So this is the first story I've posted, though not the first I've written. Feel free to leave constructive criticism or feedback of any kind if you're feeling chatty.
And a big thank you to tigriswolf for being my beta. It probably wasn't real fun (I overuse commas a lot).
Title: The Story With Minnesota and the Possible Existence of Syrup Fairies
The Story with Minnesota and the Possible Existence of Syrup Fairies
Sam shifted lazily, cocooned in his rough hotel sheets. He was unwilling to let the rising sun or Dean's overly enthusiastic Cher style rendition of 'In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida' in the shower rouse him from the bed before he was ready. After all, it wasn't like they had anywhere in particular to go. And quite frankly they deserved some time off after their last case. Honestly, a possessed purse? What kind of self respecting demon would possess a purse? To be fair, as ridiculous as it sounded, that lady had lost a finger when she put her hand in it. It was just the pinky though, which barely counted as a finger anyway. It was like the Pluto of fingers. And what did you even use it for really?
"Hey bitch! Rise and shine."
"Fuck off and die Dean. Can't you see that I'm sleeping?"
"If you're sleeping, than how are you answering me smartass?"
"I'm talking in my sleep you asshat."
"Yeah well," Dean fumbled as he searched for a response, "I know you are, but what am I?"
"An asshat."
"I know you are, but what am I?"
"An asshat."
"I know you are, but what am I?"
"An asshat."
"Takes one to know one."
"Touché Dean, you've managed to best me in this battle of wits. I guess I'll simply have to hide in shame underneath my covers," Sam said sarcastically as he slid the scratchy motel blankets over his head and tried to wish Dean away. What he wouldn't give to have Andy's powers right about now. Of course, what was the ability to control people's minds when compared with the awesome power of head splitting visions of death and destruction.
"No time for sleeping now princess, we've got to get moving."
Sam lowered the covers from his face and leaned up on his elbows just in time to see Dean shuck his towel and slip on some jeans sans boxers. Sam raised his eyebrows.
"What," Dean said defensively, "I'm out."
"Uh huh, sure you are," Sam agreed pleasantly before not so discreetly coughing "slut" into his hand.
"Whatever." Dean's eyes narrowed. "You're just jealous that I've gotten more ass in the past week than you've gotten since you were two."
Sam's face scrunched up as he contemplated Dean's statement. "Dude, that's just gross."
"What?"
"You basically just implied that sex begins at age two. Perv."
"Just shut your cakehole, alright? And get your ass up."
"Just my ass?" Sam muttered sullenly.
"We got a case Sammy," Dean told him cheerfully, ignoring his mutterings.
"What? How? Since when?"
"Since this morning when I got my ass out of bed and read this," he said, looking pointedly at Sam.
Dean threw a folded up newspaper toward Sam, who refused to encourage Dean in any way, and so simply watched the paper land on his leg. "Whatever." Dean rolled his eyes. "Just get dressed, okay?" He grabbed his car keys and wallet off of the rickety table and headed to the door. "I'm gonna go rustle us up some sustenance and coffee. Well, coffee for me, some froo froo sissified pantywaist creampuff drink for you." He eyed Sam who still hadn't moved. "Better make that like a bucket of some froo froo sissified pantywaist creampuff drink for you. And when I get back, you'd better be up and ready to go or else."
"Or else what," Sam challenged him.
"Or else I'll sick the tickle monster on you."
Sam pursed his lips. "Didn't we kill that when I was six?"
"What? No." Dean paused a moment. "Oh wait, yeah…yeah, we did. I almost forgot about that." He chuckled, "Wasn't it funny how it kinda looked like Cookie Monster?"
"Um, no!" Sam stated in disbelief. "Hello, I had nightmares for months after that and I never could watch Sesame Street again without going into hysterics."
"Yeah," Dean nodded and smiled. "Good times."
"Jerk."
"Bitch," he returned easily. "I'll be back in twenty; if you aren't up I'll kick your ass."
"I'll kick your ass," Sam grumbled as Dean stepped through the door.
"You do realize that it's mid January and Minnesota is very north." Sam leaned back against the impala as Dean pumped it full of gas.
"Uh huh."
"I hate you so much. You suck hard," Sam stated matter of factly.
"That may be Sammy," Dean winked at him, "but that's not the point."
Sam sighed. "Then what exactly is the point?"
Dean looked at him seriously and began reciting, "Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snowy, uh…snow uh..."
"Oh for the love of god Dean," Sam said cutting him off. "You're not even saying it right."
"Well what do you want?" Dean shrugged. "I'm not a mailman you know."
"I really do hate you. And it's mail carrier."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever Mr. PC." He smiled before adding, "Don't forget to pack your warmest jammies princess." Sam scowled and jammed himself back into the car before settling in for a long and much needed nap.
Sam finally came to about three hours later. He shifted in his seat trying to work out the kinks that resulted from cramming six feet and four inches of body into a car while simultaneously gazing at the less than awe inspiring scenery they were driving past. The only decoration adorning the landscape was the trash littering the edges of the highway like a really distasteful border.
"So why are we going to Minnesota anyway?" Sam asked groggily as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"Oh, did Sammy wake from his nappy nap?" Dean cooed.
"Bite me asshole." Sam punched him in the arm. Hard.
"We're going to Minnesota because of this." Looking very smug and completely ignoring Sam's punch, Dean tossed his folded up newspaper into Sam's lap animatedly, like he had just been waiting for the moment.
Sam glanced down at the article and read aloud, " 'Scientists alarmed at increased rate of melting icecaps.' Well," he shrugged, "I admit it is a valid concern, although not our usual sort of gig."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Turn it over smartass."
Sam flipped over the paper and there it was, the smallest article possible that could still be called an article and not a run on sentence. " 'Jackie Collins of Ely, Minnesota has been charged with embezzling over 200,000 dollars from her employer, Vision Inc., a software developer. She has publicly declared her innocence and has been released on her own recognizance until a trial date can be set.' " Sam stared out the window for a few seconds mulling it over.
"So?" Dean questioned him impatiently.
"Well, it's unfortunate," Sam admitted. "But it really doesn't seem like a paranormal thing."
