Author: Tidia PM
Brotherhood AU. Dean makes a request of Sam and Caleb of a certain hunt he's been waiting for a chance to look into. His opportunity arises a month before the deal is due.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Mystery - Dean W. - Chapters: 7 - Words: 31,722 - Reviews: 127 - Favs: 13 - Follows: 27 - Updated: 10-31-08 - Published: 09-17-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4544104
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: Marked Time
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Enterprise Productions and Warner Bros. Brotherhood AU is all Ridley.
Beta: That Girl Six (Who has a new story up that you should check out)
Notes: It has been a little crazy lately, so I am glad that I had the time to write and read Edge of Winter. At thehunterstomb(dot) com you will notice a new campaign to help Ten Inch Hero. Looking forward to the season premiere with my best girls. Please remember that this is set a month before Dean's deal is due. Edge of Winter was set in the fall, so a lot has happened. We will catch up to the show at some point, but we have our story arc to complete, which we think is filled with surprises. . .and away we go. . .
As the sole grandchild to Cullen Ames, Caleb Reaves had access to the many properties the millionaire owned all over the United States. He arranged for himself and the Winchesters to use the place in Hilton Head, South Carolina. It was off-season, so the island was quiet with plenty of green vegetation along the sides of the roads. The locals believed in keeping things as natural as possible, so the black Impala with its V-8 engine stood out in the otherwise quiet surroundings. However, Dean wanted to meet up and had no problem taking advantage of the fact that neither his brother nor Caleb were denying him much these days. Hilton Head was the equidistant location.
Sam and Dean had arrived late, greeted Caleb with a mumble, and gone to get some sleep. The next morning brought hunger and the quest for some food. With less than two months left to be with his family, Dean wanted the familiar.
"You just drove past the McDonald's," Caleb commented from the backseat.
"What?" Dean glanced behind him, then in the rearview mirror, unable to discern where he had missed the driveway. Sam looked just as perplexed from the passenger seat.
"The sign has to blend in, so it can't be high or have golden arches." Caleb pointed out the back window to a large green plant where he showed them the corner of a brown stone-flecked sign.
Dean shook his head. "That's just wrong. The whole point of McD's is that they look the same, taste the same . . ."
"Same Ronald MacDonald," Sam added. "I like Wendy's."
"I wish Wendy was actually hot," Caleb stated his opinion, then flicked the back of Sam's head. "Didn't you have your father burn that Ronald MacDonald doll?"
Sam rubbed the spot on his head, glared at Caleb in shock, then diverted his attention to his brother. "You promised me you would never tell anyone."
Dean snorted. "You kidding me? All the times you narced me and you expected me to resist your Ronald McDonald breakdown? Man, it was a classic—too good to not share." Dean should have felt guilty. At the time he had tortured his brother with the doll that contributed to the phobia, as only an esteemed older brother could do.
"I saw it move. It was possessed." Sam crossed his arms, looking similar to the eight-year-old being adamant the doll was haunted and that it was either him or the doll that was leaving the apartment. Dad had given in, as he usually had when Sam was involved. John wasn't the best of fathers, but he had tried to provide a sense of security — a possessed toy was within his field of expertise.
"Whatever you say, Sammy, but I think the Latin exorcism was overkill."
"Anyplace else we can go eat? It's better when his mouth is filled with food," Sam retorted.
"There's a diner down the street. We'll order the trash omelet, and Deuce, you'll love the attitude."
"Trash? Don't encourage him."
"Man, you're mouthy. Picking up bad habits from the backseat driver." Dean gave his brother the finger, and then did the same to Caleb. He didn't like them ganging up on him.
Caleb grabbed Dean's finger, pushing it back. Dean snatched it out of his hand, then shook it out. Caleb pouted, "Deuce, you're hurting my feelings. You were the same kid who wanted to dress like me. . ."
"I was at an impressionable age. Sammy has no excuse."
They grabbed a booth at Harold's, a one-room diner filled with patrons and a few line cooks over a hot stove. Dean eyed the greasy bacon, the pancakes, and omelets being fried on the stovetop with a smile. What made it better was the Red Sox memorabilia hanging on every available wall space. This was his kind of place.
"So what's up?" Caleb asked after they had checked off their order on a slip of paper.
"Not until some morning caffeine," Dean replied, rubbing his stomach in anticipation of the food.
"He won't tell me what this is about either." Sam elbowed him. "The last time he sprung something on me, we ended up at the Morton House."
