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Dean is also in Metropolis, in a much better mood. He and Sammy have staked an apartment close to the outskirts (but not too far from the city) and he's currently raiding every house in that street for knives, booze or weaponry. Most of the gun shops have been looted by now, but he's sure that there'll still be weapons in people's houses - pistols, rifles, silver knives, dried-up garlic, whatever, he's good.

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One of the abandoned houses - not on this street; on the next one over, a little closer to the city - isn't looking so abandoned as the rest.

It seems to be covered in plants. Which would make it look more abandoned, except that the plants are very careful to stay away from the doors and windows, and there's a perfectly clear path from the front door to the street.

And they're all much healthier than anything else growing around here.

Hmm. Neighbours.

... planty neighbours.

Dean's glad he's in the habit of checking out the neighbourhood thoroughly; they haven't started setting up yet and with creepy neighbours a couple streets over, they might just move.

Of course, it is yet to be determined that the neighbours are creepy. Dean, being the cautious, experienced evil-fighter that he is, barges straight on up to the door and bangs on it.

"Just a moment," Darla calls sunnily from somewhere inside the house.

About thirty seconds later, the door opens to reveal a grin. There's a person attached, but the grin is the more visible of the two. Darla is really, really cheerful.

"I'm sorry, I had to take the muffins out of the oven."

It does indeed smell vaguely culinary in here. (They are banana muffins, if he can tell.)

"What is it?"

"You ... had to take the muffins out of the oven."

Dean DOES. NOT. TRUST. HER.

Seriously! What kind of creepy evil monster bakes muffins in the middle of an apocalypse?

... apart from a cute one.

"Well, yeah! If I left them in much longer they'd burn."

She gives him a quizzical look.

"Is there something wrong with muffins?"

Dean scratches his head.

"Well, yeah. It's the freaking apocalypse. Your house is covered in plants, which, by the way, is extremely shady considering the triffid problem. You're surrounded by dead people and dead things. And you're baking muffins?

"We killed a pair of gods once who acted a lot like that. They had a plastic-covered sofa."

The smile dims a little.

"I arrived in New York," she says, not quite so bouncily. "I encountered the triffids. I'm still fond of plants when they're not trying to kill me, and I still need to eat. And I'm not a god, and I'd very much appreciate it if you didn't try to kill me, either."

Dean leans back slightly with a sigh.

"Thank God for that. Seriously, you, with the cheerful and the muffins? Creepy, dude."

"Nothing wrong with a little friendliness. The circumstances aren't the best for it, but really, when are they ever?"

"There's plenty wrong with it when it's creepy as fuck," Dean points out, leaning against the doorframe. "... they good muffins?"

"Yes."

The grin comes back.

"Why? Would you like one? Or would that be creepy?"

"I'm debatin' it." Dean grins back, for the first time. "They smell good, but ... there's the creepy."

"Tell you what," she says, offering a hand. "Let's introduce ourselves; then at least you won't be getting offered baked goods by a complete stranger. My name's Darla Wood. You?"

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Steph went off somewhere. Sokka has a sneaking suspicion that she's off Spoilering without him and can only be vaguely upset about it. Mostly he's worried.

...when he's not busy being jealous that she didn't take him with her.

Right now, he's wandering the streets of Metropolis. It's not as cheerful here, not as bright or homey as the farm, but it does have a lot more scrap lying around. He's got a bag over one shoulder and continuously pops the hood of an abandoned car in order to dig around inside and salvage the parts.

He sees Dean come out of a house just as he drags himself out of an old VW van. "Hey!"

Sokka's in a relatively good mood. Dean gets a wave.

Dean glances up. "Oh, hey." Cheerful wave! "What're you doin' out here? Long way from Hippie Holl-- uh, the farm, isn't it?"

Sokka's grin only widens at the nickname. But hey, he doesn't mind being safe. It's a point in the farm's favor, really.

Even if right now, it's not really... well...

Yeah.

"Steph wanted to come into town," he explains, shouldering his bag again. "I was kinda hoping to run into you, too."

That gets Dean's attention. He dumps the bag he was carrying and folds his arms, tilting his head curiously.

"You wanted t'run into me? What, 'cause I didn't fail bad enough last time I tried to help out?"

It still stings, that he couldn't help with Katara.

Yeah, that's a good way to get rid of Sokka's smile.

"...circumstances were... it was..."

Sokka swallows and looks away, shouldering his bag again. "A friend of hers... figured it out. We got her back." He smiles a little, though it's not as wide as it could be, still tinged with worry and uneasiness. "She's... okay. She seems okay."

Oh crap. Good move, Winchester.

"Oh, right. Uh, good."

Awkwaaaaaard.

"That's ... good, yeah."

And that is hwo to get Sokka smiling again: at someone else's expense.

"Appreciate the help you gave me, though," he says, still grinning.

And then moves it right along.

"But, y'know, I'm not real sure about how far that appreciation extends."

Dean eyes him warily.

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, y'know," Sokka continues with the wave of one hand, vry vry casual. "Like, if you wanted to mess around with my car, I might let you, 'cause you tried to save my sister and I appreciate it. Or if you wanted to use my tools. I might even let you see my weapons, because my little sister is that important to me. That's how far my appreciation extends.

"But," Sokka arches an eyebrow, a warning, younger than Dean but fully capable of pulling off a threat, "screwing my other sister and then leaving the next day? Slightly over the line of appreciation."

"Whoa. Wait, what?"

Dean stares at him, unconsciously shifting back into a more defensive posture in response to the unspoken threat.

"Oh. Right. You're Mel's brother."

Somehow, although he knew that, he completely failed to connect the dots till now.

"Well, crap."

Sokka glares.

He's able to keep it up for about 0.05 seconds before he snorts.

"Man, I suck at fake intimidation," he informs Dean, laughing - partly at himself, mostly at Dean's expression. "That was awesome, I should've brought a camera!"

Dean sighs with relief and rolls his eyes. "Shit, I thought I was seriously in trouble for a second. Mel's strong enough, I did not wanna tangle with a dude from that family."

He would get PULPED.

... obviously, Dean knows nothing about Slayers, nor has he figured out that Sokka and Mel aren't blood relatives. They could easily be half-siblings or something.