"Well tough, because I think it is and I'm the one behind the wheel little brother." Dean grinned at Sam. "I've got a feeling about this one."
"That's what you said about the job in Portland." Sam stared at his brother's profile and crossed his arms. "It was rabbits Dean." He could recall distinctly staking out the McGregor's yard that night, only to be confronted with three bunny rabbits who had ventured out to nibble at the vegetables in Mr. McGregor's garden. Only they, of course, hadn't seen the rabbits right away. They had just heard the rustling in the bushes, and due to Dean's infinite wisdom (in other words his rather unhealthy fascination with explosives) they started lobbing their homemade silver shrapnel and holy water bombs at them. Luckily rabbits were damn fast. Sam would have felt like complete shit if he'd blown up a bunny.
"Rabbits, red caps, they're all the same really."
"Um, no they're really not," Sam exclaimed incredulously. "One is a small innocent woodland creature featured in Disney films and the other is a small, vicious monster that likes to dye its hat in its victim's blood."
"Look," Dean said in his most annoying fake reasonable voice, "either way we solved the problem and everyone was happy."
"What about the McGregors? They didn't seem too happy with all of those holes in their lawn and numerous calls by their neighbors to the police about loud explosions coming from the backyard."
"Screw the neighbors; they're just a bunch of uptight pricks. And as for the grass, it's not like it won't grow back," Dean told him unconcerned. "Besides, what's a little bad will and loss of grass balanced against the defeat of one of mankind's greatest foes?"
"You mean the rabbits?" Sam asked flatly.
"Hell yeah," Dean nodded. "Those furry little bastards are bloodthirsty. They use their adorable cuddliness as a disguise. Haven't you ever seen Monty Python?"
"Haven't I ever seen Monty Python?" Sam repeated disbelievingly. "Are you kidding me? Don't you remember when you were fifteen and you became obsessed with that stupid grail movie? You made me watch it every day for like a year." He could still recite most of the dialogue in his head even now, which had actually been considered a cool party trick (after everyone had been drinking for awhile of course). Eventually during one party people had even started acting it out. It was actually going pretty well too, at least until the wedding rescue scene. 'Sir Lancelot' had taken his role a little too seriously and three people ended up in the hospital. Though to be fair, they all said it was worth it for the sake of realism when they woke up the next day. Crazy fucking drama students. "Alright, whatever." Sam gave a long suffering sigh. "If you really think this is something paranormal, then I guess I'll take your word for it."
He paused and moved to turn the music down to help combat his headache. Normally shotgun wasn't allowed to touch the radio period, but because of his visions the two of them had come to an unspoken agreement that Sam was allowed to turn the music down whenever he needed to. Though he still wasn't allowed to change the tapes under penalty of wet willy. "So why exactly do you think this has anything to do with the supernatural?"
"Well I got a call from a contact I met in Minneapolis who's related to the Collins lady and asked me to look into it. According to my contact there's absolutely no way Collins could be guilty and she has to have been framed. I backgrounded her and up until now Collins been an upstanding citizen. I mean she designs software for the mentally handicapped. She even volunteers at her church and some wolf center thing twice a week."
"A contact huh?" Sam rolled his eyes. "Might this contact be of the female persuasion?"
"Uh, maybe," Dean confessed sheepishly.
Sam sighed and shook his head despite the fact that he wasn't the slightest bit surprised. "Alright, but that still doesn't explain why she thinks it's supernatural."
Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well she doesn't exactly. She may have gotten the impression that I'm a private investigator," he admitted
"How might she have managed to get that impression Dean?"
Dean shrugged. "Hard to say really, you know how it is."
"Umm no, I really don't."
"Whatever Sam." Dean scowled. "The point is I said I'd look into it and that's what I'm gonna do."
"So you don't actually think there's anything supernatural involved do you?"
"Well, anything's possible."
"So pretending that you thought it was a paranormal thing was just a clever ruse on your part." Sam rolled his eyes and marveled once again at Dean's extreme unwillingness to share anything that might be remotely personal. "You could have just told me it was a favor for a girl you know. It's not like I'm gonna make fun of you for being pussy whipped."
"Just shut it," Dean muttered. "It's not even a big deal anyway."
"If it's not a big deal why couldn't you just tell me the truth right away?" Sam asked crossly.
"Maybe I didn't think it was any of your business," Dean shot back.
"It's not like I wouldn't have found out anyway! Why can't you just be honest with me about anything? You never tell me stuff. I mean, it wouldn't kill you to be a little more open with me once in awhile."
"It might." Dean stared steadfastly out of the windshield refusing to meet Sam's eyes. Sam huffed crossly and turned to stare out his own window. Dean was totally impossible to reason with even at the best of times and with all the recent stress, this definitely wasn't the best of times.
"So here we are, the great American North." Dean stepped out of the car and instantly lost all feeling in his fingers and face as the wind cut through him like a machete made of ice. "Holy mother fucker!" Dean exclaimed as he huddled into his not nearly warm enough leather jacket.
"What's your problem Dean? Do you need to pee or something?" Sam asked having just gotten back from renting a room. He watched with amusement as Dean did a credible imitation of a potty dance. He smiled and snuggled more thoroughly into his own puffy down coat, which he still had from a skiing trip he'd taken over winter break at Stanford.
"No I don't have to freakin' pee," Dean snapped. "I just happen to be freezing my nuts off here."
"Thank you for that lovely visual. And besides, I told you like ten times on our way up here that you should buy a warmer coat. It's not my fault you didn't listen. Besides, what did you expect Dean? Ninety degrees and sunny?" Sam glanced up at the gray, overcast sky.
"No, of course not, but I sure as hell didn't think it would be subzero temperatures with a wind chill of minus a zillion degrees."
"It's January in northern Minnesota Dean; these people are more like southern Canadians than they are US citizens."
"Screw Canada! Screw them and their sucky weather, their curling and their goddamn maple syrup!" Dean stopped his rant and quickly glanced around furtively. "No, no. I'm sorry; I didn't mean that about the syrup. I apologize."
