Bright Lights
I do not own any of these lovely characters; they are solely the brainchildren of Eric Kripke and the folks at Warner Bros.
Takes place somewhere in the first half of Season 2.
There is a decent amount of violence and some implied sexuality, but I tried to edit down from a mature rating for the sake of the story.
This is a work in progress! Reviews are more than welcome; I am always in need of some egotistical flattery.
Cheers!
Anna
"I love Vegas," Dean said, mashing his face against the window to get a better look at the approaching lights.
"Dean, you've never been here before." Sam searched for the right exit from the highway.
"Yeah, but, the vibe. You know."
"Dean."
"I'm not thinking about the strippers!" He protested, then paused. "Okay, okay. Maybe."
"Promise me you'll actually try to spend some serious time on this case," Sam insisted, glancing over from behind the wheel.
"Four hours of driving and he's already cranky," Dean muttered. "We'll check the place out, kill the witchy thing, then hit the strip. C'mon, Sammy. It's Vegas!"
Sam allowed a small corner of his mouth to smile. Dean saw it and grinned. This was a vacation.
The motel was small and dirty, a neon rainbow filtering through the thin curtains. "Affordable rates, charged by the half-hour." Dean raised an eyebrow at the flyer he had picked up. Sam dropped his black duffel and fell onto one of the creaky beds with a sigh of relief. The mattress smelled funny, he thought.
"You're going to sleep now?" Dean asked incredulously.
"It's 2am, Dean. Normal people get tired," was Sam's muffled reply. He wondered if he wanted to move to take his shoes off.
"I thought this was the town where no one slept," Dean retorted. Still, it had been an exhausting ride from Kentucky to Nevada, he admitted. He tossed his duffel to the floor and began peeling off his sweaty socks and shirt. Glancing over, he saw that Sam had already fallen into the heavy rhythm of deep slumber. Dean unpacked his hunting knife and slid into bed, tucking the knife under the pillow. Always be prepared. A couple blocks away a car alarm went off, mixing with a faint strain of salsa from two doors down. There were a few ghosts of scenes from past hunts that flitted through his memory, but he quickly blocked them out. He didn't have nightmares much anymore, and he sank slowly into the dark void.
Something was vibrating against his thigh. "Mmm..." He mumbled and smiled sleepily, then realized it was his cellphone. It was daylight and Sam was in the shower.
"Yeah?" A quick look at the ugly alarm clock gave him 8:14am.
"Dean? It's Larry."
The police investigator that had called them here. Dean ran a hand through hair that was still sticky with sweat. "Dude, it's a little early for a wake-up call."
"Trust me, you'll wanna hear this. I got another victim for you. Same situation and everything; goddamn nearly lost my breakfast omelet at the crime scene though. It's bad."
He frowned. "Where at?"
"Heavenly Angels Night Lounge."
"You're kidding."
"Ironic, right, I get it. You can get here soon?"
Dean dug around for a map. "Yeah, yeah. Gimme twenty minutes, tops." He snapped the phone shut and pounded on the bathroom door. "Sam! Let's go!" He considered picking up a coffee and bagel, then remembered what Mike had said about his omelet. This wasn't going to be pretty.
