Dean had always know he was special. Not many people could say they'd killed a vampire, or had hunted the ghost of an angry stripper, but Dean had done just those things. He also knew how to dismantal a handgun with one hand, eat an the entirety of a bacon cheese burger, piss of his brother, drink thirty two ounces of Jack, and how to give the ladies a good time, if you know what I mean.
He had, this night, done all of these things in quick sucssion and was tired of life in general. He had gone to a bar, hit on a few women, whent home with one, and stayed the whole he slowly and grogily drove back to the motel where his brother was, he didn't notice the black Audi following him a few cars behind.
Dean drove to The Stardom Hollywood Hotel, a scary joint with a manager who's eyebrows looked like squirrels, and parked the Impala. gingerly, he stepped out into the brilliant light of the cool, december morning, and groaned. From the amount of achohol Dean drank, Sammy always told him he was amune to hangovers, but that wasn't true. Dean still got them, and with the stress of hunting, they only got worse.
He headed into the dingy lobby and looked around for the manager, Roby Bradburn. "Roby, hey, I need to get my mail," Dean yelled wincing at the pain in his head. A big, bald man with bushy eyebrows looked around the corner of the counter.
"Mr. Sambora, yes, your mail's here," the manager said, handing Dean a few envelopes and a Sunday paper. Dean grunted and walks back to the car, shuffling through the envelopes. He leaned on Baby and slipped a finger through the top of the first envelope. It was a National Geographic membership renewal confirmation. Dude, Sammy was such a nerd. He thought, tossing the letter through the passenger side window. The next was a letter from Bobby, telling Dean he found a curse box on eBay, and it might be a good idea to check it out.
The next entities was junk mail, and the last was a fancy envelope with curly, red writing he knew well. Pulling a card out of the envelope, he saw seven shining faces smiling up at him. Merry Christmas from The Winchesters! The card said. There was Dean, arms around his brothers, standing behind his mom and dad. On the right of his middle brother, stood a tall, leggy blonde, holding her husbands hand, stomach pushing out in a little bump. The snowy medow was beautiful, framing the family in a white background. This shot was perfect, or it seamed so.
"Dean," Adam yelled, slamming the door of the motel's room. Here we go, Dean though. "Where the hell were you?" Adam opened the trunk of the Impala and threw his bag in.
"I was at a bar. Then I wasn't." Dean said, exasperatedly.
"Your phone was off! I was worried!" Adam pushed Dean out of the way of the passenger side door. He looked at Dean for an answer and received only a nod. Opening the door, Adam said, "Was she pretty?" Dean laughed.
"Get in, dope." Dean said, slugging his brother on the shoulder.