Sam looked around as well and saw absolutely no one at all except for a couple of old ladies strolling into a coffee shop across the street. "Um, who exactly are you apologizing to Dean?"
"I dunno, syrup gods? Syrup fairies? Whoever's on that I guess."
"Seriously?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Hey, you never know Sammy. And the last thing I want to do is get in bad with the higher powers of syrup. You know how I like myself some pancakes," he answered as he swiped the room key from Sam's hands and started for the door to the hotel room.
"Wait a sec Dean. Seriously man, be careful…" He stopped short and winced as Dean slipped and fell onto his back.
"Ow." A low moan rose from the snowy ground where he lay.
"Uh, so the desk guy warned us to be careful, said it was pretty icy, so… yeah."
"Well I'll be sure to thank him for the heads up tomorrow. Assuming I can still walk of course." Dean simply continued to lie on the snow packed ground with his eyes shut.
"Right," Sam replied as he skirted around his brother's motionless form wisely managing to hold back his giggles. "Uh, you need a little help there?" Sam nudged Dean in the side with his boot only realizing his mistake when his brother latched onto his ankle and yanked his foot out from under him.
"Ow."
"Told you it hurts bitch. That'll teach you to laugh at your older brother."
"But I didn't laugh," Sam managed to protest through his pained groans.
"You were laughing on the inside," Dean accused.
"Well, yeah," he admitted.
The two of them eventually struggled back onto their feet and shuffled into the motel room dragging their bags behind them through the snow. They opened the door and immediately went to work evil proofing the room. It wasn't too bad as motel rooms went, they'd definitely had worse. The modestly sized room had beige walls with a fish border, a beige bedspread with a fish pattern, metal lamps in the shape of fish, a shower curtain with fish on it and well, you get the idea. So the décor was a little redundant, at least there weren't any heads mounted on the walls. And as an added bonus it looked relatively clean.
Sam revised his opinion slightly as he peered into the bathroom and found a questionable brown stain on the floor near the toilet. He wrinkled his nose and made a mental note to keep his socks on at all times.
"So what do you think?" Dean asked flopping back onto the bed by the door. "Sleep or food?"
Sam's stomach chose that moment to make itself known rather aggressively. "Definitely food," he replied.
"Alright." Dean got back up reluctantly, but apparently the lure of grease and pie was stronger than his exhaustion. He snatched the car keys off of the scratched up nightstand and started for the door trusting his brother would follow.
They drove down Main Street, which was literally the main street of the town, where most of the stores and restaurants were located. They eventually decided to eat at a restaurant called the Chocolate Moose. Dean grumbled a bit at the prices while the hostess poured their water, but cheered up as they were approached by a vibrant brunette who turned out to be their waitress. They ordered up some food that was trying to be fancier than it was and tried to get together a game plan.
"So first thing's first, we need to go talk to Ms. Collins," Dean said thoughtfully. "See if she can think of anyone who hates her guts enough to frame her." He absentmindedly built a creamer pyramid as he spoke.
"Sounds good, does she know that we're gonna be stopping by or do we need to don our gay apparel?"
"Okay, first off never call our disguises that again. Secondly, your penchant for wearing costumes is starting to worry me a little. And thirdly don't worry about Ms. Collins, her daughter called her and told her that we'd agreed to look into the case and that we'd be stopping by."
Sam started to respond, but stopped as Jeanette came back over to their table balancing two large plates piled with steaming hot food. After that they both dug in with the silent acknowledgement that food was more important than talking, at least for the moment.
The two of them slowly drove through the streets of the hilly town trying to find Ms. Collin's house. All of the homes that lined the street had the same aged look to them, despite most of them being well kept up.
"So how are we gonna do this?" Dean asked while they sat at a light behind a large truck and in front of another even larger truck. He tapped steadily to the beat of 'Bad to the Bone' as the light finally turned green and he was allowed to move ahead at a steady speed of 15 miles per hour.
"Well we can't just go in there all, 'Hey so who do you know that really, really hates you a lot?' " Sam mentioned as he stared out the window.
"We can't?" Dean asked quizzically.
Sam shifted his gaze over to his brother. "She might find it a little offensive Dean. It sort of implies that people might have good reason to hate her, which isn't exactly flattering. Not everyone enjoys having an ever-growing enemies list like you."
"Yeah, I guess that's true," Dean admitted thoughtfully. "I remember this one time in Albany, there was this chick named Foxy, or Fawn or something, anyway we met up at this bar and started talking and I ask her one little question and she just flips out on me. Can you believe that?"
"Well, considering the fact that I know you…yes, I can absolutely believe that. And you probably deserved it. What did you ask her anyways?"
"It wasn't even that bad! I swear," Dean protested vehemently. "All I asked her was if she and her friend would be open to a little girl on girl action. And if maybe I could videotape it."
"Okay that has like zero relevance to our actual case, not to mention the fact that it's a little disturbing to me that no matter what the subject is you can always find a way to relate it to sex that you've had or almost had. Also, please tell me you're joking and you didn't actually say that." Sam scrutinized Dean's face trying to read him. Unfortunately, Dean was the master of the poker face. He had been since he was a fourth grader and had gotten his first girlfriend. (Whom he had then promptly broken up with for a girl in the fifth grade.)
"No, I seriously asked her that." Dean looked vaguely confused as to why that was such an offensive thing to say.
"One of these days, you're gonna get the shit slapped out of you and I am gonna laugh my ass off."
"Ooh, better be careful Sammy. You don't exactly have a lot of ass to spare there beanpole."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm just saying, you're kinda skinny. You don't have much meat on your bones, so your ass is pretty much nonexistent. But don't worry," Dean comforted him, "I hear some girls really dig that undernourished adolescent look."
Sam gaped at his brother. "Sometimes you'll say something and I'll think to myself, wow, that's it, that's the weirdest thing he's ever said or ever will say. But then you start talking about how my ass looks, which obviously means that you've been checking it out, and you completely blow your old record away."
"You done?"
Sam considered while his brother waited silently. "Yes, yes I am."
