Dean's been hung out to dry...
Well, he'd really stepped in it this time.
Dean Winchester had found himself in plenty of tight situations in his lifetime, but he'd also managed to forge through them and come out, basically, none the worse for wear. Or, at the very least, alive.
This time, however…
As the noose tightened against his vocal chords, he forced himself to admit that this time he might not be so successful in coming out breathing. But he never could have imagined that his death would be inflicted by a dam, a tree, a floating dock, and a rough hemp rope. The severe beating he had received before being strung up was, however, something not completely unexpected. In the back of his mind, he figured he'd piss somebody, or something, off enough to beat him into oblivion before finally killing him. Lord knows it had happened enough times without him being killed.
But slowly choking to death hanging from a tree limb over a floating dock…
That one he hadn't seen coming.
The goons who had tied his hands behind his back had explained to him something about a dam that drained the water from the slough where he was currently hanging from an old oak. Even though, at the time, he was still slightly out of it from the beating he'd endured, the important parts had stuck in his subconscious:
At noon, water would rush from the slough…
The floating dock would drop as the water became shallower…
The rope would tighten…
Then he wouldn't care about his eye, nearly swollen shut; his sore ribs, two of which he was sure were broken; his abraded wrists, now completely raw from pulling at his bindings; or any of the other myriad aches and pains currently occupying his thoughts, along with his impending death.
Speaking of which, he had only a few hours left before…
Well, he had to hand it to the local brutes. They were definitely creative.
And they probably hadn't expected him to survive as long as he had, thinking that the beating would leave him unconscious enough that he would strangle himself before the dam had a chance.
His knees trembled under the tremendous pressure of holding himself upright while his body begged to give out on him.
He groaned, his voice hoarse from thirst and lack of use. Not to mention the rope currently biting into his throat.
"Damn rednecks." His normally deep voice was hardly a whisper. "Don't have the balls to kill me in person. Have to let friggin nature do it for them."
Of course, his tirade was doing him no real good, especially since he was the only human being for miles, but it was making him feel better.
Suddenly, a sound carried across the water.
Hearing the motor of a boat in the nearby channel, he breathed a sigh of relief.
But relief soon turned into disappointment as Dean realized the passengers of the boat would be unable to see him from the way the slough curved out from the main channel.
However, that didn't stop the boat's wake from ricocheting out into the inlet of water where Dean was currently occupied trying not to lose his footing on the old, uneven dock.
Disappointment then turned into stark fear as Dean watched the waves come toward the floating dock he was precariously perched upon. His eyes widened as he pushed to the tips of his boots, bracing for the waves that would pull the dock from beneath his feet.
He didn't have to wait long.
The first crest pushed him up long enough for him to get a good breath…
But the drop soon made him lose it.
His eyes bulged and he gasped as the rope tightened around his throat. His feet hung suspended in the air for a brief, but agonizing, moment before the next crest brought the weathered wood of the dock back up to meet his flailing boots. But before he could even get his breath again, the dock dipped from beneath his feet once more. The breathless cycle continued until the surface of the water was smooth and Dean was struggling to drag air past his raw throat and into his starving lungs.
Well… That was about as much fun as a kick in the jewels… He thought, nostrils flaring, as he fought to get his breathing under control.
Glancing at the sun rising in the sky, he realized that the real fun was yet to come.
Only a few hours left.
Where the hell is Sam?
Where the hell is Dean?
Sam wasn't worried at midnight when Dean didn't come back to their motel room.
And he wasn't worried when Dean wasn't there when he woke up at around eight that morning.
After all, this wasn't the first time Dean had abandoned him for a one night stand.
But when Dean didn't answer his phone and still hadn't shown up by nine, Sam started worrying.
Retracing his wayward brother's steps wasn't difficult…
But the trail soon grew cold, not to mention that full-blown panic was settling in, once Sam found the Impala gleaming in the sun on an abandoned dirt road off the highway.
The sun beating down on Dean wasn't improving his situation.
Or his mood, for that matter.
"Damn sun. Damn steroid-popping townies. Damn heat. Oh and, can't forget the damn rope around my damn neck. Damn, damn, damn."
Although he was grateful that he had shed his jacket before going into the diner, since the heat was causing his thin t-shirt to cling to his back and chest, he was pissed that he didn't have it on him because his prized leather jacket held many tools useful in many different situations. Without it, however, he had not a single thing on him to, quite literally, save his neck.
Unless lint and forty-three cents could be used to saw through ¾ inch-thick rope.
The fact that he'd been standing in the same position for several hours, without any sleep, wasn't helping his state of mind much, either. Add to that his stomach had been growling almost the entire time.
He flexed and squeezed his fingers to keep the blood circulating in his nearly numb hands, the rope cutting into his wrists raising welts and bringing blood to the surface of his skin, and the sweat leaking from his overheated body caused the abrasions to burn and sting even worse. The sweat was also dripping into his eyes, blinding him even as he blinked against the salty drops and causing more inventive oaths to form on his lips.
Staving off exhaustion, he forced himself to concentrate on flexing and relaxing the muscles in his body as he had his fingers, trying to relieve some of the tension. He grunted, the strain of standing ramrod straight in the same position for multiple hours with as little movement as possible causing his back to cramp and his muscles to spasm.
Not willing to admit defeat, he, ever so slowly, twisted around to see if there was any hope of escape. Seeing the exact same nothing that would help him out of his predicament as he had on his last dozen perusals, he craned his head up, trying to get a look at the branch of the tree he was hanging from like a Dean ornament on a giant Christmas tree.
Or a Dean piñata.
The thick, sturdy limb, four feet above his head, seemed to mock him and his situation.
Ah hell. Well, since that branch is bigger than my friggin head, I'm thinking it wouldn't be smart to try to break it with my body weight. Especially since my body weight would be supported by my neck. Which is currently being supported by the rope. Nope. Definitely not a good idea.
Noticing that the sun was higher in the sky than the last time he looked, and that the tree limb hadn't budged an inch, Dean's thoughts zeroed in on one concept:
I am royally screwed.
Dean, I swear if you're just screwing around, I am gonna be royally pissed…
Sam blew air through his lips as he pushed his long bangs back from his sweaty forehead.
However, the heat wasn't the only thing tingeing his face with red.
As he waited for the waitress who had worked the previous night to make her way to his table, he couldn't help but notice that her "uniform" was almost non-existent.
In contrast, her flirting was very much in attendance.
