I'm not even sure what the deal is with Team Naked further down." Especially since only half were good to look at.

"So patrols at least, everybody's getting twitchy around here. Plus, brig duty. We also work on cases sometimes, but most of it's beat cop stuff."

Shoutarou nods, then pulls his hat off with a wry smirk. "Heh, guess I picked a heck of a time to join up. Sounds like stuff I can handle." Not quite a step up or down, compared to busting monsters in Fuuto - maybe something more of a step sideways.

"As I'm new, people here don't know me from a hole in the ground - You guys use badges or something that'll get folks to listen when one needs to step in?"

Dean shrugged, though after he paused for a moment, "Most people just know who's where. Never used badges. Might need to consider it. I know the pilots got uniforms. Don't have to go full out dress blues or anything. But maybe just a shiny star." What, he's got a thing for westerns. Plus he had been seriously sleep deprived.

"Star, or a shield shape, whatever works." Shoutarou will be a bad enabler, given his own fascination with the old 30's style pulp detectives. "There's potential for abuse," he counters, though, holding up a hand. "But, it'd help in some situations, I figure."

"Probably, can take to some of the people at the forges about getting something." He could ask Hiccup or Daja about getting some kind of badge going.

The Chancellor comes to the precinct bearing yet another batch of ice cream (the cows, they need milking. They don't take holidays).

"Excuse me. I suspected this might be of some use here."

He slowly lifted his weary head, and then brightened at what the Chancellor held.

"Hell yeah, I think I need to confiscate these for evidence right away," he grinned. He loves pie, but Dean certainly wasn't going to turn his nose away from good free food.

The Chancellor gives a fangy smile. "There is both plain and strawberry." A pause. "Would it be possible to bring some to those being detained?"

Dean considered that, "Well they're in time out. But maybe the ones on good behavior." He been in prison enough to know how people tended to act and react.

He made a brief pained face at the strawberry reference before it smoothed again. "Guess plain as in vanilla?"

"If someone gave me some vanilla, I'd be willing to try it, but it's plain ice cream with sugar, like they used to make in Damascus. That and fruit flavors are the only kind I've ever made."

"Might be something like it in hydroponics. Uh, that's ok, Chancellor. You can give some to some of the prisoners. They're over in the cells. Not like you're hiding keys or switchblades in there, right?"

He's kidding. Mostly. But the strawberry comment earlier is digging at emotions he's trying to keep a lid on. Doesn't matter, he's got something else to focus on. Everything's peachy.

He started to flip through some of the papers on the desk again.

A chuckle. "No. I wouldn't orchestrate a prison break with anything less than stunners or neural disruptors, depending on the planet. As it is, i know no one in there."

He leaves Dean a dish of perfectly good plain ice cream and makes his way over to the cells.

The Chancellor surveys the people present, still carrying ice cream and associated paraphernalia, like spoons.

"Good afternoon," he says to those in the cells.

Already assigned to watching the prisoners, Shoutarou's at the nearby desk. Things have been mostly quiet for the most part, so Shoutarou's relaxed in his chair, currently inspecting his hat idly. He looks up, and sees a strange green man with...ice cream?

"Afternoon - who might you be?"

"I am called the Chancellor. I was told it was all right to bring some ice cream."

"Ah, alright." Shoutarou nods, straightening up in his chair and putting his hat back on. "Has been pretty quiet, so I don't see why not."

"Would you care for some? There is both plain and strawberry."

Shoutarou perks up a bit. "Sure, why not. Strawberry sounds good."

Oh, Sam had noticed that Dean was running himself ragged. It wasn't that he didn't understand it. (See: that first year or so after Jess died.) However, that didn't mean he had to put up with it.

He came into the precinct with a thermos of coffee, some sandwiches and his omnicomm. "Go home. Get some sleep."

"Already got some sleep," Dean muttered offhandedly to his brother. The desk was covered with notes, a few bottles, and a decided lack of food. Perhaps a few crumbs from a meal sometime ago.