"Good, then get the hell out of the car. We've got an interview to do." Sam looked around and realized to his chagrin that Dean had stopped and parked at some point without him realizing it. They both exited the car unsuccessfully trying to avoid the piles of gray slush on the ground. Dean headed back to the trunk to do whatever the hell it was he did back there. Sam, however, stayed near the front and tried surreptitiously to look at his ass in the side mirror.
They walked up the cracked sidewalk and knocked on the old wooden door. The door opened and they were immediately greeted with the sound of swearing, very earsplitting swearing.
"Damnit! Hey there boys, what do you want?" The Latina woman who looked to be in her early forties requested after she finished her rant.
Sam stood uncomfortably out in the cold wind, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. "We're looking for Jackie Collins."
"Why?"
"I know her daughter," Dean put in, "And she asked me to look into some legal trouble that her mom was having."
"Oh, so you're the private dick. Come on in then." She moved out of the doorway and gestured them inside.
"Thanks," Sam told her as they brushed past her. He couldn't help but wonder at the smirk she had given Dean when she said 'private dick.' It made him slightly uncomfortable, like if he left the room he'd come back to find her with her tongue in his brother's mouth. She took their coats and draped them over the stairway railing. "So can I get you boys anything to drink? Some Irish hot chocolate maybe or some Irish tea or Irish coffee?"
"I could really go for that Irish hot chocolate myself," Dean mentioned, already warming up to the woman.
"Um, I'll have cocoa too, but hold the Irish."
"Okay," Ms. Collins said giving Sam a funny look.
"Don't mind Sam, that's just the way he is."
"What's that supposed to mean," Sam hissed as Ms. Collins meandered into the kitchen to make their drinks.
"Figure it out genius," Dean replied with a snort.
Sam chose to ignore his brother's statement. Sometimes he just didn't understand Dean. He looked around the room and decided it was very cozy, the sort of place where anyone would feel at home. His eyes jerked over to his brother and he amended his statement to exclude Dean, as his brother was looking around the room with a combination of fear and repugnance. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable in the unfamiliar setting of an actual home instead of just a house. Sam moved over to look at a painting on the green and white striped walls just as Ms. Collins strolled back into the room with a tray full of drinks and some cookies.
Dean's eyes immediately lit up at the sight of the baked goods. Though Sam had to admit they did look delicious and when he took one he was ecstatic to discover that they were incredibly soft and tasted of almond.
Sam and Dean settled onto a purple flowered couch, with Dean sitting gingerly on the edge. Ms. Collins sat across from them in a matching armchair. She didn't waste time with preliminaries immediately questioning. "So what do you boys need to know?"
"It might help to know if anyone's been acting strangely around you for the last few weeks," Sam inquired politely.
"Not that I've noticed."
"Can you think of anyone who might profit from defaming you?" Sam watched her as he took a sip of his hot chocolate and discovered there were miniature marshmallows in it much to his delight.
"Not really, it's not like anyone's after my job or anything, at least that I know of. I mean I'm not exactly high up on the totem pole, you know." She set her now empty mug down and leaned back in her chair contemplatively. She looked over at Dean and smiled. "So there's obviously something you want to ask me that your brother's too polite to hit me with."
Dean shrugged. "You got any mortal enemies, anyone that really hates your guts?"
"Well I wouldn't exactly call them mortal enemies," she answered him obviously amused by his phrasing. "It's more like we have a mutual dislike of each other."
"So who might these people be?" Sam inquired.
"Well, the pastor at Grace Lutheran Church for one."
A laugh escaped Dean's mouth. "You're definitely my kinda lady. How'd you manage to piss of a holy man?"
"I accused him of misappropriating church funds."
"Was he?"
"Oh yeah," she answered Sam smugly. "He had to pay restitution and give a huge public apology to the congregation. It was probably pretty embarrassing for him."
"Probably pretty embarrassing?" Dean repeated with amusement.
Sam noted that Dean was filled with glee at the thought of a corrupt church official getting his comeuppance. "So who else might be holding a grudge against you?"
"Well," she replied slowly as she thought about it. "The pastor is probably your best bet, but I suppose Jason Harkman could be the one."
Dean leaned forward and clasped his hands together giving her his undivided attention. Sam watched and wished that sometimes Dean would look at him like that, focused and ready to talk seriously without joking around.
"I found out he was taking bribes from students who wanted to get better grades."
"I'm guessing you turned him in."
"Hell yes," she replies emphatically. "He's an asshole. Kids are in school for a reason, it's not helping them at all if they're getting a free ride."
"I completely agree with you Jackie." Sam had always worked his ass off in school to get the grades he did. Whenever he heard about a student cheating through the rumor mill he immediately got pissed and if he found out who it was, he turned them in. Anonymously of course.
"So…" Dean was cut off as a black rooster shuffled into the living room and over to Jackie.
"Uh..." Dean and Sam both stared at it with confusion. "So, what's up with the chicken?"
"Rooster," Sam corrected him automatically.
"Oh, don't mind Gus. He's a house bird, more of a pet than livestock. He lives here inside the house with me instead of with the other chickens in the coop out back."
"Why?" Dean asked in bewilderment.
"Well he's actually pretty good company. Plus the little shit just refuses to leave the house, lucky for me he'd already been trained by someone to use a litterbox. I just found him in here one day sitting on the couch. I think he wandered in through my screen door. It was all busted up at the time. I had a small accident with my snowmobile trailer."
"Didn't anyone come looking for him? I mean he couldn't have wandered that far away from his first owner, right?" Sam asked her.
"That's what I figured too," She shrugged, "but I went around the neighborhood and asked if anyone'd lost a rooster and I didn't have any takers, so I just kept him."
"Huh, weird," Dean said as he grabbed a few more cookies off of the moose shaped tray on her coffee table and crammed then into his mouth.
"Like I said, he's surprisingly good company and besides, I already have a rooster out back. If I put them together they'd probably peck each other to death."
Dean scrunched his eyebrows together. "Well that's all really interesting Jackie."
"No it's not," she contradicted him.
"Yeah," he admitted, "it's really not."
"You have like no social skills at all do you?" Sam asked his brother in exasperation.