Guessing that she was somewhere closer to his own age than her heavy makeup would make her appear, Sam knew that if Dean had been here, she would have remembered him--his brother was a bigger flirt than even the tittering waitress; Trixie according to her nametag.
After taking a closer look at the area around the Impala, Sam had realized that the classic actually rested in the parking lot of an out-of-the-way diner, hidden by trees at the curve of the dirt road.
And since the job they'd taken was in a dry county, the diner was one of the few places Dean would have gone, given that the nearest store with alcohol was about eighty miles in the other direction. Needless to say, Dean wasn't too thrilled when Sam had finally told him last night that they were in the middle of a tri-county area that didn't allow the sale of alcohol.
Dean's last words to Sam the night before were, "If I can't have a damn beer, I'm sure as hell gonna have pie."
And since Sam had checked every diner and restaurant in town, not to mention the Impala parked in front of the one he was currently sitting in, he knew Dean had to have come this way at some point.
Which brought his thoughts back to the waitress currently wiping down his table and giving him an excellent view of her ample assets.
"Sure I remember him." Another giggle. "I was s'posed to meet him after my shift last night."
That had Sam's eyebrows lifting and he forced himself to not roll his eyes at the typical action of his brother. But Trixie's next words evaporated the relief Sam had felt at finally finding someone who had seen Dean.
"But he never showed."
"What!?" Sam couldn't help his small outburst. Standing up a willing, pretty girl was definitely not like Dean.
Realizing her patron was more interested in other pursuits, Trixie pouted and absently straightened her hair. "Yeah. I waited around for him, but he never came back. Said he had to go out to his car and get somethin'. " She snorted, "Yeah. Get something. Likely story." Wagging her finger at a wide-eyed Sam, she continued, "You tell that brother of yours, or whoever he is, that he owes us for the pie. Even if he didn't eat it. I mean, what's the point of ditching the check if you don't even eat what you ordered?"
Sam's stomach churned.
Okay, that was definitely not like Dean.
He'd rather be strung up than miss out on pie.
Her seductive smile returned as she leaned even closer to Sam. "But you, honey. You just sit right there 'til you finish your coffee and I'll get you anything you want."
Sam fought the blush that crept up his neck as she winked at him then turned to saunter back to the kitchen. He blinked then remembered that he'd had something he needed to ask her. He called her back, then gulped as she smiled at him like he was dessert…
A la mode.
Mmmm…. Homemade apple pie… With vanilla ice cream…
Dean had taken to fantasizing about food to keep himself from collapsing to the dock.
Or as far to the dock as he could go before the noose stopped him, which wouldn't be far.
And that thought brought him back full circle.
He was still strung up.
And still royally screwed.
His numb fingers felt five times bigger than normal, not that he could actually feel them anymore, and blood coated his wrists from where he'd been tugging on the thick, non-yielding rope binding his hands behind his back. Idly, he wondered if he might die from bleeding out before the rope around his neck had a chance to bring about his end. Once his thoughts began meandering down that path, however…
Bleeding out would take longer, but I've already got a head start on that…
But then again, I'm gonna be slowly choking to death since my neck won't break from the slow drop of the dock…
But then again, again, I may lose just enough blood that I'll pass out before the dock even drops and then, technically, both would've killed me…
Suddenly realizing the direction his fuzzy thoughts had taken, he gave himself a mental slap.
Geeze, Winchester. Get a damn hold of yourself.
Blinking rapidly to clear the sweat from his eyes, and the fog from his brain, he once again searched the horizon for the cavalry, in the form of a long-limbed little brother, but saw only the ever-rising sun.
There is a house in New Orleans. It's called the rising sun. It's been the ruin of many a poor boy. And God I know I'm one. Something something… hmmmm.. something else…..
Oddly frustrated that the rest of the lyrics escaped him, Dean had to admit that having a song in his head was better than his morbid thoughts.
Time to change the station. Need a happier song…
Searching his mental cassette tapes, Dean settled on one of his favorite tunes from Metallica to keep the rest of his thoughts at bay.
The sun neared its peak in the sky as Dean's off-key, hummed version of Enter Sandman filled the midday air…
Exit light… Enter night…Take my hand…We're off to Never-Never Land…
Crap. Now I'm starting to sound like Dean, humming Metallica…
Shaking the shaggy hair out of his eyes, and the tune from his mind, Sam struggled to stop fidgeting as he stood at the door of the diner, waiting for the carnivorous waitress to reemerge from the kitchen.
After deciding that Sam might be on the menu after all, she had returned to his table, and he'd asked her who else was in the diner last night when Dean first came in. Trixie had rattled off a few names of locals, but when he asked her who was occupying the diner after Dean had left, the list shrank…
By two names.
Having asked where he could find those two names, Trixie's face once again lit up, and, fluffing her hair once more, she'd offered to be Sam's escort.
The frazzled hunter's eyes had widened, but he couldn't regain his ability to speak until she was already halfway back to the kitchen, after telling him to wait for her at the door of the diner.
"That's okay… You don't have to… It's not…" he stammered, but her voice lifted over his.
"Carl! I'm going on my break!"
Sighing, Sam had accepted his fate grudgingly, rose from the booth to do as she'd said, and was now slumped in the doorway of the diner.
"Okay, honey, I'm ready."
Looking up, Sam noticed that she had not only removed her apron, but she'd applied fresh lipstick and done something with her hair. He stifled a groan as she threaded her arm with his and winked at a brunette waitress who simply rolled her eyes. As giggly waitress and flustered hunter passed through the door into the stifling heat, Sam heard the brunette say softly, "That girl can sure clear out a diner…"
Dean idly watched a small flock of brownish ducks searching for dinner in the clear water as he swayed with the slight motion of the dock, thinking it was a good thing that he didn't get sea sick.
But as the motion of his stomach began to match the motion of the dock, he began to doubt that theory.
Ha. It's not like I've ever actually been on the water for any length of time before. Dad wasn't exactly the yachting type. Sure had the mouth of a sailor though…
Trying to ignore the new annoyance of his queasy stomach, his gaze settled back on the ducks. Which, in reality, wasn't such a great idea, either, because watching the ducks just made him want to jump into the water with them to escape the blaring heat.
Mmmm… Nice cool water…
And of course, that thought made him realize just how dry and scratchy his throat was, not to mention the severe thirst rumbling beside the hunger in his belly. Thinking about his throat also brought to his attention the fact that he'd been having whole conversations in his head.