Dean frowned at the mention of the haunted house. Sam had wanted to go to the Grand Canyon — a wish Dean was well aware that he had vocalized and was grateful to his brother for — but the Morton House was more important. Lives were at stake, and although the house had lost its sinister spirit, it had taken one last life, too.
Life was important, and he had to keep going.
"Any leads on the Colt?" Dean knew Caleb was fishing for information.
He wished they had the Colt back in their custody. Bobby was trying to track Bela, as was the Geek Squad of The Brotherhood, but she was always one step ahead or had help. Dean was afraid of what kind of help Bela could get.
"No," Sam answered, but didn't add that Ruby was not helping them find the Colt. She said she had fixed it once, and that was all she could do.
Dean sat next to his brother, shoulder to shoulder, with Caleb on the other side of the booth. He liked the close proximity where before he had wanted space. Lately when they saw Bobby, there were more thumps on his back, grabbing of forearms, and even a few manly hugs. Mac did the same. Dean allowed it without comment. He craved the contact where before he would shirk against it, even with women – cuddling, relishing the skin to skin contact. It left an imprint on his body, making him feel alive and whole. If either Caleb or Sam noticed it, they were not telling him or using it as teasing ammunition.
Their orders were passed to them, and Dean inhaled the smell of eggs, bacon, and buttered toast. He took a bite of the toast, followed by some coffee. After licking his finger, he took out his journal he had put inside his jacket pocket. "There's this hunt I've been waiting for that Jim told me about a few years ago, and I want to check it out."
"You've been waiting for it?" Sam drank his small glass of orange juice in one gulp.
Dean was excited, the page in his journal folded over. He put his fork down and flattened out the page to show his notes. "There's this house right here in South Carolina, and every twenty years, weird things start happening in the oldest house in town, dating back to the 1700s." He flipped the page to show his poor artistic renderings and a map of the street. "I always wondered if I'd get to check it out." With the hunting lifestyle and his catalog of injuries, he hadn't exactly thought he'd make it to his late twenties.
"When did he tell you that story? He never said anything to me." Caleb licked his fingers before he pulled the journal closer to him. He had ordered pancakes, and maple syrup had a way of insidiously sticking to fingers and napkins.
"After that job in Texas —" Dean started to explain, but noticed Sam's perplexed expression and Caleb's frown. He didn't continue. Texas was while his brother was at school, after a weird situation where he had ended up sick in New York with Jim having to save him.
"Is this Guardian-related?"
"No, I didn't say that." Dean didn't correct his brother's insinuation either. He wanted this hunt and would play all angles to get his way. He wasn't above being selfish, didn't like it, but knew all about selfishness.
"So what did he tell you?" Caleb gestured with his hand as he bit into another forkful of dripping pancakes.
"Every twenty years for at least a hundred years — but it might be more than that — hunters have gone to investigate disturbances in Ellenton. They think they solve it, then twenty years pass and it starts again at the same house."
"And you've been marking the anniversary?" Sam swirled his spoon in his oatmeal after liberally sprinkling it with sugar and cinnamon.
"Yep. There are reports in the local paper and on the web about it." Dean pulled out the loose paper at the end of his journal. "We owe it to Pastor Jim to take a look," he concluded, adding an emotional tug to his case.
"Probably some story he told you so you'd stop pestering him." Caleb cut through the stack of pancakes with his fork.
"It could be like the mongoose," Sam said.
Dean stopped mid-bite. When they reminisced, they never spoke about the weirdness with their father, Mac, Jim, and Bobby over the so-called talking mongoose.
"Man, we were ordered not to talk about it." Caleb threw a pink sugar packet at Sam, who ducked just enough that the packet hit his brother and bounced into the oatmeal instead.
"Bobby corroborated this story." Dean deftly brought them back on topic. "He and Jim were the ones who did the salt and burn twenty years ago. I asked him to go on the hunt, but he's busy and said I was insulting him—he'd already dealt with it."
"Wait, I was your second choice?"
The wet pink sugar packet smacked him on the cheek. Sam smirked as Caleb wiped his face.
Dean snorted. His brother was working on tactics. "Maybe third. Mac was edging out ahead of you for a time."
Caleb gave a twisted grin. "We do this, but then we gotta go to Pennsylvania."
"What's there?" Dean was trying to think of any recent information about supernatural events in Pennsylvania. None came to mind.
