[for dean]: i lock the doors and lock my head

[ebonyjaenelle72]

Jaenelle has a thing about keeping track of the people she cares about. No, honestly; more of a Thing. She hasn't seen Dean for a while, though she's been peripherally aware that he's been agitated. She can't keep an eye on everyone at once, though, and she's been busy trying to build up the Mansion's defenses, trying to work out a way to keep

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[surfaceshine]

Agitated is an extremely mild way of putting it; Dean has been moodswinging wildly, perhaps most irrefutably proven by the way he's been outwardly as stable as he's ever been, perhaps more. The hunter's white-knuckling the grip on his own nerves, taking liquid courage when he needs it, and mostly just focusing on not throwing up - literally or figuratively - on anyone around him. He thinks it's working; certainly only Sam knows what all the lockdown is hiding, even if he only knows a fraction of it. He's not used to having to be wary of anyone else knowing him well enough to look at the front he's pulled up and see it for what it is

[ebonyjaenelle72]

Jaenelle likes her understatements, she does. And we are sorry, Dean, that Jaenelle is so determinedly up in everyone's business, particularly those she worries about. Like you. And she is rather uncommonly good at seeing through those fronts. One has to be, with her family, and with Blood males, who like talking about their feelings about as much as they like being tickled. Possibly less.

Jaenelle wanders into the kitchen and blinks at Dean, briefly, then smiles, the expression blooming on her face bright and genuine. "Oh!" she says. "Hello. I was just wondering where I might find you. I thought here might be a good place to start."

And then she takes in his posture, and the mug like a shield, and his psychic scent.

The corners of her mouth tick down.

[surfaceshine]

Something in Dean winds tighter at the sight of the smile, but he keeps his mug up and sips at it, and doesn't let it show. He thinks. Then he puts her two comments together and comes up with the fact that she'd at least intended to look for him - he raises an eyebrow because he has to do something, but his pulse has picked up inexplicably. It's not fear. It's not. He smiles back.

"Yeah, I made myself a bed in one of the drawers; figured it was easier than climbing the stairs every time I wanted to come to my home away from home," he jokes, patting the counter next to him in a facsimile of fondness.

TIme to put together an exit strategy. Dean does like Jaenelle, but she - and all the other 59billion people on the planet - does not even want the load of industrial grade, class AA, elite crap that has accumulated like bird droppings.

[ebonyjaenelle72]

Oh no you don't, says Jaenelle. No getting away with that one. And she does want it. So there. That is what she is here for. Or so she says, anyway. She laughs, a little, at his joke. "I'd think it'd get awfully crowded," she says, "And people would probably wake you up at all hours. But I suppose it would be convenient."

And yep. Not going to beat around the bush, here, unfortunately. "It's been a bit," she says, eyes softening. "How have you been?"