When was the last time I actually said something out loud? Not that it really matters… Talking to yourself is still talking to yourself whether it's in your head or in the air, and crazy is still crazy. Not that I'm-- Ah hell.
Deciding that the sun must have baked his brain, he carefully turned away from the ducks to find something else to trigger a saner, and more productive, train of thought.
However, his traitorous mind traveled right back to its previous sequence about the water.
Geeze. I mean, it's damn everywhere. Hard to escape water when you're in the middle of a friggin' river…
His idle wonderings then continued in the order they'd taken before, only with one new offshoot…
Man, I need to pee…
"Damn thing sprung a leak…"
"Excuse me?" Sam addressed the disembodied mumble originating from beneath a car at the mechanic shop, located down the street from the diner.
"Oh don't mind him, honey," Trixie cooed at Sam. Raising her voice, she yelled out harshly, "Jim!"
The reply came as a resounding bang and a colorful curse, both of which Sam presumed were brought on by Jim's head introducing itself to the underbelly of the Volvo.
"What the hell d'ya want, Trixie?" Jim finally made an appearance, absently rubbing his greasy hand over a brand new red splotch on his balding head.
Unperturbed, Trixie simply asked, "Is Biff around today?"
"Biff? Hell if I know. That no good son of—Hey… Who're you?"
Realizing the conversation had turned to him, Sam cleared his throat and opened his mouth to introduce himself…
But Trixie got there first.
"This is Sam," her voice softened considerably on the name, "we're looking for his brother."
"Biff's his brother? When you find that no good son of—"
"No, Jim. Dean isSam's brother. Try to keep up, will ya?" Trixie rolled her eyes for good measure.
At the mechanic's blank stare, Sam decided it was time to gain control of the frustrating conversation before his own head began resembling the bald mechanic's.
"Okay, see, I'm looking for my brother, Dean. He went missing last night from the diner down the street. Trixie," at the mention of her name, the waitress simpered and Sam fought to keep his momentum with the conversation, "Uhh... She was working last night, and she said that she saw Biff in the diner when my brother was in there. I just wanted to talk to a few people who were in there at the same time Dean was and see if anybody saw anything."
"Well why din't you just say so?" Jim asked, still rubbing his head.
Sam sighed, but didn't get the chance to respond before another voice boomed through the garage.
"Trix!? What're you…" The new voice broke off and Sam turned to see a hulking man staring him down.
Sam swallowed and straightened his back slightly as the man's eyes drifted to Trixie's hand, currently occupied clinging to Sam's arm. A snarl formed on his lips as he growled out, "Who the hell are you and what are you doin' with Trixie?"
While Sam stuttered through a reply, the old mechanic clapped him on the back and muttered, "Good luck, kid. You found Biff."
I'm trouble… Yeah trouble, ya'll… I'm troub-- What the hell am I singing now? Some of Sam's crap tunes, no doubt.
Groaning, and realizing it was the first audible sound he'd made in a while, Dean tried to call up another song to get the annoying one out of his head. Deciding his hoarse voice was perfect for pulling off a little AC/DC, he cleared his throat and ground out, "I've got nine lives, cat's ey—"
When the ducks took flight, Dean told himself that it was the coughing fit that had interrupted his credenza and not his awesome singing that had disturbed the birds. Out of breath from nearly hacking up his lungs, he decided that maybe talking to himself in his head wasn't so bad after all.
When the sound of a motor reached his ears again, he groaned. A few boats had come and gone out in the channel, and the up-down-up-down cycle of riding the waves was getting even more annoying than talking to himself or the random song stuck in his head.
Here we go again…
Dean braced himself, eyes on the bend of the slough, watching for the impending waves of doom, and the dock started bobbing…
But no waves had issued forth from the channel.
Holy hell. That's it. My mind is officially Swiss cheese. Hmm… Swiss cheese on a hamburger with a side of—
His mental meandering was quickly interrupted when the dock started bouncing wildly and something kicked him in the back of his leg. Crumpling from the pressure, Dean barely righted himself and stilled yet another coughing fit in time to hear a voice behind him snicker, "Hey, you not dead yet? Come on, man. The buzzards are hungry."
Laughter rang out and echoed through the still valley.
Turning to face the beefy kicker, along with another man, both of whom Dean recognized as his tree-decorators, Dean searched for a retort…
But the reply died before it ever made it to his lips when Dean saw what the hulk carried.
"I have to say, this is one hell of a rescue, Sammy. Tell me, did you think this one up all by yourself or was th—"
"Bite me." Sam interrupted Dean's snark with a groan.
The brothers glared at each other, both now dangling from the tree over the dock.
Talk about a Winchester family tree.
Oblivious of Dean's mental quip, but curious over his brother's sudden chuckle, Sam cocked an eyebrow and had a thought of his own: I think he's been out in the sun too long…
"So, genius. What now?"
Sam merely sent Dean his best screw you look.
"All right, alright. Geeze. Finally have someone to talk to and he won't even speak. So let me guess… Trixie, right?"
Sam stopped struggling against his own bindings at the name of the simpering waitress.
"Yeah." He paused as his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. "And Biff."
Biff…Why does that name sound familiar…
"Along with Biff's hunting buddy, Hank," Sam continued, Dean's silence unnoticed. "I feel sorry for Trixie, though, having that guy breathing down her neck. But she thinks he can do no wrong! She went right back to the diner when he told her to 'run along' even though he was looking at me like..." Sam's monologue continued while Dean tried to place the name.
Damn it… There's something off about--
Suddenly a fragment of events from the previous night came back to him through the haze the beating had caused…
He came around enough from the first stars-inducing blow to find himself lying on the ground, near a dumpster from the smell of it. More echoes of reality slowly made their way into his murky brain as he realized he wasn't alone…
A few feet away, the clingy waitress from the diner was crying on the shoulder of some beefy guy Dean had last seen stuffing his face with pie at the counter inside.
"Biff! I don't understand it! He seemed so nice!"
Biff patted her back gently, but Trixie pulled back as her voice became harsh and cold.
"But then he said he had to run out to his car. He'd forgotten his wallet. Yeah. Right. I've heard that one before."
"It's okay, Trix. He'll get his. I'll make sure I beat him real good before me and Hank string him up."
Trixie sniffled and dried her eyes then hugged Biff.
Her voice softened once more as she said sweetly, "Thanks, Biff. You're such a good brother."
"Son of a bitch!"
Sam started at Dean's outburst, which was greatly underscored by the hacking that accompanied it.