"Can't tell you." Caleb pushed his clean plate to the center of the table.
Dean understood since they had the same rule these days as the military: don't ask, don't tell. "Damn, I'll just hole up somewhere with some chick."
"That's the spirit." Caleb grabbed the check, glanced at it, then pulled out his wallet. All of this was routine; Dean had stopped trying to offer to pay a very long time ago. "So guy road trip?"
"I don't want to call it that." Sam dropped the spoon into his empty oatmeal bowl.
After Rose and the death of Gideon, that was understandable. However, Dean wondered if there were undertones of something else. Caleb and Sam had given in to him too easily. Being in the dark with all of the mysterious whispered phone calls made him suspicious. "Things aren't looking good for me, are they?"
"Dean—" Sam elbowed him. So much for "don't ask, don't tell".
"Or things are great, and we're allowing this because we have a plan." Caleb stole a home fry from Dean's breakfast.
"Good point." Dean rubbed his side, then in retaliation punched his brother in the shoulder.
"Got to keep you guessing." Caleb moved down the bench seat then stood, gesturing to the door that they should leave.
With a groan from his full stomach, Dean got out of the booth. They would return to Cullen's, pack, and get on the road.
"Have you heard anything about Rose?" Sam asked when they returned to the Impala.
"No, and that's what has me worried." Caleb rested his head against the backseat of the Impala.
"Josh have anything?" Sawyer was providing them with information from a different angle since he had been drafted into the coven. It wasn't exactly an ideal situation, not with him needing to be sharing his loyalties, but they knew he was doing the best he could at the moment.
"He says he made the coven aware, and there's no information. He didn't expect anything; they have bigger fish to fry."
Dean wondered what that meant, but wasn't going to borrow trouble. "She'll turn up." Rose wasn't dead yet, and Dean wanted her that way, not just in retaliation for what she had done to him, but all the misery she had brought with her in the foolishness of her plan.
"Ethan says—" Caleb started.
Dean was caught off guard by the mention of one of the Matthews brothers. He didn't realize that Caleb kept in touch with Ethan. "Do you talk to him every day?"
"No," Caleb answered with a flick to the back of Dean's head. "Like once a week. Jealous, Princess?"
"The only good thing, according to Elijah—" Sam started before Dean could offer a descriptive response.
"Oh, my God. You, too?" He blurted. When were these phone calls being made? If it was when he was in the shower or bathroom, then he would have to start limiting his time. "What do you talk about?"
'"You, of course," Sam said, but he was ignoring his brother, his body twisted so he could speak to Caleb.
"Shut up. Both of you suck." Dean knocked the back of his hand against the driver's side window.
"What did Eli say?" Caleb asked Sam.
"Griffin is looking for her, too."
Dean remained silent through the drive back to the condominium. He was still quiet when he got out of the car, tucking the keys into his pocket.
"You still stewing that we have friends and you don't? I always told you to work on your personality." Caleb gave him a push between his shoulder blades.
"No." It was more than that — they could talk to their counterparts, but Gideon was dead. Gideon was dead and Eli and Ethan had moved on, like Sam and Caleb would when he was gone, if he was gone. It made him feel insignificant, replaceable. He was jealous.
"Then let's go solve the unsolvable and make history, because this is all about you," Caleb said from his right, while Sam was on his left. He was in the middle, walking with the important people in his life.
"Isn't it always?"
Sam looked out the window to the lush greenery on the side of the road. They had passed some small towns, and then some rambling homes that were either farmhouses or estates until all that was left were a trickling of cars and vegetation. They had left the highway a while ago, and Sam was not above complaining. He trusted his brother on the back roads of America, but usually there was more evidence of life. He opened the window for some fresh air and could smell long grass. "Do you know where you're going?"
Dean rubbed a hand over his short hair. "Yeah, kinda; the thing is that I was in this area before and wanted to scope out the town, but there was only this road, and it didn't lead anywhere."
"We're lost?" Caleb asked from the backseat where he was using the whole bench as a makeshift bed. There wasn't much to do except catch up on some sleep. Sam was jealous — he should have offered to sit in the back so that he could have stretched out.
"GPS, man, G-P-S."
Sam knew perfectly well that was an insult to his brother. Modern technology was fallible in a lot of cases. If and when Dean built his own guidance system, then he would use it. Otherwise it remained status quo. "No way."
