Title: Rest Stop
Author: Razorbackgal0225
Rating: NC-17; and I make no bones about it.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, cars or situations from Supernatural, but I sure wish I did. Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me. The stuff you've never heard of comes from my imagination.
Author's Note: A warning from the beginning, this story is pure, unadulterated smut, starring both of our favorite hunters. If this type of story offends you, please, read no further. If you do enjoy this, please continue and be sure to let me know what you think. This is a little different type of story than I've done before, from multiple points of view. I hope you enjoy :-)
Act 1, Scene 1 and 2
Sam Winchester sighed heavily as he watched from his barstool as his brother won yet another game of darts. He would have felt sorry for the guy that Dean was hustling, but it was the same guy that had referred to Dean as a 'pretty boy' when they had entered the bar, so sympathy was out of the question. Sam could make fun of his brother all he wanted, but no one else was allowed; that was the privilege of being the brother. Unfortunately, Dean had taken the comment from the truck driver as a challenge and was currently fleecing him out of his monthly salary. He would never admit it, but in situations like these, he was proud of his older brother. Dean had hustling down to an art form. But they needed to hit the road.
They had already been stopped for an hour, which was thirty minutes more than the original plan. He looked out the one dirt-smeared window in the run-down bar (they were really going to have to discuss their choice of rest stops) and could see the dark storm clouds that had been following them through Mississippi all day. According to the Weather Channel, and the old man at the bar's back pain, there was a major storm brewing; the type of storm in which they did not want to be driving. They had been trying to outrun it for three hours, but Sam's need for a bathroom and to a greater extent Dean's whining for a beer had halted their progress. Then the cap-wearing drunk had made his remark and here they were. At least they had made some cash.
As Sam was about to remind his brother that they should leave, the door to the bar opened, banging noisily against the wall behind it. This was enough to draw every patron's attention and the two new customers were enough to keep said attention.
The two girls, one brunette and one redhead, were in the middle of a conversation when they walked in the bar. The brunette was too distracted to notice the condition of the bar, but the redhead seemed to be less at ease. She was scanning the open room, her eyes full of apprehension and doubt.
"Um, Kelsey, are you sure you can't wait?" her voice was quiet, but it drifted through the bar. Sam saw Dean cock his head to the side at her sultry Southern drawl. He rolled his eyes in response and sighed; Dean was a sucker for an accent.
"Well, Morgan, it was either stop here or I was about to have an accident," the brunette answered, louder, but with no less of an accent, than her friend. "And I didn't think you'd appreciate that since we're driving your car." The girl walked quickly to the bar and asked the bartender, "Do you have a restroom?" He silently pointed to the back of the bar and she practically ran by everyone in a whirl of brown hair and perfume, leaving the redhead by herself.
The redhead who appeared incredibly uncomfortable with the five sets of eyes that were following her every movement. She gave the bartender a weak smile before sitting down at the nearest table. Sam noticed her gaze kept darting from the back where her friend had gone and the front door. As she shifted in her chair, her cell phone rang. She quickly answered it.
"Hi Mom." Her lilting voice was quite the contrast to the guttural sounds coming from the other occupants of the room. "No, we stopped somewhere in Mississippi." There was a pause again as she listened. "I know Momma, you told me before that you weren't thrilled, but I had the tickets and they were on the 50 yard line. I couldn't let them go to waste. And we won, so it was worth it." Another pause. "Well, I thought Kelsey was fixin' to fight some guy, but other than that, we made it out of the stadium in one piece."
The comment about the 50-yard line had drawn even more attention to her than she had already gained. Now even Dean's opponent had lost interest in winning his money back and was listening to the girl's conversation. She must have felt this, because she said into her phone, "Listen Mom, I gotta go. We're about to get back out on the road. I'll call you when we get home. Love you too." With that, she flipped the phone shut.