"Son—" Cough. "of a— " Another cough. "bitch."
"Geeze, Sammy." Gasp. "Gimme a minute here. Can't you see I'm…" Wheeze. "…a little busy trying to get my lungs back into my…" Cough. Swallow. "…chest?"
Sam rolled his eyes as impatience warred with the guilt of having not found his sibling sooner.
Impatience won out, but a little guilt still leaked through his voice when he said, "Geeze, man. You look rough."
"Aww… Thanks, Sammy. You're pretty enough to win a beauty pageant, too, you know."
And he's back... Sam's planned verbal response was circumvented by a shrill horn sounding from the channel of the river.
All movement ceased as green eyes met hazel eyes, and green-eyed confusion quickly morphed into horror.
Seeing the fear in his brother's eyes, Sam's eyebrows drew together. "What? What is it, Dean? What's going on?"
Cutting his eyes upward to the sun, now dead-center in the noon sky, Dean whispered vehemently, "Dam."
"Huh? Damn what? Dean…"
"Dam! Dam, Sam! It's the DAM! The dam's emptying this toilet bowl that we're in! The dock's gonna drop!"
"What!" This time, the question was more of an expulsion of shock and fear.
"When those freaks tied me up… Oh hell, forget it. How are—" Dean's breathless tirade ceased abruptly as water began to swirl around their own private island of hell.
"Son of a—" This time, Dean's phrase was cut off by the tightening of the rope.
"Dean! Dean!" The rope tugging at Sam's sinewy neck had more slack than Dean's did, and the added height of Sasquatch status was certainly an advantage, leaving Sam breathing easier but watching helplessly as Dean's feet met thin air above the wooden boards of the dock...
Dean's vision was quickly fading at the edges…
His entire body strained and stretched, trying to find the dock again…
His feet jerked and fought the air, struggling for any kind of purchase, but his brain finally powered on and made him stop kicking, realizing he was just making it worse…
His mouth opened and closed, desperately trying to drag air past the rope currently holding his airway hostage…
Just above the buzzing in his brain, and the relentless horn from the dam, he could hear his brother yelling at him to hold on.
Hold on? To what?
He could feel himself sliding down into the murky void of unconsciousness, no longer able to even gasp or fight for breath…
Or fight for anything, for that matter.
He swung limply from the branch as his body shut down and his muscles relaxed…
As everything tumbled into the black abyss, his oxygen-starved brain was already too far gone to even notice the strong arms that suddenly encircled his waist…
Sam struggled to saw through the rope killing his brother while lifting Dean's dead weight to release the pressure on the elder hunter's neck.
Both his mind and his hands balked at the slipped words.
"Hold on, Dean. Just hold on." The phrase, first screamed, now whispered, was Sam's mantra.
Sam's free hand, the one not gripping his brother, worked the dull blade over the rope, begging for just the tiniest bit of give.
Come on, come on…
The dock was still dropping, making Sam readjust his grip every few seconds, and his muscles trembled under the tremendous pressure.
Sweat dripped into his eyes and covered his body, blinding him and causing the small pocketknife to slide in his hand.
"Damn it! Come on!" He roared and with a final slice of the blade, both Winchesters tumbled to the dock…
The fog gradually lifted to reveal…
What the hell!
Dean's sudden inhalation resulted in an explosion of dry hacking, but he welcomed the coughing fit because it also had the desired effect of moving Sam's face, mere inches from his own, away from what would have only been certain death for the younger Winchester.
Releasing a sigh of relief, Sam couldn't help but grin at the deadly intent in his brother's eyes. He could easily guess what Dean's mental freak-out sounded like…
Dude. If anybody other than a hot chick ever tries to give me CPR or mouth-to-mouth, I'm going friggin postal on somebody's ass.
"Oh knock it off with the get-the-hell-away-from-me look, Dean. You came around just fine on your own."
Slightly mollified, but still suspicious of his grinning sibling, Dean merely narrowed his eyes and tried to sit up. But a groan escaped his lips as the movement had razor-sharp pains shooting through his arms and hands, still bound behind him. Or rather, beneath him.
His numb appendages didn't stay under him very long, though, because Sam gently flipped Dean over and began hacking at the ropes still clinging to Dean's badly abraded wrists.
Grimacing over his brother's bloody hands, Sam missed the interesting picture Dean made with his face squished against the old wooden planks.
Still unable to speak because of his raw vocal chords, and with his wrists still tied behind him, Dean could do nothing but wait, impatiently, for Sam to finish freeing his arms so that the elder Winchester could stop making out with the dock.
Please, Sam. By all means, take your sweet-ass time. You're gonna be the one pulling the splinters out of my face. Uhh.. Actually, on second thought…
Grunting as his arms fell to his sides for the first time in what seemed an eternity, Dean fought through the severe pain as Sam helped him roll over and unsteadily gain his feet. A fresh sheen of sweat coated Dean's face and body as the feeling returned, along with stabbing pins and needles that nearly brought him back face to face with the dock.
"Woah, easy there, Dean. It's okay. I gotcha."
Hey, isn't that supposed to be my line?
After a few minutes spent gathering their breath and strength, the disheveled and bloody hunters made their way down the rickety pier to the bank. However, Dean halted their progress once they'd reached solid ground. Sam's worry for his brother soon turned into thinly masked amusement after a series of hand gestures from Dean. Allowing a smile to stretch across his entire face only after Dean had turned his back and left him for the shelter of a nearby tree, Sam merely shook his head as a low hiss followed by Dean's sigh of relief echoed through the quiet woods…
"Dean! Watch the—OW!"
"Sam! Shut it! It's hard to concentrate with all your caterwauling. Sheesh."
"But Dean-- Ouch! You're doing that on purpose!" Sam complained as yet another branch hit him square in the face. Considering the difference in height, he knew Dean had to be angling it just right so that—
Dean turned to see his furiously fuming little brother. Leaves and twigs, and God knows what else, had taken up residence in the hunter's shaggy hair and covered his clothes.
"Hey, you look like the missing link. It seems your transformation into full-on Sasquatch is complete there, monkey boy." Hmmm… Maybe I should've kept that comment to myself… Nah. Too good to pass up. But I probably shouldn't have nailed him with that last branch. He looks like he's gonna rip it right off the tree and beat me to death with it…
Watching uncertainty cross his brother's features, Sam considered doing just what Dean's thoughts had predicted.
Deciding a moving target was better than a sitting duck, Dean clapped Sam on the arm good-naturedly and continued plowing a trail through the woods but kept watch on his sneaky brother out of the corner of his eye.