"Not really, no." Dean stood up and leaned across the table to shake Jackie's hand. "Well it was a pleasure meeting you Jackie. You're a woman after my own heart."
Sam stood as well and shook her hand. "Thanks for the cocoa and cookies. They were really good."
"Eh, no problem. I really didn't want to eat them myself. They came from the batch that I dropped on the floor."
"Seriously?" Sam asked.
"What do you think?" She smirked and somehow the two of them ended up out on the front stoop next to a closed door.
Sam sulked as they walked wordlessly down the street looking for a coffee shop or café with WiFi until eventually Dean cracked.
"Alright Sam, what the hell is the problem? The interview went good and we haven't fallen on our asses again. So what could possibly be wrong?"
"Nothing," he replied sullenly.
"Seriously Sam, I'm not in the mood to deal with who knows how many days of you brooding and sulking and just being generally all emo. So just tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it. Or, if you like I can pinch it out of you."
"It's just." Sam sighed forlornly. "Do you really think my ass is scrawny?"
"Seriously?" Dean asked flatly. "This is about your ass?"
Sam looked over at him with a quivering chin and soft doe eyes from beneath his bangs.
"Seriously?" Dean whined. "Fine. No I don't actually think your ass is scrawny. I'm sure it's actually very lush and grabable."
Sam sniffed theatrically.
"Jeez man what do you want, a cookie or something? Huh? Would that make Sammy feel all better?" He patted Sam's shoulder condescendingly.
"Get offa me Dean." Sam swatted his hand away and proceeded to somehow give his bitch face to his brother without actually looking at him. "I am well aware of the fact that you're being facetious. But actually, yes, I would like a cookie you asshole, a soft one. And I want it to be peanut butter. Make it happen."
The two of them sat in the Impala down the street from Grace Lutheran Church eating cookies and going over their game plan.
"Alright, so here's what we're gonna do." Dean licked his lips and referred to the blueprints in his hand. "We wait a few minutes until it's completely dark and then we slip in through this backdoor here," he said jabbing his finger down. "It's a mortise lock, so it shouldn't be a problem. And from what I was able to find out they don't have a night watchman or any sort of security system, so breaking in should be a breeze. Then we go down this back hallway here and through the rectory and from there we're right by the door leading to the business office, which will also need to be, ah, assisted in opening. From there you do your magical hacking thingy to the pastor's computer while I keep lookout and maybe steal some holy water. Sound good?"
"Yeah…or we could just go in through the front door right now like everyone else is doing." Sam pointed further up the street where he could see a large crowd of people congregating around the wide open church doors.
"What the hell! It's six o'clock on a fuckin' Friday," Dean hissed as he opened his door and slid out gracefully. "Why are there so many people here? Shouldn't they be at a quilting bee or something?"
Sam followed his brother's lead and unfolded himself out of the car as well. "I'm not sure those actually exist anymore Dean," he informed him as they walked up to the church.
"Do I look like I give a fuck Sammy? All I care about is why they're here now!"
"Well we're having a potluck tonight," a large hearty man in a flannel shirt told them after appearing out of seemingly nowhere. Sam noticed Dean was looking around hastily to make sure he hadn't missed anyone else infringing on his personal safety zone. "You planning on joining us for dinner? Lots of great hotdishes this year." Dean and Sam glanced at each other.
"Uh, hotdishes?" Dean questioned hesitantly.
"They're like a casserole I think," Sam explained uncertainly.
"Oh no, they're a hell of a lot better than a casserole," the stalwart man said with a smile and a wink. "Now I gotta say, I don't think I've seen you boys around before. I'm Mark Markovich."
"I'm Dean and this is Sam."
"So where're you boys from? You visiting family here in town or do you have a cabin?"
"The second one," Sam declared swiftly, knowing there was no way they'd be able to pass themselves off as anyone's family in a town this small where everyone knew everyone.
"Oh, which place do you own?"
"Uh, well we don't actually own exactly," Sam vacillated.
"Yeah, we're actually in town to buy," Dean cut in smoothly.
"Really," Mark boomed out obviously as pleased as punch. "Which lake are you looking at?"
"The…one right outside of town," Dean said jerking his thumb back in a direction that Sam really hoped boasted a lake.
"Oh, White Iron then. Good lake, good lake," Mark replied nodding his head in approval. "Shorelines pretty rocky though, can't alter it anymore either. If you boys want beach, you're gonna have to buy a place where one's already been made. What properties are you looking at?"
Dean's eyes widened slightly as the man just kept talking and luckily Sam knew his brother well enough to realize that he was this close to making some smartass comment or just plain making a break for it and saying screw the rest. Which wasn't really a surprise given Dean's limited tolerance for polite and inane chatter, especially when it included questions directed at them.
"That new one that just went on the market," Sam said crossing his fingers as he took over the conversation from their side.
"The Sorensen place or the Eklof place?" Mark questioned further.
"Sorensen," Sam answered him wishing that Dean would calm down and get himself back under control. Sam just didn't have the natural skill at weaving lies that his brother did.
"Great! That's a real nice cabin, big lot. Lots of shoreline, and definitely a nice beach area. You know, there's even a good solid boathouse grandfathered in."
"Yeah, it's a pretty sweet place," Sam said agreeably.
"So will both you boys be moving in?"
"Oh heck yeah," Dean broke in with a bucket load of false enthusiasm, having apparently suppressed his annoyance and decided to play along. "Me and Sammy here are damn near inseparable."
"Well that's just great. We don't have too many gay couples, but I'm sure you'll fit in like a cat at Christmas," he hurriedly assured them.
"Oh no, no, we're not-" Sam started to say.
"A cat at Christmas?" Dean repeated puzzled.
"Not a couple at all, we're just brothers," Sam told him firmly.
"Well," Mark smiled indulgently, "however you want to play it boys." He winked again. "Now why don't you come on in. We don't want them to run out of lefsa, now do we?"
"Lefsa?" Dean asked questioningly.
"What, you don't know what lefsa is?" He looked more upset then they had thought possible given his natural exuberance. "Don't you boys have any Scandinavian in you?"