A crack of thunder announced the storm's arrival, one loud enough to vibrate every piece of furniture in the bar. The redhead had jumped slightly when this happened and threw another glance towards the back of the bar. Sam saw Dean give her 'the grin' and was surprised when she smiled back. It was a tentative, almost shy smile, but a smile nonetheless. The next second, relief was evident on her face as her friend emerged from the back room. She stood to meet her halfway across the floor.
Instead of appearing relaxed, the brunette now looked to be as anxious as her companion about where they were. Sam had the chance to get a good look at her and was surprised at his initial reaction. She was hot. She had the unusual pairing of blue eyes with her dark chocolate brown hair. Her skin was about three shades darker than his, giving her a healthy glow. She was dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans that did nothing to hide her slim, toned body. As she pushed an errant strand of hair out of her eyes, Sam's fingers itched to do the same, convinced it would feel as silky as it appeared. It had been a few months since the Madison debacle. Between that and the whole Dean-trading-his-soul-problem; he hadn't noticed a girl in quite a while. But boy was he noticing this one.
Unfortunately, the girls appeared to be leaving. Sam wasn't completely sure, but he thought the brunette threw a wistful look in his direction as they headed to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean take a step towards the door as well. Before they could make it, the bartender interrupted. "Ya'll might want to stick around here for a little while. Old Mac here says his back is telling him this storm is going to be the worst in a couple of years. Driving in it could be dangerous."
The girls looked at each other for a long moment. The brunette shrugged her shoulders, a sign that she was leaving it to the redhead to make the decision. She turned back to the bartender and with a friendly smile, answered, "We appreciate the warning, but I think we'll risk it. Thanks though." She put a hand on the door to open it. As she did, the skies opened, and a downpour commenced. Followed closely by the sound of hail hitting the tin roof of the bar. Sam heard his brother groan and he was sure Dean was thinking of his beloved Impala being pelted with chunks of ice.
The girls did more silent communication. "Or maybe we'll stay a little while," the redhead finally commented, moving back towards the chair she had abandoned. The brunette walked over to the bar, about ten feet from Sam.
"Can I get a couple of Bud Lights?" she asked, pulling cash from her pocket. She waited for the bartender to deliver the drinks and her change and started back towards their table. As she turned, her eyes met Sam's. She smiled and his heart did a little jig. Suddenly he was very thankful for his brother's taste in rest stops.
He hadn't set out to stay this long, honestly he hadn't. But the job they had finished in Alabama had been a little rougher on Dean than he wanted to admit and he knew Sam was exhausted as well. Covering his concern for his brother with a selfish request, he had insisted they stop in for a drink. Dean had learned the best way to get Sam to do something was pretend that it meant a lot more to him than it actually did. Hence, he had complained for two hours about wanting a beer, knowing it would take that long for Sam to agree to stop. And it had worked. This was the first bar they had found that looked as if it didn't get CNN. His days may have been numbered, quite literally, but Dean had no desire to spend them sitting in a jail cell.
The plan had been to get out, stretch their legs, use the bathroom and maybe grab a beer. The bar had been fairly empty when the arrived, with the exception of the old man sitting at the bar and what appeared to be a few truck drivers. They had ordered their drinks and were walking to a somewhat secluded table when it had happened. The reason they were still here. As Dean had strolled by the man sitting on the last barstool, he had called Dean a pretty boy. Dean could handle being called a lot of things: a liar, a thief, a hustler, but pretty was not one of them. When he had spotted the dartboard hanging a few feet away, he had grinned. Maybe this break would take long enough for him to win somebody else's hard-earned cash.
That had worked too. The truck driver had quickly taken him up on his offer of a 'friendly' game of darts. Dean had lost the first game on purpose, but had made it close enough that the man didn't suspect what was about to happen. He'd learned a lot of things from his father and one of them was how to hustle properly. He made sure the redneck brought up money first, and he made sure that he lost the first game that they bet on as well. Then he proceeded to beat him five games in a row, but never by too much, so that the mark always thought that he had a chance to win his money back. Dean couldn't help but smirk as he collected the winnings from his last game. He was velvety smooth.