The trek back to civilization, or what little of it existed in the small-town, dry county area, proved to be as annoying and painful as both hunters had feared. Although, even more so in Sam's case since he was fighting not only the elements but his trickster brother, as well.
Great. Like Dean needs props for his smart-ass to shine through. And… "Why the hell are you leading, anyway, Dean? You said that you were out of it when they brought you out here. At least I was conscious enough to know which direction I was going!"
"Um, don't you mean, being carried?"
"Hey! It worked didn't it?"
Dean opened his mouth to retort, but his feet slammed to a halt instead, the phrase running through his mind. It worked didn't it? What—"The hell's that supposed to mean, Sam?" All too afraid he knew what it meant, Dean pivoted and pinned his brother, who'd bumped into his back at the abrupt stop, with a lethal glare from suspicious eyes.
Knowing the moment Dean's boots had ceased plodding through the undergrowth that he probably shouldn't have let that last comment slip, Sam winced and replied, "Biff looked the jealous type. I figured…" His words trailed off as he squirmed.
"You figured… What? That you'd find me by landing yourself in the same position? How'd you even know it was Biff who'd taken me off to God-knows-where?"
"Well, I didn't. Not for sure," when Dean shook his head and muttered something about crazy, half-assed plans, Sam rushed to add, "But I could tell that he really wasn't happy to see me with Trixie. And I already knew you'd been with her last night."
"Yeah, well, let me tell you something about—" When Dean's eyes went wide, Sam's brows furrowed together.
"Dean?" Noticing that Dean was looking past the tall hunter instead of at him, Sam turned to see what had caught his brother's attention as said brother asked in a strangled voice, "Is that what I think it is?"
Finally back in the relative safety of their motel room, Dean set to work bandaging Sam's hand where the knife had slipped and left a long, ragged gash while Sam had fought the rope for his brother's life. Similarly, the conversation picked up where it had left off in the woods on the subject of Sam's, according to Dean, whacked-out rescue plan. The conversation that had been interrupted when the boys had stumbled upon the decaying bodies in the undergrowth.
"So you mean to tell me that the whole time we were standing there chit-chatting the day away on that floating platform from hell, you were hacking at the ropes around your wrists?" At Sam's infamous shrug/nod, Dean rolled his eyes and continued, "And you didn't think that I might be somewhat comforted by the fact that we actually had a chance to survive all along?"
"You would've just bitched at me, telling me to hurry the hell up. Figured I'd save myself the abuse."
Staring incredulously at his pain-in-the-ass little brother, Dean shook his head and, turning away, silently mimicked Sam's last line.
"I'll show you abuse," he mumbled.
It's was Sam's turn to roll his eyes, and he did so quite dramatically at his brother's flimsy threat.
"Alright," having finished with dressing Sam's hand wound, Dean settled onto the bed across from Sam's and abruptly changed the subject, "So how long did you hang before you were able to cut through the rope?"
Surprise registered on Sam's face, and his stuttered response was a dead-giveaway of his lie, "Uhh… Huh? I don't—"
Dean leveled his steel gaze on his squirming little brother.
"Oh cut the bull, Sammy. You're sportin' a necklace just like mine, only not as awesome."
Sam's eyes immediately dropped to Dean's neck where an ugly multicolored abrasion ringed Dean's muscular throat, then his gaze drifted to the mirror above the dresser. His own neck wound matched Dean's in shape, but wasn't even close in intensity. Glancing back over at Dean, Sam remained mute.
Swallowing past a lump in his throat that had nothing to do with a sore esophagus, Dean returned his brother's gaze for a brief moment, then broke the awkward silence as he moved to lean against the headboard and muttered, "Damn what I'd kill for a friggin beer. Hell, what wouldn't I kill for a beer?"
Sam simply smiled at his brother's non-relenting pursuit of alcohol and non-awkward moments.
"You know, Dean, that thought is what got your ass strung up in a tree not too long ago."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Take away a man's God-given right to beer and something bad's bound to happen, Sammy."
Fighting a grin, the young hunter mirrored his brother's position against the headboard of his own bed.
Once again, Dean broke the brief silence, only this time with a chuckle.
"Dude. That was a seriously dumb-ass plan."
Grin now in stark relief on Sam's face, he announced triumphantly, "Dumb-ass plans are perfect for saving dumb asses, Dean." Anticipating the pillow that sailed over from the other bed, Sam ducked and the pillow landed with a thump on the floor.
"Geeze, Dean. A pillow fight? And you call me a girl."
"Sam." Sensing the dark change in his brother's mood, Sam's grin fell and he turned to look at Dean.
Only to get creamed by a duffel bag.
"Ah… Man! Now that's fighting dirty!"
Dean's grin split his face.
"You bet it is. That's the laundry bag."
The elder hunter burst out in laughter as his brother ewwed in disgust and threw the bag in the floor beside the runaway pillow.
"Now, tell me again, Samantha, which one of us is the girl?"
"Bitch. And I rest my case."
Smirking, Dean plumped his remaining pillow and settled back against the headboard. After another few moments of mindless TV-watching, Dean spoke up once more.
"Seriously, dude. That plan was jacked."
Sighing, Sam clenched his jaw and continued to stare at the old black and white television.
"I mean, using yourself as bait? Come on, Sammy. Surely even you could've come up with something better than that."
"Saved your ass," was Sam's toneless, succinct reply.
"Yeah, and got yours strung up next to mine."
Both brothers turned their heads to engage in an all-out glare war across the chasm between the motel's saggy beds.
Give it up, little bro. You know I kick ass at glare wars.
Sam huffed and Dean grinned in triumph.
"What the hell were you thinking, man? In case you didn't notice, Dick is one big mofo."
"Uh, Dean, his name's Biff. And I've got a couple of nice bruises to prove the fact that he is, most definitely, a big mofo."
Dean smirked. "Ha. A couple of bruises. Dude. He kicked your ass."
"Only because I let him! How else was I supposed to find you?"
Dean pursed his lips. "GPS?" he asked innocently.
When Sam huffed and turned his back on his snarky brother, Dean grinned again.
"Yo. Teenaged angst-Sam. Got any good, and by good I mean not likely to make us a couple of piñatas again, plans for what to do with the crazy she-bat waitress Trixie and her big mofo brother/bodyguard Biff?"
"Dean, do you even know how to speak English?" The bite in Sam's words was muffled by the pillow as he tried to fight the laughter rumbling in his chest.