"Well," Dean thought for a minute, "I think we might be part Danish."
"Danish? Well I'm sorry about that," Mark consoled them as he strung his massive arms around their shoulders and led them through the mass of people to the doors. He shook his head dolefully and repeated, "Danish. But don't worry; the lefsa will help cheer you up. And I heard there was even gonna be some old fashioned homemade lutefisk."
"Lutefisk?" Dean mouthed silently trying to match the name to the food.
"Isn't that some kind of fish?" Sam inquired.
"You bet," he told them. "Fish soaked in lye. Real tasty."
"Lye?" Dean mouthed apprehensively.
"Isn't lye a poison?" Sam asked as they entered the church doors leaving only the echo of his alarmed voice in the air.
They entered a lobby that looked like it was still stuck in the eighties and were immediately greeted by a bustling elderly woman. "Hey there Mark."
"Hi Bev," he returned with affection.
"And who are these strapping young men?" She asked smiling warmly.
"I'm Dean and this is my kid brother Sammy," Dean said.
"Sam." Dean was immediately corrected by his brother.
"Well it's nice to meet the both of you. Though I have to say, you don't look too much alike for brothers," she pointed out. Mark leaned over and whispered something in her ear. "Oh," she said knowingly. "Right. Brothers," she emphasized. "I gotcha boys."
"Uh," Sam started to correct her, but was abruptly cut off.
"So do you folks have these dinners a lot?" Dean inquired.
"Oh you betcha. At least once a month," Bev told him.
"Well I have to admit, that's a powerful incentive for us to join up," Dean said earnestly.
"Oh I hope you boys do. It'd be nice to have some fresh faces around here on a regular basis, instead of just the one week tourists," Bev told them with a smile.
"Are you planning on living here year round or just summers and weekends?" Mark asked.
"Oh year round definitely," Dean told them. "We're computer programmers, so we can do our jobs from just about anywhere."
"Oh, computer programmers? Well we should hire you boys to take a gander at our computers here."
"Yeah, we've been having all sorts of trouble with them lately," Mark agreed.
Sam and Dean both gave each other a 'there's no way it can really be this easy' look. "Sure," Sam said quickly. "We'd be more than happy to take a look."
"Free of charge, of course," Dean told them sweetly.
"Oh no, we ought to pay you something." Mark protested sincerely.
"Absolutely not."
"Wouldn't hear of it. Why don't we just consider this fine dinner our payment?" Dean suggested.
"Well, if you're sure." Bev looked conflicted.
"Definitely, it's not often two bachelors get to eat this well," Sam said gesturing to the tables laden with food. And man was that ever the truth. His last four meals had consisted of Doritos, hot pockets and beef jerky. Which, although delicious, tended to get old after awhile. The food set out on the tables definitely looked like a viable and delicious alterative. He still wasn't completely clear on what a hotdish was, but they sure as hell smelled mouth watering. To be frank, he was surprised Dean was still managing to restrain himself and hadn't yet raced over to the food and gorged himself on it like a wolf. Sam could tell just by looking at him that his brother was waging an inner battle between the job and the food. And…it looked like the food was the winner and still undefeated champion. Sam looked at Mark and Bev and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about that, he's kind of a foodaholic."
"That's alright dear," Bev assured him. "It's good to see a young man with such a healthy appetite. The both of you are too skinny." She looked at him with raised eyebrows and then back over at the food pointedly.
"So, I'll just go get some then, shall I?"
"Sounds like a good idea," Mark said as he gave Sam a hearty clap on the shoulder before wandering off.
"Come see me after you two are done eating and I can show you the computers. Take your time though and make sure you try the lefsa. Butter and sugar taste the best and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
"Sure thing Bev," Sam told her. He then ambled over to the table where Dean was still loading up his plate. Scratch that, his second plate. There was another one sitting on the buffet table in front of him already filled to the edges and Dean himself had a huge hunk of cornbread stuffed in his mouth. "Got enough food there Dean? You think you should maybe save some for everybody else?"
Dean shrugged his shoulders and mumbled something unintelligible.
Sam sighed and grabbed the cornbread out of his mouth gingerly. "What?"
"I said, it's survival of the fittest Sammy. If these people are too lazy to come and fight me for the food, it's their own fault if they starve to death."
"You really worry me sometimes, you know that?"
Dean just grabbed his cornbread and crammed it back into his mouth before snatching a bottle of soda and sticking it in his armpit. He then grabbed both plates and headed over to one of the tables. Sam looked after him for a moment before shrugging and turning back to the table to fill up a plate of his own.
They eventually finished off their meal after going back for seconds and ambled over to find Bev. Unfortunately they found her in a large crowd of elderly women who then proceeded to demand to be introduced to the two handsome young men. It took about forty-five minutes of chatter and cheek pinching before they managed to get away and be led to the computers.
"So here they are boys," Bev said gesturing to some machines that looked pretty aged. "You take all the time you need, we'll all be here for a few hours yet. And if you need more time you can come back anytime you can while you're still here. Just come on back to the main hall when you're done." She exited the room leaving Sam and Dean with unlimited access to not only the church computers, but the pastor's office and personal computer as well.
"Seriously, it cannot be this easy," Dean said in disbelief.
"Yeah," Sam agreed looking around uneasily. "I keep waiting for something to go wrong."
They both stood there for a second just in case before heading into the pastor's office. Dean immediately started rifling through his filing cabinets and the papers on his desk, while Sam took charge of his computer. He was amazed to find that the pastor had no password protection at all. But hey, easier for him, and it was kind of a nice change to be investigating something without having random objects thrown at him or being choked in some way. Not breathing wasn't as fun as it sounded. Usually. Much to their dismay, they found nothing incriminating, although Sam did manage to fix the problem with the computers. So that was a plus.
They waited until Sunday morning to break into his house. It was a cute little white clapboard home with blue trim. The lock was ridiculously easy to pick. "Jeez, it's like these people want their homes and public buildings to be broken into," Dean mentioned scornfully.
Sam rolled his eyes. "I sincerely doubt that Dean. Now can we just get this done? I really don't want to be caught breaking into the pastor's house."