He saw Sam check his watch again and then glance out the window. His brother was such a girl when it came to worrying, but even Dean had to admit the weather looked less than friendly. He had no desire to drive in a downpour, and the old guy at the bar was insisting that one was coming. Something about his back hurting or another super-reliable sign such as that. Dean was setting up for his next (and final, for Sam's sake) game, hoping to make his take an even $500 when the door to the bar swung open. It slammed into the wall, shaking dust off everything close to it. Everyone in the room turned to check out the new patrons.
Two girls, a redhead and a brunette, walked in. They looked to be in their mid-twenties and extremely out of place on about five different levels. Dean would have paid more attention, but deliberately missing a bulls-eye was more difficult than actually hitting one, so his focus was elsewhere. The fact that the girls were talking registered with him and even concentrating, he heard the Southern accent lacing the words. He cocked his head to the side just a bit and from the deep sigh that Sam let out, he knew his little brother had just rolled his eyes at him. Dean grinned as he threw another dart. Bugging Sam was one of his favorite pastimes.
Dean continued to block out most of the peripheral activity as he finished the game. He had honestly almost forgotten the girls had entered until he heard the beginning notes to Back in Black interrupt the silence. The redhead's voice was little more than a murmur as she spoke into the phone; low enough that Dean couldn't hear most of her words. Until three very specific ones were said.
All activity had come to a screeching halt when she had mentioned the 50-yard line. Dean's eyes flew over to her as she said the words that were magic to 90 of the male populations' ears. They had been at a football game? The girl must have noticed the lack of movement from everyone else because she said, "Listen Mom, I gotta go. We're about to get back out on the road. I'll call you when we get home. Love you too." She closed her phone and put in back in her pocket.
Since the truck driver had lost all interest in their game, Dean took the opportunity to turn his full attention to the girl. The first thing he noticed was her hair. It was a beautiful, deep red color that had could not have come from a bottle. It was curly and long, down to the middle of her back. It was currently draped over her shoulders, flowing over the most impressive set of breasts he had seen that weren't gracing an actress on a late-night TV program. He couldn't help but notice; he was a guy after all and slightly tight-fitting university t-shirt she was wearing didn't help. Her skin was flawless and her green eyes had a mischievous glint to them. Even if they were darting nervously about the room.
Dean had decided to go talk to her when thunder suddenly roared overheard. The girl jumped at the sound, obviously uneasy about her situation. Her gaze flicked back to the direction her friend had gone and then passed back by the bar. And Dean. He smiled, the special grin that he only pulled out for pretty woman. She smiled back at him, her pink lips parting to reveal even white teeth. It was a sweet, almost bashful expression, one that intrigued Dean.
Before her smile had a chance to fade, her friend came out of the restroom, now looking as unsettled as the redhead about where they were. Dean took a habitual step towards them, but then thought better. Sam would be pissed if he put off leaving any longer and he was trapped in the Impala with the boy for another 5 hours. No one could make a car ride more miserable than an angry Sam. Although, from the look that the brunette threw back over her shoulder at his brother, maybe Sam wouldn't complain about staying.
Dean was surprised when the bartender issued was warning and couldn't help but be disappointed when the girls did not take it. That feeling didn't last long as the storm that had been threatening for so long started in full force. And then came the hail. Dean groaned inwardly; after all the work he had put into rebuilding the Impala, now it was stuck in a hailstorm. Two minutes later and the redhead was back at her abandoned table and the brunette was at the bar.
"Can I get a couple of Bud Lights?" the girl ordered. When she received their drinks and moved towards her friend, she met Sam's gaze. Dean saw her smile at his brother and hoped that his brother would man up and return the gesture. He looked out of the corner of his eye at the redhead, as he threw his last dart, and was pleased to see that she was giving him more than just a casual once-over. Oh yeah, he thought, stopping had been a great idea.