"Yeah, a CD player first, maybe an iPod dock," Sam commented. He had a wish list, and the first thing that topped it was saving Dean from Hell; the second was tied between peace on Earth, all demons dead, and Ruby gone, but those were probably all connected. Then he'd worry about getting his brother to add a few amenities to their home on wheels. "Could be one of those dying towns. . ." Sam continued, pointing and flexing one foot, then the other.
"One company goes or the military moves out, so do the jobs and people. Too many towns like that. Gives me the creeps," Caleb stated.
There was silence for a few more miles. He should have had a book open on his lap.
He didn't know why he didn't feel rushed: time was wasting for Dean. Caleb was now following a different angle in their search, investigating some promising gypsy/Romany lore about bringing a person back, while Sam pursued the fundamentalist Christian angle of talking in tongues, connecting back to the Spiritualist religion and any other fringe beliefs which were usually cemented in some sort of truth or experience. However, time slowed down every once in a while, and a week looking into something Dean had been harboring interest in for years was worth the break.
Plus, they had his agreement to follow a lead in Pennsylvania, one that was possibly the answer to their prayers. It didn't mean they were putting their eggs into one basket, but it meant they were making progress.
"There it is. I told you. I just didn't go far enough last time."
Ahead was the skyline of a town, the silhouette that of an old movie. There wasn't the suburban sprawl, but a compact town which Sam figured was about twenty square miles.
They entered the perimeter as a dark, fresh asphalt guided them in on a main road with clapboard buildings painted in different colors. Every once in a while a brick or stucco structure provided variety.
"This place is shiny," Caleb commented from the backseat.
In comparison to New York City, everything was cleaner and brighter. It wasn't just the cleanliness that Sam guessed Caleb was talking about, but the people had smiles, and a congeniality could be read from their countenances.
Dean continued the Impala's stroll down the main street. The movie theatre's marquis jutted out into the sidewalk, visible as they drove by.
"Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Die Hard. Awesome." Dean glanced over to his brother. Sam nodded, recalling the memory.
Caleb moved so his face was between the boys. "Getting a bit excited much?"
Dean pushed him back with one hand over Caleb's face and a shove.
Sam explained their warmth for the two movies—Dean's favorite was Die Hard, which a too-young Sam had still been allowed to see, but he had enjoyed Roger Rabbit more. "You were away in Europe, but those movies – you know New Haven doesn't have much entertainment. I think we saw them every weekend for six weeks."
"Pastor Jim was okay with it?"
"He figured we couldn't find too much trouble in a darkened movie theatre," Sam surmised. Although Jim did have rules, he bent them for the boys, probably more than even their father would have liked, but it was a little hard to say no to the Guardian when he wanted to show any of his boys some attention. It was why Sam had been allowed to see a completely inappropriate movie.
Caleb snorted. "He didn't know you two very well."
Dean interrupted Sam's reply to Caleb with a barely contained awe in his voice. "Can you believe the cars in this town? There must be one hell of a mechanic here."
They all had their interests, and Dean's attention was easily diverted when it came to cars. Sam recalled the jealously he harbored for his brother, the time he spent with John connecting over an engine. It was something he was now sharing with his brother, but under the worst of circumstances.
"Man crush already?" Caleb quipped.
Sam smiled. Dean was always in the mood to speak to mechanics, and though a few gained his respect, most were labeled hacks.
"Do I need to check out the truck? Make sure you're taking good care of her, Damien?"
Sam diverted his attention away from the conversation to the actual street. There was an array of cars driving by them, all in pristine condition. Some were antiques, different than the Impala, which although made in 1967 and technically defined as antique, was too much a muscle car to be placed in the same place as a little convertible. "What was that?"
"An MG. Such a chick car." Dean shook his head. "Typical for you."
"But not many foreign ones otherwise."
"And that's how my baby likes it. She's with her peers." Dean patted the dashboard. It was something he did subconsciously when he was paying the car a complement. Sam wondered if, over time as he worked on the Impala's engine, he would form the same relationship with the car.
"There's a Toyota," Caleb said with a not-so-well-disguised glee.
"There's a motel up ahead," Sam stated to break the upcoming battle about cars that would lead to a talk about weapons; the weapon topic was one Dean and Caleb were never encouraged to discuss due to their differences in opinion. For most people it was religion and politics; in this family, it was weaponry and cars.