"Yeah, I suppose some of the townsfolk might take exception to it," Dean agreed as he moved down the hallway towards what was hopefully the pastor's office and bedroom.
The three doors thankfully led to a bathroom (Dean had to pee like a racehorse), the bedroom and the home office. Sam took the office and started rummaging through the file cabinets and papers on the desk briefly before moving onto the desktop computer. Dean poked around the bedroom after he finished using the bathroom. After finding nothing except a surprising amount of romance novels and some really boring clothes he joined Sam in the office and started doing a more thorough check of the filing cabinets. They found zip.
"Well this sucks."
Sam nodded in agreement and sighed. "The most incriminating things I can find are some overdue library books."
"What kind?"
"Why?"
Dean shrugged. "He had loads of romance novels in his bedroom. Just curious to see if he ever reads anything else."
"Well, it looks like four romance novels," Sam said glancing at the covers which depicted busty women and overly muscled men. "And one book on how to build a soapbox derby racer."
"Huh." Dean looked around hoping some sort of evidence would spring out at them. But after nothing happened he and Sam made sure everything was still in place and took off locking the backdoor behind them.
"Well we're just gonna have to do some more digging," Dean told him as he leaned back precariously in his chair. "Start in on that teacher guy."
"I suppose," Sam agreed reluctantly. He eyed his brother and secretly wished Dean's chair would tip over backward and land his ass on the threadbare carpet. How was it that Dean, whether on a hunt or sitting in a motel room, was never anything less than perfectly agile? Sam sighed and turned his mind back to the problem, because Dean was starting to look at him funny.
"So, how exactly are we supposed to dig?" Sam asked. "We can't just stroll into the junior or senior high school and wander around. I'm pretty sure there are some people who might take exception to that. Besides, most schools require identification badges or passes now."
"Oh come on, they can't be that strict about it. Besides, no one would actually suspect us of trying to grab a girl or whatever anyway," Dean reassured him, "I mean they all think we're gay, may as well use it to our advantage."
"I don't care how gay they think we are, if two older guys start sneaking around in the school, it's gonna look a little iffy."
"Yeah, I suppose it might not be the best idea," Dean agreed reluctantly. He tapped the pen he had stolen from his brother against his teeth for a few seconds. "I've got it."
"Got what?" Sam inquired suspiciously.
"We'll break into the school," Dean announced with a pleased grin on his face.
"That's your brilliant idea?"
"Yeah, it's perfect," Dean told him confidently.
"I don't know Dean, do we really have to break into the school. Can't we just pose as student teachers or janitors or something?"
"Oh come on Sam, what could possibly go wrong you big pansy?"
"You just…you just want us to end up in jail, don't you?" Sam asked him completely exasperated.
"Aww, don't worry Sammy. If we end up in the big house, I'll make you my bitch so no one else'll deflower your lily white ass." Dean thumped his chair back onto all four legs and stood up to stretch. "So you wanna grab some dinner before we break into the school?"
"Yeah alright, but I just wanna go on record as saying that this is a dumbass idea and I'm pretty sure the only reason you're making us break into the school is because you didn't end up getting to break into the church."
"Officially, I think a little B and E is the best way to do this. Off the record however," Dean grinned maniacally,"yeah, I felt a little cheated."
"I can't believe you're making me break into a school," Sam moaned. "I mean a church is one thing, but school is sacred."
Dean looked over at him as they crept through the school grounds toward one of the backdoors. "You really freak me out sometimes, you know that?"
"Why do we have to break into the school first anyway? Why couldn't we have broken into his house?"
"Settle Sammy, we'll get to his house next. One felony at a time."
Sam gave him a bitchface and proceeded to examine the lock as Dean scrutinized the area for anyone who might see them.
"You got the lock picks right Sammy?"
"No Dean, I'm a dentist and these are the tools of my trade," he told his brother sarcastically as he pulled his lock pick kit out of his pocket.
Without removing his gaze from the area he was surveying, Dean managed to kick Sam directly in the ass. "Damnit Dean, I'm trying to work here!"
"Sorry dude, foot slipped."
"I'll slip you," Sam muttered.
Dean snorted in reply choosing to ignore his brother's lame attempt at a comeback.
"Alright, we're in." Sam cautiously pulled the door and peered inside the darkened building.
"Sweet, let's hit it." They entered the school silently and turned their flashlights on low. It really wouldn't be very helpful for them if someone saw the lights in the building and called the cops. The last thing Sam wanted to do was break out of jail. They'd been doing that way too much lately. Seeing as how Dean was in the Federal database instead of just state ones, he could be identified a lot more quickly. And his current identification was that of a murderer, so it was probably for the best to just not get caught in the first place. Sam looked down one off white hallway as Dean looked the other way.
"So where's Harkman's classroom?" Sam asked.
"What do you mean where's his classroom, I thought you knew!"
"Why would I know?" Sam asked in exasperation. "Recon is your job."
"Since when?!"
"Uh, since always!" Sam spread his arms widely and glared at his brother.
"Oh screw you Sam, you said you'd take care of it," Dean accused him.
"When?!"
"This afternoon I said I was gonna go out and get us some lunch and asked you to call the school and get his room number."
"You did not!" Sam protested vehemently.
"I did so!" Dean crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, "You were sitting, looking at something on your laptop and I asked you and you said okay."
"Looking at something?" Sam bit his lip and thought back to that afternoon. "Uh." He started to blush furiously as he thought about what he'd been looking at.
"Wait a minute," Dean said suspiciously. He focused closely on his brother's rising blush. "You were looking at porn, weren't you!?" Dean accused.
"Uh, no. Just, shut up," Sam mumbled uncomfortably.
"Oh holy shit, so now we're planless because you were trying to get your rocks off."
"Oh god, kill me now. Please just strike me down, I beg of you," Sam pleaded as he gazed up at the ceiling.
"Alright, just," Dean sighed. "Fine, we'll just have to wing it. The school's the junior and senior high, but it's still not that big. We'll just walk until we hit the office, break into that too and hope they have a list of all the teachers' rooms."