"Dean. You just said that you eat steak. In Spanish."
"See Sammy? I paid attention to the important stuff in school."
"You can order steak in Spanish, but you can't remember a simple exorcism in Latin to save your life. Literally."
"That's what you're for, geekboy. Well, that and research, of course."
Sam could hear Dean's trademark smirk all the way through the fibers of the pillow. Giving up on trying to have a good sulk since Dean was so intent on ruining it for him anyway, Sam bunched the paper-thin pillow beneath his head and once again faced the TV...
Only to groan in disgust and flop back onto his stomach as he saw what Dean was watching.
"Geeze, Dean. Godzilla again?"
"Okay, so let me see if I've got this straight." Sam began ticking off the list, "One: Biff and Trixie are brother and sister…"
"Yeah, genius, I told you last night, but you were too busy being an angsty little girl to pay attention, obviously," Dean interrupted and ignored the glare of his sibling.
"I heard you before, Dean, but—Oh hell, nevermind. Second: Biff tortures and murders the guys who dump Trixie…"
"Or who doesn't reciprocate her feelings," Dean interrupted again. At his brother's wide-eyed stare, Dean narrowed his eyes and stated defensively, "Hey I know big words, too, college boy."
"Right." Sam shook his head and got back to the discussion at hand, "Third: the guys who disappeared from the area, the job that brought us here, are the bodies that we found in the woods, compliments of Trixie's rejection phobia and Biff's protectiveness."
"Yahtzee. By the way, you never told me exactly what happened when you met up with Biff. Oh and your genius plan to get yourself captured to find me? Not so smart seeing as how you thought Biff would react from jealousy of you being with Trixie. But since Biff is her brother and not her boyfriend, that plan—"
"Saved. Your. Ass." Sam interrupted Dean this time, and without looking up from his task, continued, "At the mechanic's shop, Trixie told Biff that I was looking for my brother. It was obvious, to me, anyway, from the smug look on his face that he knew exactly where you were. He said he'd gladly talk to me and told Trixie to go back to the diner, and we walked in the other direction. He jumped me when we got to an alley down the block where his buddy, Hank, was waiting."
"Hmm. Tell me, Sammy, when, exactly, did you form your dumbass plan?" Dean asked suspiciously.
"Uhh… When I realized that Biff knew where you were, or what had happened to you, it gave me the idea, and then when he and Hank jumped me in the alley I just kind of went with it."
"Went with it," Dean repeated dryly. "As in, you got your ass kicked because you took on two guys big enough to advertise for steroids, hoping they wouldn't kill you there in the alley, but kidnap you and kill you later, instead, preferably close enough to where I was so that you could keep us both from being offed."
"Hey, it worked, didn't it? Okay, I'm in." Sam deftly changed the subject back to the job at hand as he rose from his crouched position.
"It's about damn time. Took you long enough to pick that lock."
"Yeah, well maybe it wouldn't have taken so long if I hadn't been bitched at the enti—" Realizing that he was talking to empty space, Sam huffed and trailed after his brother into the house they had followed Biff to earlier, pulling the door shut behind himself.
"Well, I'm thinking Biff's a bachelor. I don't see a female coming into this mess," Dean complained from the opposite end of the small room. "Besides, I don't think Trixie would like the competition. Her brand of crazy requires attention twenty-four/seven."
Sam smiled, his back to his brother as he perused the room for… Well, he supposed that, like always, they would know when they found it. Suddenly, something occurred to him, "You know, you never told me what happened at the diner."
Dean trudged through the debris on the floor and he was thankful for the darkness from the night as he winced. Swerving the beam of his flashlight back and forth, Dean made his way to the small desk in the corner of the room. "I realized after I'd ordered the blueberry pie with ice cream and coffee that I'd left my wallet out in the car. Or at least," Dean chuckled, "that's what I told the needy waitress hanging all over me. Mmm… Pie."
"Dean, can't you ever think about anything besides food…" Sam broke off as he realized what else Dean had said. He turned from the pile of bills he'd been leafing through to see his brother grinning at him. "Wait. What?"
Dean chuckled again. "Sam, can't you ever think of anything besides me thinking about food?" Dean went back to his search as Sam rolled his eyes and did the same. "Come on, Sammy. Give me some credit, here. I know a crazy chick when I see one. I was getting the hell out of there while I still had my—"
"—dignity." Dean continued with a sly smile.
Sam scoffed from across the room.
Dean's eyebrows drew together as his smile was replaced with a frown. "Hey. I got dignity. But as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, I knew there were other diners in town, so I was just gonna find one that didn't employ waitresses one sandwich short of a picnic. Biff jumped me before I even made it to the car. Mmm… Sandwich."
"Dean, I swear, lay off the food referenc—"
Sam was interrupted when headlights suddenly flashed across the room.
Both hunters froze, then simultaneously dived to the floor, below the line of the windows. Dean landed behind the couch in the middle of the small room, hiding him from view of the front window and the door. He peeked out from one end and whispered, "Sammy?"
He jumped and turned as the reply came from behind him.
"Holy…!" He couldn't help the small outburst. He glared at his brother, who was currently occupied trying to wipe the grin from his face before it got him killed. "Damn, man. What the hell is wrong with you? How'd you get over here so fast? Never mind," Dean pulled the gun from his waistband as he thought through their options. Biff had an ass-kicking coming, no way about it, but did they really want to jump him before they knew what to do about Trixie?
Before they could make a decision, more lights suddenly flashed on from outside.
Both hunter's eyes widened as the walls of Biff's living room blazed red and blue…
Out of breath, Dean and Sam wearily dropped onto their respective beds back in their hotel room.
"Maaaaan. That was close," Dean spoke from beneath the arm draped over his eyelids.
"No kidding," came the reply from the other bed.
When the red and blue lights had flashed on outside Biff's house, a voice from a loudspeaker had soon followed, but the Winchesters needed no more encouragement than the lights to get the hell out of Dodge. Their only route of escape had been a narrow window in the bedroom at the back of the house, overlooking the tree line only ten or so feet away. Needless to say, with two men who had spent their lives digging up graves and lifting heavy firearms and duffle bags full of weaponry, it was a tight fit. Broad shoulders and muscled chests were cursed as the hunters squeezed through the tiny window, barely making it out of the house before law enforcement descended. They had then run the entire two miles through the woods back to the Impala, parked at an empty cabin located on the other side of the woods directly behind Biff's house.
