Tastes Like Trophies
Summary: A night at a fancy hotel… And the concierge is only one of the things our boys have to face.
Disclaimer: No money made here. Just writing out of sheer desperation in the face of an entire summer without Sam and Dean.
"Now that," Dean pointed, "is what I'm talking about."
The enormous mansion, now a very plush hotel, stood in the middle of a wide expanse of lawn. Night was falling, but as Dean drove through the gates and down the long driveway, they could see the wings of the house spreading out to either side. Surrounding the hotel, the grounds seemed to go on forever, stretching away into the darkness, guarded on all sides by an eight foot tall stone wall.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sam asked, worriedly eyeing the building. "We can find a cheap hotel around here somewhere."
"Oh, I'm sure," Dean nodded. After yet another near disaster that had ended up with them covered in mud, blood and needing stitches, they were going to spend the next few days in the lap of luxury if he had to max out every fake credit card he had to do it.
"It's the little mints on the pillows," Dean added. "They're calling to me."
Sam frowned, looking at him again. "You know how much this place costs, right?"
"I don't care if the Queen of England has to have a co-signer to stay here," Dean said tiredly. It was almost to the point that he had forgotten what it felt like to be well rested. "And quit looking at me like I'm having a breakdown. I just want a night that doesn't end in one of us nearly getting killed, ok?"
"Ok," Sam said. Then after several seconds, he finally sighed. "I gotta admit. It'll be nice to stay someplace where we don't have to worry about bed bugs."
Dean snorted. "You remember that hotel where we had the cockroach contest?" They had been children at the time and it had been a very simple game. Whoever killed the most cockroaches in two weeks was the winner. At the end of the two weeks, their dad had been happy because the game had kept his sons out of his hair and the cockroach population had diminished considerably. Dean had been happy because he'd had bragging rights for a month.
Sam, however, cringed at the memory. "How could I forget waking up in the middle of the night to see you standing over me with a shoe saying, 'Don't move! It's on your knee and it's mine!'"
"A true hunter never sleeps," Dean dead-panned, then ruined it when he couldn't stop a laugh from escaping. He could still see the look on his brother's face. It had been a cross between fear of having a cockroach on him and fear of Dean clobbering him. Sam had never been fond of cockroaches and Dean couldn't really blame him. You know it's a bad morning when you wake up with a cockroach the size of your fist sitting on your chest staring at you.
"Dean, I had a bruise on my leg for weeks!"
"Saved your life," Dean said, working to hide his grin. "That cockroach was rabid. I could see it in its eyes."
"Something was rabid," Sam muttered.
Dean pulled the car up in front of the hotel and stepped out. Almost immediately a man in uniform came forward holding out his hand for the keys. The smile faded from Dean's face as he saw the man eyeing his car. Pure lust. Dean knew that look and no one got to look at his car that way, but him. It was like looking at another man's girl with him standing there.
"Dude," Dean snapped his fingers and the man's eyes finally left the car long enough to focus on him. "Yeah. Eyes on the guy who is either going to give you a tip or put his foot where the sun don't shine depending on how you treat his car."
The man frowned, still holding out his hand for the keys.
"And I'm not talking about Seattle," Dean added.
"I'll be very careful with it, sir," the valet assured him.
"Fine," Dean said, "just so we understand each other. Sam, you got the bags?"
Dean turned to see that another valet had appeared and was already heading up the steps with their meager baggage. He gave the first valet one more stern glance as the man got into the car and put it in gear, then Dean followed his brother up the steps.
The foyer was enormous with a high vaulted ceiling. Staircases led away on either side, and corridors led off in various directions, though the lobby was fairly quiet due to the late hour. Working not to stare at their opulent surroundings, they moved across the marble floor toward the desk.
Neither he nor Sam was looking particularly affluent and the concierge eyed them suspiciously. The man, mid 30s, carefully coiffed and wearing a hotel uniform, pursed his lips as they approached as if preparing to have the ruffians removed from his pristine lobby. In answer, Dean put on his best, 'what makes you think you're good enough to talk to me' expression. That the concierge recognized and immediately straightened, fingering his tie.
"Reservations for Shatner," Dean said confidently.
Sam made a half-choking, half-coughing sound beside him, but Dean only continued to stare unflinchingly at the concierge while he produced a credit card. "And I requested the first floor. I'm not good with heights." He also preferred it for a quick getaway if it became necessary, but the desk clerk didn't need to know that.
The concierge still wasn't entirely pleased with their looks, but he dutifully started his standard speech describing the hotel's many amenities. Finally, when Dean was ready to smack him to get him to shut up and let them get to bed, the man handed over a set of room keys and looked to the valet who was still standing to one side with their bags. "Marcus, will you see the gentlemen to the Kalahari Room?"
Marcus nodded and began walking, but abruptly stopped when they heard a scream come from outside. Sam and Dean, however, immediately sprinted for the doors and ran outside. The only light was coming from the ground lights illuminating the face of the hotel and a security light around the side where the cars were parked. The lawn beyond was almost completely black.
"Where did it come from?" Sam asked, as they both looked everywhere, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Another strangled cry, hastily cut off, came from the direction of the parking lot. Carefully moving along the building, they hurried toward the side of the hotel, their eyes watchful. Just as they rounded the corner of the building, Sam cried out and toppled forward, landing in a jumbled pile.
Dean turned to help Sam to his feet, but stopped as both of their eyes were immediately drawn to what Sam had tripped over.
The body of a uniformed valet.
Dean looked down at the man's bloody remains. "Well, that had to hurt."
Sam raised troubled eyes to meet his. "Dean… Where's his head?"
Just a little teaser… More tomorrow.