Chapter 1: Chapter 1
He adjusted the clip of his revolver, a duffle bag draped over his shoulder as he shuffled towards the crumpled mattress. "Come on, Hales, let's get a move on," he muttered. Exhausted he then brushes a hand along her shoulder, a hand running through her tousled hair. "We've got a lot of road to cover, darlin, you can sleep in the car," he murmurs, and lips pressed against the mattress, his sister rolled onto her side in rebuttal.
"I wouldn't bother if I were you."
Dean turned, expectant of the lithe whisper from the other room. In a borrowed flannel shirt and barely buttoned thigh-high denims, his girlfriend stepped through the threshold. Dressed to perfection, with not a follicle out of place, she stooped for her luggage. "Envision it maybe, but the girl could sleep through an Armageddon," she continued. Casting an appreciative glance to her long legs, Dean sighed.
"Let her rest, we'll carry her along with the rest of the luggage," she assured, and Dean nodded. His hand stretching towards his slumbering sister he lobbed the tattered blanket over her shoulder. "Besides, it's the first time in months she hasn't ended up in our bed. Honestly, I'm a little relieved," she explained.
He sighed in recollection of those nights, shoveled between them his innocent sister cradled in his arms. "She's getting worse, Brooke," he exclaimed and threading a hand through the girl's unruly hair, Dean scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes.
"She'll learn to mask them eventually, Dean," she replied, her arms encasing around his middle. Brooke let her fingers curl across the fold of his collar, then onto his cushioned lips as she reasoned. "I know she shouldn't have to," she started, sensing the burn in his throat as he swallowed. She glided her hand absently across his stubble chin as she encases him with her mouth. "None of us should have to, Dean."
"But it won't be like this for long," Brooke whispered, and timed with her words a muffled groan escapes from beneath the beds rumpled comforter. Dean watches his girlfriend as she tilts her head, a sheepish grin befalling her lips. "Give it time," she stated, pushing off his chest lightly, "and I believe that's my queue."
Dean was entranced as she fumbled into the pocket of his jeans. He listened, expression terse as she fumbled for the keys of the Impala. His hand falls to her waist, brow furrowed. "Wait a minute, where do you think you're going?" he questioned. Brooke could have laughed. His protective nature towards that rumbling gas guzzler endearing as it was childish.
"There's a payphone out front," she confessed in a coarse whisper. She leant forward, her warm breath touching his ear. "Thought I might give Nathan a call, it's been over a month," he stiffened, shoulders terse, and nothing his fallen expression, Brooke sighed. "Come on, don't be that way," she coaxed. Her hands rest at his hips as she nudges into him. In his silence, Brooke loosens her hold.
"I know how you feel about him, Dean, I do, but he's my brother. He would never hurt me. He wouldn't."
Moments passed then. His responsive quiet passing over her in waves and seeing that he was nowhere close to embracing the idea Brooke lowered her head. Standing next to him, pressed against his chest as if to hide her disappointment, she exhales. "Brush a comb through her hair, would you?" she asked, and he nods, untangling from her grip.
"He wouldn't hurt you either," she whispered under breath. Hand reaching forward Brooke curls a finger through his hair. "Be careful with our carry-on, she's skin and bones." She kisses his cheek, starting for the door.
"I'll see you soon," she called. Purse slung over her shoulder, Dean listens to the clutter of her heels as she stepped through the threshold, the door creaking to a close behind her.