Suddenly, Dean sat up and reached for the remote control to the television.
"Let's see if the news crew, that is, if this hick county even has a news crew, has made it out to give Biff his fifteen minutes of fame, yet."
The TV clicked on to a female reporter announcing, "…--ing us tonight. We are reporting live from the scene where officers have detained Trixie Henderson, a waitress at Carl's Café here in Shelby County."
"Trixie?" Dean asked, a scowl forming on his face as he was shushed by Sam.
"Ms. Henderson is under arrest for assault and is under suspicion in the cases of several missing men, now presumed dead, passing through the area, including a doctor, two lawyers, and a number of businessmen."
"Wow. She could sure pick 'em." Dean smiled slyly even as Sam shushed him again.
"We can also now confirm that Ms. Henderson's brother, Biff Henderson, has been arrested, as well, and is charged with assault and is also a person of interest in the same cases as his sister. The FBI has been undercover in the area for some time now, after it was discovered that the men all disappeared from this area. Special Agent Diana Hardwick, seen here escorting Ms. Henderson from the diner in handcuffs," a picture flashed across the screen of a no-nonsense, leggy brunette wearing a Carl's Café shirt hauling a crying Trixie from the diner.
"Hey that's the other waitress from the diner! I was hoping to get her table, I mean, do you see her legs? But Trixie--" "Shh!!"
"…undercover as a waitress in the diner for the past few weeks, hoping to stop any more men from disappearing. Also working undercover, but in a mechanic's shop down the street from the diner, Agent's Hardwicke partner, Special Agent James Lutz," another picture, this time of a bald man in coveralls leading Biff away from his home.
"Hey! That's that guy Jim, the mechanic!" Sam exclaimed. It gave Dean extreme pleasure to shush Sam this time.
"…arresting Mr. Henderson at his home north of town.
"Agent Hardwick broke the case when, earlier this evening, she witnessed Mr. Henderson beating a man in the alley behind the diner while Ms. Henderson encouraged her brother to, quote, 'hit him harder'. Agent Hardwick intervened and called for backup, but Mr. Henderson fled the scene with the victim in the bed of his pickup truck. It is unclear whether he even knew he had been spotted. Authorities later arrested Mr. Henderson at his home, and the victim of the attack, name withheld at this time, was found still lying unconscious in the back of Henderson's truck. He was rushed to the hospital suffering from minor head trauma and multiple abrasions but is expected to make a full recovery."
Both men took their eyes from the newscast to glance at each other, both thinking the same thing. If the police hadn't shown up when they did, Biff's latest victim would have never stood a chance, since the hunters would have, more than likely, left out the back, just like they did, and never even known about the man in the bed of Biff's truck.
However, the hunters' attention flashed back to the screen when the newswoman stated, "…though the Hendersons are of interest in other investigations, there is no evidence, as of yet, to tie them to the missing persons cases."
"No evidence! You've got to be kidding me!" Sam jumped off the bed and frustratingly ran his hands through his hair, "There's a crap load of evidence in the woods! People have been disappearing from here for the past year and nobody thought to search the woods? What the hell?"
"Well, that's the kind of crack police work I'd expect from this town, Sammy."
"Yeah, but—What are you doing?"
Dean had turned down the newscast and was throwing stuff into a duffle. "Pack your crap, Sam. Time for us to head out."
Sam's eyebrows drew together and his mouth opened to form a rebuttal, but a new picture on the screen caught his attention.
"…there is another missing persons report from the area, this one coming directly from one of the agents involved, Agent James Lutz. Yesterday, a man, accompanied by Ms. Henderson, came into the mechanic shop where Agent Lutz was working undercover. The man, known only as 'Sam' and shown here in the composite drawing on the screen, was looking for his brother, Dean, who had gone missing from Carl's Café the night before. There is concern for both brothers, however, because Sam has not been seen since leaving the shop with both Trixie and Biff Henderson."
Sam hung up the pay phone and made his way back over to the black classic parked at the curb.
Dean gunned the engine almost before Sam could even shut his door.
"I'm guessing we're in a hurry, Andretti." Sam said dryly, hand still clutching the door handle.
"Sammy, are we ever not in a hurry?"
Sam laughed humorlessly, conceding the point.
Dean smiled and cranked up the radio; the opening bars of "All Right Now" by Free soon filled the car.
The younger hunter rolled his eyes but couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips when his brother started singing along and playing the air drums. However, it was a little disconcerting that Dean was more focused on his mini-concert than he was on driving…
"Took her home. To my place. Watching every mood on her face. She said…" Dean continued with his off-key singing as Sam shook his head with a grin and turned to stare out the window at the rapidly passing scenery.
Losing his audience did nothing to deter Dean from his performance, though. The show continued for several more miles as Sam stared out the window, lost in his own thoughts.
No telling what's going on in that freaky head of his…
Dean's concert finally came to a close as the song faded, and the station went to commercial. The elder hunter turned down the radio but snickered as an ad spouted the benefits of a certain girly shampoo.
"Hey Sammy, isn't that your brand?"
Silence from the other side of the Impala.
Dean pursed his lips, a perfectly good snarky comment wasted on deaf ears.
"I think I liked the Nair brand on you better, though."
His grin stretched even wider than before, but fell once more as the remark went uncontested.
Hmmm… Gonna have to try harder than that, I see. Time to pull out the big guns…
"Speaking of which, I think it's time for you to get a haircut. You're beginning to look like that breed of dog with so much hair in its face that it can't even see where it's going. Or what it's humping, for that matter. You know, if you're not careful, there's no telling what you could end up in bed with. Not that you've ended up in bed with anything late—"
"Bite me," Sam replied absently, still glancing out the window.
Dean rolled his eyes at the deficient reply. "Wow Sammy. That one stung."
As silence once again echoed in the Impala, aside from the radio now emitting a jingle about cat litter, Dean's jaw clenched.
What the hell is he thinking about so hard?
"Don't give yourself an aneurysm from thinking about whatever it is that's bouncing around in that freaky head of yours."
It was then that Dean noticed the small, square object held in the silent hunter's left hand. The miffed brother's own hand snaked out and smacked the back of Sam's head.
"Ow!" The slim, black object fell into the hunter's lap as he raised his hand to rub the sore spot on his skull.
"That's what you get for tuning me out, Geekboy."
"What?" The confused hunter moved to pull the earbuds from his lobes.
Dean rolled his eyes and frowned as he thought of the snark he'd wasted while his little brother hadn't even been listening.