"Not in a bed." Sam shares a room with you, Dean. He knows better.

He takes pity, though, placing the sandwiches on the desk, along with the coffee.

"It's good enough," he argued, but he was too worn out to fight much with Sam. Especially since he did have a point.

His eyes flickered towards the sandwiches and coffee, and made a grab for one. He took a big bite, not really paying attention to flavor as his body went on automatic pilot to shovel food into stomach immediately.

Sam watched him, then snorted. "Bullshit," he said, pulling up a chair and stretching out his legs. "Not that I don't get why, Dean. But this is a really crap way of handling things."

Dean continued to eat, and commented with a loud belch.

"Already said we're not doing the sharing and caring on this. Not talking about it." His hands moved to find something left in one of the bottles. Nothing. Coffee it is then. At least it was straight up black. Anything frou frou, and he'd probably puke.

"I'm not saying that you have to talk about it." Because God forbid Dean talk about anything. Seriously. "But you're not going to be much help to anybody if you keep pushing yourself like this." He glanced toward the brig itself. "Especially with as full as it is. It's...never been this full before, has it?"

"Done it before. I'm not a kid now, Sam. Grew up real fast again, remember?" That was part of the problem, always growing up too fast too hard. Plus falling too hard.

He wiped a hand in front of his face, blinking a few times to clear his vision.

"Nah, not that I've seen." It was even more full once, but that was during the Yeerk murder attempt, and before either of them were awake.

Yeah, well, Sam doesn't count that. Because he doesn't know about it. (Even if, technically, he had been there. Or a version of himself had been there. That got too confusing.)

"I know you grew up fast, Dean. You're the reason I didn't have to." And he's grateful. "But we're not in the middle of a job right now. You don't HAVE to push yourself. There are people here who can help."

Like Sam. And the rest of Security. "Let me take this for a while and you can go lay down."

"I'm in the middle of a job right now. This is my job, and we don't have enough." he had to push himself just to keep the dark thoughts buried in the ground like they should be. He could avoid most of the reminders of K.. and the resurgence of Hell memories mixing together. It wouldn't be so bad if the clock hadn't stirred the shit up again.

Dean stubbornly started to stand up, and he got a few feet before his stance wavered from side to side. Just another dizzy spell, he fought them off before. He could do it again. He fought and struggled to keep himself upright.

When he got himself steady again, he gave a cocky grin.

"Nothing to it."

Of course that was when his eyes started to roll to the back of his head.

And Sam had been waiting on that. Too much liquor, not enough actual food or sleep. It was going to catch up with Dean at some point. He was just glad he was there when it did.

He shot up out of his chair, crossing the few feet to grab Dean around the shoulders, taking his full weight. "Yeah. Nothing to it." Sighing, he looked around, glad to see an empty cell near the door with a bed. They weren't the most comfortable things in the entire world, Sam knew that from personal experience. But they were good enough for Dean to sleep this off.

Decided, Sam shifted and pulled his brother into a fireman's carry, grunting under the weight but more than able to carry him through to the cell and the bed. Getting him down was less graceful, but he managed it without bouncing him too badly.

Likely comparable with some of the more suspect motels they had stayed in over the years. From Dean's perspective, his vision was blacking out, but he remained conscious enough to murmur a few quizzical sounds. He tried to help Sam but his body was too weary to do more than let his limbs dangle. Upon getting flopped into a bed, his eyes fluttered sightlessly before sliding closed again. His tired brain taking note of the prone position sent a signal to his body so he fell asleep quickly.

Which was damned good. Sam sighed, rubbing his face as he looked down at his brother, then shook his head and walked out of the cell. He left the door open, so that he could get to him quickly if necessary. Then he sat down at the table and tried to make sense of his brother's notes.

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Don't call it a promotion, call it longer hours

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In the Brig

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