The motel couldn't be missed due to the fact there was a billboard above it: 'The Mainfaire Inn.' It had a sixties era architecture, hard lines trying to be modern but evolving quickly into kitschy.
"Looks like the Brady Bunch house," Caleb said with disgust as he exited the car after they pulled into the parking lot.
"A Mike Brady special . . . Remember that part in the movie?" Dean clasped Caleb's shoulder. "Are you jealous that you didn't design this?"
Sam was trying to recall the movie, but so many of them blended together. He was at the trunk of the Impala to get his bag, ready to turn to tell Caleb and his brother they needed to fend for themselves when a kid on roller blades yelled out to them. Sam avoided the near collision. "What the hell?" He stayed flattened against the open trunk.
"Sorry." The kid skated back a bit awkwardly and pulled the earphones from his ears. He held a Walkman, similar to the one Dean had reworked into an EMF detector.
Dean stopped the teen from coming any further and causing a possible fatality. "You should get some knee pads, elbow pads, and a helmet there, Bud." He playfully knocked on the boy's head.
The teen smiled and gave Dean the thumbs up. "Thanks!" They all then watched as he haltingly skated away.
Sam tossed the bags to the other two hunters and closed the trunk. The bells on the door chimed as they entered the motel lobby. A girl with long, straight blonde hair was at the desk waiting for them. "I saw you pull up."
"Where are Jan and Cindy?" Dean commented.
"Janice is at the hair salon, and I don't know any Cindy. . . My name is Clara." She cocked her head to one side, and her hair followed.
"Clara, I'm Sam." Sam elbowed his brother into silence. "We need a room, please."
"You three want a room together?" Clara asked, only looking at Sam.
"Do you have a suite or adjoining rooms?" Caleb interrupted in order to get larger rooms. The Winchesters were used to taking what he was offered and leaving it at that, regardless of Caleb's years of attempted tutelage in the art of saying 'no'.
"You're brothers, right? I can see that." She wiggled her fingers near her eyes. "Far out."
"Yes," Sam stated, figuring it was easier to include Caleb as a brother than go into a long-winded explanation of their connection, and better than her assuming they were gay. He would have to ask Elijah next time they spoke if it was common for hunters to have their heterosexuality questioned.
He probably would have said more, but as a couple came in from behind the counter, Sam was too busy trying to stop his mouth from dropping open at the woman's garish floral dress and the man's matching wide tie. He stole a glance at Dean and Caleb and knew he wasn't off. The ensembles were a lot to take in.
"Clara, we heard the bell. Do we have guests?" The woman's multitude of plastic bangles clinked as she lifted her hand to wave at the men.
"Welcome, welcome!" The man stretched his hand out to them. "I'm Walter, my wife Mildred."
"So do you have rooms available?" Dean pulled his hand away after Walter had pumped it three times.
Clara smiled at Sam. "Two adjoining rooms, if that's groovy with you, Sam?"
Sam looked back at Caleb and Dean for confirmation. Caleb nodded his head, opened his wallet, and handed over a credit card. "That'll be fine. You can use this."
"Caleb Lohessa," Clara read the name on the card out loud, then stepped back to another desk and began to write down the numbers.
"My brothers Sam, who you already met, and Dean," the older hunter made the introductions. Dean waved at the sound of his name.
"Lohessa?" Dean muttered as he moved closer to Caleb and Sam. "You let Josh pick out names for you, asshole?"
Sam snorted as he figured out that Joshua had rearranged the derogatory term.
"If he wasn't so good at it I would complain more, but I'll have to threaten to tell Esme he's our Picasso," Caleb said with a nod to Walter and Mildred, who were looking at them in keen interest.
On his own Caleb used his real name, but with them he used different cards. Sam had to admit, Joshua's identification cards were better than their cards. Joshua's lasted longer because the minimum balances were being paid, while Dean and Sam ran theirs up and then discarded them.
"What kind of surname is Lohessa?" Walter asked, pronouncing the name clearly.
Caleb shrugged. "Spanish?"
"¿No es un día maravilloso fuera?" Walter jabbered away, adding in hand gestures.
Sam had taken Latin in high school. It served a double edge, helping with the SATs and with hunting. He could guess what the older gentleman was asking, but Caleb handled it better.
"Ahh, no comprendé." Caleb waved his hands.
"He was asking your opinion of the weather," Dean said.
Sam turned to look at his brother, as did Caleb. Dean shrugged like they should have known what he was going to say even before he said it. "What? There was this girl. . ."