It's okay. I'll just nail him with them later.
Cheered by the thought, Dean decided to grace his befuddled sibling with an answer.
He gestured to the iPod now resting on the younger hunter's knee.
"Do I even want to know what kind of crap you're filling your head with now?"
"Oh." Sam glanced down at the object of contention. "You know, Dean, there is good music outside of your precious classic rock."
The Impala slammed to a halt and skidded to the side of the road.
"Dean!!? Dude, what the hell?!"
Sam, hand on the console, bracing himself for impact, stared at the horror on Dean's face.
"Samuel Jared Winchester. I think the sun got to you the other day and fried your brain. I've taught you better than that, you blasphemer."
Sam blew out a pent-up breath as a huge grin split Dean's face.
"Dean. That wasn't funny."
"Come on. It's a little funny." Dean beamed at his bewildered sibling. "Dude! You should've seen the look on your face! Priceless."
Wild laughter broke out as Dean shook his head and pulled back onto the road, but Sam hadn't moved from shocked disbelief at his brother's crazy stunt.
"Geeze. You're a jerk."
"And you're a bitch." This time, Dean aimed his smirk at the windshield but didn't miss it when Sam's lips twitched.
The banter was interrupted when a newscast broke into the middle of Seger turning the page.
"Man, they always do that when a good song comes on," Dean complained.
Sam shushed his brother and reached to turn the radio up.
"Hey! I get bitched at when I turn it up." Dean glared at Sam as the young hunter strained to hear the news bulletin and shushed Dean yet again.
Okay, I have definitely got to break him of that. And soon. It's getting dangerously close to a habit.
However, the feminine voice on the radio soon drew his attention from planning the torture of his little brother.
"…anonymous tip, bodies were found in the woods of Shelby County. Authorities traced the call back to a phone booth on the outskirts of town, but, as expected, that's where the trail ended. It has been reported that a few of the remains were burned badly, making identification unlikely. As for the men Special Agent James Lutz had reported missing, it is assumed that 'Dean' and 'Sam' are among the deceased." The voice changed, became out of breath, as if someone was walking fast as a different female asked, "Agent Lutz, how do you feel about the possibility that 'Sam' and 'Dean' are probably among the bodies in the woods?"
"How do I feel?" A hard voice demanded, and a humorless laugh followed. "I feel like I failed them, that's how I feel. I hate that help came too late for those boys. I hate that…" —sigh—"that we were too late. That I stood there and let Sam walk off with that— bleep — even though, at the time, we had nothing to go on. I'm eternally grateful that there was at least one life saved, but I hate that two more weren't. And I will never stop feeling like that."
The woman's smooth voice on the radio returned as the announcer went on to explain the back story of "Sam" and "Dean" and why the agent felt responsible for what had happened to them.
Sam swallowed hard and lowered the volume once more.
After a moment, Dean cleared his throat and muttered, "Well, at least they don't think we were involved."
"Dean." Sam said quietly.
"Other than getting ourselves killed like the tourists, anyway." Dean continued like Sam hadn't spoken.
"Dean." A little more force behind it this time.
"Now we've really got to get the hell out of Dodge." He matched his actions to his words as he stepped harder on the accelerator.
"Dean." Sam's nostrils flared.
"Before some redneck decides that it was you they saw at that phone booth."
The brothers turned to launch another glare war.
But since Dean was currently occupied with keeping the car on the road, Sam came out the winner.
Dean huffed as Sam hid a smug smile.
Turning serious again, Sam said softly, "Dean, we have to—"
"Yeah, yeah. I swear, Sammy. Your conscience annoys the hell outta me."
Sam hung up the pay phone and made his way back over to the black classic parked at the curb.
Dean gunned the engine almost before Sam could even shut his door.
"Why does this seem familiar?" Dean asked as he floored it out of the parking lot and Sam grasped the door handle.
Sam grinned and shook his head. "I think we do it a lot."
Dean hmphed and shrugged. "So the story…?"
Sam smirked. "I told Lutz the truth."
Dean's eyebrows raised.
Sam gave a short laugh.
"My brother 'Dean' and I are on vacation. A road trip. After a misunderstanding in Shelby, we met back up with each other and continued on our way, no harm done. When I heard about what happened in Shelby and then when our names were mentioned on the radio, we were shocked and wanted to clear things up right away."
"Okay, Sam, in what universe is that anywhere near the truth?"
Sam shrugged. "In ours."
Dean matched Sam's earlier short laugh. "You may have a point there, Sammy."
Dean chuckled and leaned forward to turn up the radio.
Zeppelin blared from the speakers.
Dean's hand bounced lightly on the steering wheel.
Then his head started bobbing back and forth, his lips pursed.
His hand bounced a little harder.
Soon, he was in full concert mode again.
Sam laughed as he shook his head and turned to stare out the window, "We definitely do this a lot."
Here's a list of the songs and artists I used in the fic followed by the line where they were used (in order of appearance):
House of the Rising Sun by Animals
Dean: There is a house in New Orleans. It's called the rising sun. It's been the ruin of many a poor boy. And God I know I'm one. Something something… hmmmm.. something else…..
Enter Sandman by Metallica
The sun neared its peak in the sky as Dean's off-key, hummed version of Enter Sandman filled the midday air…
Sam: Exit light… Enter night…Take my hand…We're off to Never-Never Land…
Crap. Now I'm starting to sound like Dean, humming Metallica…
Trouble by Pink
Dean: I'm trouble… Yeah trouble, ya'll… I'm troub-- What the hell am I singing now? Some of Sam's crap tunes, no doubt.
Back in Black by AC/DC
Dean tried to call up another song to get the annoying one out of his head. Deciding his hoarse voice was perfect for pulling off a little AC/DC, he cleared his throat and ground out, "I've got nine lives, cat's ey—"
All Right Now by Free
Dean's first mini-concert in the car:
Dean smiled and cranked up the radio; the opening bars of "All Right Now" by Free soon filled the car.
"Took her home. To my place. Watching every mood on her face. She said…" Dean continued with his off-key singing...
Turn the Page by Bob Seger
The banter was interrupted when a newscast broke into the middle of Seger turning the page.
I stole a few lines from previous episodes. Sorry. They fit perfectly. :)
Oh and I took a few liberties with Sam's middle name. I really needed a middle name for him, so I thought I would make it like a little joke.
I really hope you liked it. This is only the third fic I've completely completed. lol
I have tons more in production that might get finished one day...