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some headcanon
Those golf clubs the Campbells found in the Braedens' closet.
He prefers the driving range, It was Sid who introduced him to the sport. Like, maybe the first time they went to the driving range, Sid was all excited ‘cos maybe he doesn’t have THAT many friends and Dean went along with it because Sid cornered him with aggressive generosity like, “I can pick you up on Friday, you can use my membership discount, we can go for drinks afterwards, let’s be best frenz” and Dean’s like, “Uh, on Fridays, me and Lisa-” and Lisa cuts in with, “He’d love to, Sid, thank you,” and winks at Dean ‘cos she’s been saying to Dean he needs to get out more and Dean’s just like :|. But it turns out whacking those golf balls is pretty satisfying! It’s like shooting cans off fenceposts when he was a kid except here you don’t waste any bullets, and when he tells Sid this, Sid’s like, “Uh. Right…”
Going to the driving range becomes a regular thing, and Dean and Sid actually become regular friends, with regular poker nights and grabbing a beer and watching the game. Normalcy, Dean thinks to himself as he loses a hand of poker on purpose so he won’t be that guy who wins all night and makes everybody hate him. It’s just that these dudes cannot play poker for shit. When the two of them get beers, Sid gets to rambling ‘cos Dean gives off the air of a listening person, which just means Dean doesn’t like to talk about himself, so he listens and he laughs and he says clever things at appropriate moments, and when Sid says things like, “You know, you don’t say much”, Dean just shrugs and says, “Less is more,” which he’s not even sure what that means, but being in this place makes him talk in aphorisms sometimes. Phrases as ready-made and cookie-cutter as this slice of Americana he’s apparently so a part of.
For Christmas, in a typically enthusiastic Sid move, he gets Dean a whole set of clubs and is like NOW WE CAN BE GOLF BUDDIES and Dean is like “oh my god this must’ve cost like a shitload” so Lisa elbows him and Dean remembers manners and says thanks. He goes with Sid when the golf place opens up again in the spring. After a few games, he surprises himself by seeing the appeal of it. There’s something meditative about the process; it clears the mind. It focuses you down to a very clear but very distant goal. You cannot be haphazard. You have to be concise. Sid goes on and on about wind direction and iron versus wood, and Dean takes the nine-iron and says “hey shut up for a minute”. And he wins the game.
Why Dean didn't have peach fuzz in purgatory.
He shaves it. And by he, I mean Benny. I mean, Dean shaves himself, but then one day Benny finally asks ‘why bother?’, ‘cos it’s Monstertopia up in here and who cares if you have a five o’clock shadow. But it’s not about that, it’s about the ritual of it. It’s about staying human in the middle of all this crap, to which Benny immediately quips back with “For you, that should be easy enough”, but he knows what Dean means. Of course he does.
And Benny’s like, “hand that over, let me, you’re gonna end up slitting your throat,” and Dean is sensibly hesitant, but come on, Benny is not going to kill his only ticket out of here. He sees the cogs and gears in Dean’s head slowly click to a decision. He hands the knife to Benny hilt-first.
Benny moves the knife over Dean’s jaw with the kind of precision often mistaken for tenderness. They are silent as he works, and purgatory is silent with them. Even as one of the dead undead, Benny is still finely attuned to blood, and Dean’s blood is alive and thrumming under his skin. Willing hunger to become mere curiosity, Benny rests his fingers on Dean’s jugular under the pretense of tilting his jaw for a better angle, and Dean follows his touch, raises his head. Pliant, despite the quickened heartbeat. Benny is attuned to that too.
Benny is careful. His touch is light, but steady and firm. Dean is his first reason to be gentle in years, and he thinks it should feel strange, but it isn’t - only familiar, like remembering something he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten.
He prefers the driving range, It was Sid who introduced him to the sport. Like, maybe the first time they went to the driving range, Sid was all excited ‘cos maybe he doesn’t have THAT many friends and Dean went along with it because Sid cornered him with aggressive generosity like, “I can pick you up on Friday, you can use my membership discount, we can go for drinks afterwards, let’s be best frenz” and Dean’s like, “Uh, on Fridays, me and Lisa-” and Lisa cuts in with, “He’d love to, Sid, thank you,” and winks at Dean ‘cos she’s been saying to Dean he needs to get out more and Dean’s just like :|. But it turns out whacking those golf balls is pretty satisfying! It’s like shooting cans off fenceposts when he was a kid except here you don’t waste any bullets, and when he tells Sid this, Sid’s like, “Uh. Right…”
Going to the driving range becomes a regular thing, and Dean and Sid actually become regular friends, with regular poker nights and grabbing a beer and watching the game. Normalcy, Dean thinks to himself as he loses a hand of poker on purpose so he won’t be that guy who wins all night and makes everybody hate him. It’s just that these dudes cannot play poker for shit. When the two of them get beers, Sid gets to rambling ‘cos Dean gives off the air of a listening person, which just means Dean doesn’t like to talk about himself, so he listens and he laughs and he says clever things at appropriate moments, and when Sid says things like, “You know, you don’t say much”, Dean just shrugs and says, “Less is more,” which he’s not even sure what that means, but being in this place makes him talk in aphorisms sometimes. Phrases as ready-made and cookie-cutter as this slice of Americana he’s apparently so a part of.
For Christmas, in a typically enthusiastic Sid move, he gets Dean a whole set of clubs and is like NOW WE CAN BE GOLF BUDDIES and Dean is like “oh my god this must’ve cost like a shitload” so Lisa elbows him and Dean remembers manners and says thanks. He goes with Sid when the golf place opens up again in the spring. After a few games, he surprises himself by seeing the appeal of it. There’s something meditative about the process; it clears the mind. It focuses you down to a very clear but very distant goal. You cannot be haphazard. You have to be concise. Sid goes on and on about wind direction and iron versus wood, and Dean takes the nine-iron and says “hey shut up for a minute”. And he wins the game.
Why Dean didn't have peach fuzz in purgatory.
He shaves it. And by he, I mean Benny. I mean, Dean shaves himself, but then one day Benny finally asks ‘why bother?’, ‘cos it’s Monstertopia up in here and who cares if you have a five o’clock shadow. But it’s not about that, it’s about the ritual of it. It’s about staying human in the middle of all this crap, to which Benny immediately quips back with “For you, that should be easy enough”, but he knows what Dean means. Of course he does.
And Benny’s like, “hand that over, let me, you’re gonna end up slitting your throat,” and Dean is sensibly hesitant, but come on, Benny is not going to kill his only ticket out of here. He sees the cogs and gears in Dean’s head slowly click to a decision. He hands the knife to Benny hilt-first.
Benny moves the knife over Dean’s jaw with the kind of precision often mistaken for tenderness. They are silent as he works, and purgatory is silent with them. Even as one of the dead undead, Benny is still finely attuned to blood, and Dean’s blood is alive and thrumming under his skin. Willing hunger to become mere curiosity, Benny rests his fingers on Dean’s jugular under the pretense of tilting his jaw for a better angle, and Dean follows his touch, raises his head. Pliant, despite the quickened heartbeat. Benny is attuned to that too.
Benny is careful. His touch is light, but steady and firm. Dean is his first reason to be gentle in years, and he thinks it should feel strange, but it isn’t - only familiar, like remembering something he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten.