The Impala tore angrily through sluggishly winding suburban streets, careening around soft sloping curves in the road with a sense of purpose and power. Passing minivans seemed to tremble in the wake of the oncoming muscle car. Expensive SUVs leapt out of its way. Sam watched the quiet Oregon suburbia go racing by with an annoyed albeit bemused attitude, gripping the door in an effort to stop from swaying with the car's jolty movements.
"Dean is this absolutely necessary?"
"I don't know Sammy, is it?" Dean gave his brother an annoyed glare, locking eyes with him as he raced intentionally past a stop sign.
"You are incredibly self-absorbed sometimes, do you know that?"
"I'm self-absorbed? You're the one that demanded we drive across a state this weekend at the last minute for a routine salt-and-burn case!"
"It's not routine. I don't even know what it is. But really. What on earth is so important that your weekend would come before the lives of an entire community, Dean?"
"It is February the freaking fourteenth, Sam, and I am not at a strip club right now. There is something fundamentally wrong with this situation," Dean was almost yelling now.
"You can have your fun after we take care of this case."
"Valentine's Day is twenty four hour, Sammy. All I wanted was twenty four hours."
"To do something you're going to do anyways," Sam argued, ignoring the 'Sammy' comment.
"It's Valentine's day! Guys in relationships are forced to be extra pussies. Guys like me are obligated to be extra lucky."
"Dude. Do you want to stop bitching so I can tell you about the case? Or are we pulling into a strip club and making a pit stop?"
"These are suburban strippers. They probably have kids in soccer stuff. No," Dean grimaced at the thought, which made Sam roll his eyes and take out the pages of notes he'd taken from his conversation with Bobby and internet research, immersing himself in the case rather than his brother's love life for the sake of his sanity. "Bitch."
"Jerk."