He had to wonder about his older brother sometimes, if there was always a girl involved or if that was just an excuse Dean felt was believable.
"Sorry, awhile back there was a man from Mexico, and I was hoping I could keep up my Spanish," Walter said with such evident disappointment that his wife patted his arm in consolation.
Sam cleared his throat, all eyes fell to him, and so he thought it best to keep up the conversation. "Do you have wireless?"
"Wireless what?" Walter frowned.
"Computer connection in the rooms," Sam explained further, grasping at words to describe the significance of wireless.
"We have HBO!" Mildred showed them the standing cutout.
"Great. That's just great." Sam nodded, as did Caleb and Dean.
Clara returned, passing Caleb his credit card. "We're looking into the wireless. It's happening."
Dean opened his cell phone. "No signal."
"The rooms have phones. And we are working on cell phones, too. It'll be all systems go." Clara flashed them the peace sign, which Dean returned with a comment.
"You don't get many people around here do you?"
She leaned over, batted her eyelashes at Sam, and rested her hand against her chin. "You're just getting the end of the tourist season."
"This place is a tourist spot?" Sam looked around and away from Clara, who was making him nervous. There was no evidence of any other guests.
"Don't freak out." She rolled her eyes. "But it's because of the haunted house."
"The haunted house?" Caleb's arms were crossed, trying to play at aloof.
Mildred hooked her arm into her husband's elbow. "Let's get down to the nitty gritty. It's why you boys are here. Right?"
"No," Caleb answered.
"Yes," Sam replied at the same time.
"Gotcha!" Clara pointed at Sam. "We like to tell it like it is. The haunted house is fab. My dad can help you out."
"I'll call up Mr. Francis so he can give you a tour personally." Walter looked at his watch. "It's too late now. He likes to spend time with his cher amie."
"That's not what they call her," Mildred said sotto voce and frowned for a moment, but then the smile returned. "So many people interested in haunted houses. Why is that?"
"They watch too many movies," Caleb said, muttering, "makes our job harder."
"How long are the movies playing?" Dean asked, giving Caleb's shoulder a push.
"It's a bummer." Clara brushed off the nonexistent dust from the counter, her hand moving in a circular motion. "Just today. Tomorrow will be something new. I'm hoping for a remake of Love Story."
Walter snapped his fingers. "You boys should go to the movies, then over to Mrs. Lilly's Kitchen and get some pie."
Sam watched his brother's face light up at the mention of his favorite food. Their lives were simplistic in comparison to Caleb's, who in the past had regaled them with stories of Europe, driving a Ferrari, and parties with supermodels. He hadn't talked about that in a long time, noticing that it was so insignificant in comparison to their dangerous lifestyles. He hoped one day soon they would revert to the way they were when it didn't feel like they bore the weight of the world.
"You said pie. We got to have some pie." Sam felt Dean grip his arm, steering him out of the lobby with two sets of keys in his hand. Their rooms were on the first floor, adjoining as requested.
The shininess of the room was not due to cleanliness, although it was clean. The wallpaper was silver with a design of green bamboo imprinted on it. The same image was embossed on the double beds. The furniture was white laminated with a sheen, too.
Caleb came through the adjoining door. "As long as I am not alone in Tasteless Hell. It's like the 1980s are calling."
Dean deposited his duffle on one of the beds, as did his brother. "Did you pick up anything from them?"
Caleb answered for both he and Sam since the younger hunter's powers were not as strong; he could not effortlessly read someone as Caleb could. "They're too happy, content — it's weird. There's something…I just can't put my finger on it."
"As long as there're no death visions, then we're good." Dean rubbed his hands together. "Salt lines just in case. It's like the Stepfords without the hotness factor, though that girl was totally checking you out."
Sam snorted and went to check out if the cleanliness level carried over into the bathroom. There was nothing worse than a gritty bathroom. Over his shoulder he denied, "No, she wasn't."
"Yes, she was," Caleb answered loud enough for Sam to hear in the bathroom filled with mirrors. "She wants you. Don't know why when we're far better choices."
Sam shook his head and came out of the bathroom with a quick retort on his lips when there was a knock at the door.
"Go ahead and answer it, Runt. It's for you." Caleb lifted his brow in a challenge.
When he opened the door, Clara stood with full arms and full smile. "I thought you might want extra towels."
"Extra towels, Sam," Dean said with an added cough that did not hide the chuckling.