Chapter Text
The bunker was quiet in the best kind of way.
Not the kind that meant something was wrong, or something was lurking in the shadows but the rare, golden silence that only came after the hunt was over, the blood had been washed down the drain, and the beer was cold in the fridge.
Dean padded barefoot down the corridor, wearing old jeans and an ancient Led Zep shirt with a hole at the collar. His hair stuck up like he'd been fighting his pillow again. In one hand a beer. In the other, a half-eaten microwaved burrito that looked like it had survived a minor apocalypse.
"Sammy!" he called, voice echoing through the tiled hallway. "You still alive out there or did one of those dusty-ass tomes finally bury you?"
Sam's voice floated back from the library. "Reading!"
Dean rounded the corner and leaned against the doorway, taking in the sight of his brother hunched over one of the war room tables, surrounded by books. Old ones. Really old ones, leather-bound, gold-lettered and some with ribbons sticking out like sad little flags.
Dean squinted. "That one have any pictures in it?"
Sam didn't look up. "It's a treatise on celestial manifestations in early Mesopotamian religions."
"Ah. So no," Dean muttered, taking another bite of burrito.
He ambled over to the couch in the war room, tossed himself down, and aimed the TV remote like a weapon. With a few clicks, he found exactly what he was looking for: a grainy adult film from the early 2000s. A real classic.
Sam sighed audibly.
"What?" Dean said around a mouthful of burrito. "This is what downtime is for. You got your Babylonian angel porn, I got mine."
"Dean," Sam muttered, rubbing his eyes.
"Don't worry, I'll turn it down. Or at least keep the volume tasteful."
The hours passed slowly. Sam turned pages. Dean flipped channels. The bunker held them like a warm, indifferent parent, protective, silent and letting them be.
Eventually, Dean disappeared into his room, music drifting faintly through the wall. Something classic, heavy and pounding.
Sam stayed at the table, reading until his eyes burned, then dozed off with his face in a book.
###
It was nearly evening when the phone rang.
Dean, now horizontal on his bed, groaned and rolled toward it like it had personally offended him. "Hello," he answered, voice rough from sleep and chips.
"Hey, Dean, it's Garth."
Dean sat up a little straighter. "Garth! Hey, man. Long time. How's the werewolf fam?"
"Still weird, still hairy," Garth chuckled. "Listen, you heard anything about weird noises up in the Pacific Northwest? Washington State? Couple of hunters I know mentioned something strange."
Dean rubbed his eyes. "Strange how?"
"Like… weird sounds in the forest. Static or humming. Some kind of resonant vibration, markings on trees. Didn't sound like a case-case. Just… strange. Thought maybe your angel buddy might've picked up something."
Dean's face sobered slightly. "We haven't heard squat. But I'll mention it to Cas and see if he'll pop in later."
"Cool. Just thought I'd throw it your way. It's probably nothing. But it's been chewing at me all day, y'know?"
"Yeah," Dean murmured, "I get it."
They hung up as Dean wandered out toward the kitchen, where Sam had just started brewing a fresh pot of coffee.
"Was that Garth?" Sam asked.
Dean grabbed a beer and twisted the cap off. "Yeah. Says some hunters are hearing weird crap in the woods up north. Static hum, freaky tree carvings. Probably just bored Sasquatch hunters with tinnitus."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "You think Cas would know anything?"
"That's what Garth asked. You guys are on the same page, bro."