"I'm sure they will," Sam agreed, still embarrassed by his dropping the ball. "How hard can it be?"
"How hard can it be?" Dean mocked as he punched Sam in the arm yet again.
"Knock it off man. I said I was sorry."
"Sorry doesn't replace those three hours we spent wandering around that godforsaken school."
"Well who would've thought a room assignment listing would be so hard to find?"
Dean just shook his head at Sam and said, "That's one mister."
"Oh come on, we haven't done that since I was like ten years old."
"Yeah well we haven't needed to since then before now."
Sam tried to think of an argument, but he was just too drained. So he toed his shoes off and collapsed onto his bed. Dean used the bathroom going through whatever the hell nightly routine he did that took twenty minutes and got into bed as well. Sam fell asleep instantly, though Dean stayed awake staring alternately at Sam and the ceiling for a good portion of the night.
"Oh my God, this guy is a complete slob." Sam gingerly (and with gloved hands) picked up a pair of boxers off of the kitchen counter with a disgusted look on his face.
"Definitely gonna have to agree with you there Sammy boy. I don't know what I'm smelling, but I'm about this close to throwing up my pancakes." Just out of curiosity Dean peered into the fridge and quickly slammed the door back shut. Sam gave him an inquisitive look. "Something in there moved," Dean declared. "Seriously, I'm not even exaggerating."
Sam looked around for the clearest path through the debris littering the floor to the hallway. Eventually he chose what seemed to be the safest route, as the junk wasn't piled up to towering heights.
Dean followed behind him holding his mouth over his nose. "Fuck, this smells worse than a two day old corpse. What did he do, leave fish guts sitting on a heater?"
"Probably," Sam muttered, "let's just get this over with before a giant rat comes outta a pile of clothes and eats us." They went through his office and bedroom, but once again failed to find evidence of any dastardly deeds. "I dunno man," Sam said with frustration, "Seriously, I give up. There's nothing here except garbage, garbage and more garbage."
"Don't forget the medicine ball," Dean told him as he pointed at it.
"Oh, yeah, wouldn't wanna forget that." Sam rolled his eyes. "He may be a pig, but at least he's in shape."
"I doubt it, this thing doesn't look like it's ever been used."
"Well crap." Sam was completely exasperated. Their entire suspect list had contained only two possibilities and both of them were either innocent or criminal masterminds. And looking around he was really leaning towards innocent. No one this messy could possibly be an evil genius. And the pastor was as squeaky clean as a surgeon's instruments. And those were pretty damn clean.
"We may as well get outta here. Go see Jackie again." Dean carefully maneuvered his way back through the trash to the door. "Hopefully she's managed to think of someone else that hates her."
Sam cleared his throat.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine, dislikes her, whatever."
They headed over to Jackie's house and rang the doorbell. The door swung open revealing Jackie wearing a pair of superman pajamas. Regarding their odd looks she explained, "I usually work in my pajamas, one of the perks of working at home. Come on in."
She led them back over to the living room and they plopped down onto the sofa absolutely exhausted. "So here's the deal Jackie," Dean started, "We've investigated both these guys from top to bottom and inside out and we didn't find a single shred of evidence."
Sam cringed slightly at the look of dismay on her face. "Are you sure there isn't anyone else who might've wanted to do this, anyone at all?"
"I've been thinking about it a lot, believe me." She shrugged her shoulders defeated. "I just can't think of anybody else at all."
The three of them sat in silence, no one sure what to do next. Sam looked around the room and spotted that weird black rooster again. It just stood there avoiding his gaze. Except, it was a rooster, so couldn't actually be avoiding his gaze, it was just looking elsewhere. Still though, it was vaguely odd.
Suddenly Dean jumped up off the couch. "You know what, I just thought of something that might help." He grabbed Sam's arm roughly and dragged him quickly to the door with him.
"What is it?" Jackie asked as she hurried after them.
"Uh, no time to explain now, we really gotta go." Dean grabbed their coats and hurried them out the door without even letting Sam put his on. "We'll be back soon, okay?"
"Dean, what the hell man?" Sam questioned as he dragged his feet and tried to get Dean to release the death grip he had on his arm. Sometimes Dean just got a bug up his butt. He wasn't really good at the research part of the whole hunting gig, but he had the ability to put things together like a puzzle, even with it missing half the pieces. It didn't always happen, but when it did, he was always right, as much as Sam hated to admit it.
"Dude, just get in the car and I'll explain on the way, alright."
Since there was no arguing with Dean when he got into one of these moods, (well you could argue, but it usually resulted in Dean physically placing you in the car), he opened the door and got in.
Dean started the Impala and sped off, despite the low speed limit and the fact that it was broad daylight.
"So?" Sam asked curiously.
"Okay, so you know how I thought this was just some vanilla case?"
"Yeah," Sam replied slowly.
"Well, I think I might've been wrong."
"Explain please." Sam shifted in his seat until he was partially sitting sideways with all of his attention focused on his brother. He knew Dean hated it when he did that. He got annoyed when anyone stared at him too much. Unless it was an attractive female, (or even sometimes an especially attractive male), which of course was why Sam tried to stare at him as much as possible.
Dean pursed his lips in annoyance, glancing over at Sam quickly to make sure he saw it. "So what did you notice that was off about that house?"
"You mean besides the abundance of throw pillows?"
"Yeah, besides that."
"Um…I dunno. Well the rooster was kinda weird I guess," Sam answered.
"Exactly!" Dean exclaimed. "It's that creepy, beady eyed little bastard that's to blame."
"Dude, just because you're afraid of something doesn't make it evil."
"Okay, Dean Winchester does not get afraid. And he especially does not get afraid of birds that can't even fly."
Sam grunted as Dean reached over and thumped his bicep. His brother really needed to learn that violence wasn't the answer. Unless the question involved a demon. Or a monster. Or maybe a clown, although they really should just be included in the monster category.
"Besides, me being suspicious," Dean emphasized, "of something doesn't make it not evil either. Plus the whole rooster thing is pretty obvious if you think about it. With all the books you've read, you must've come across it at one time or another. A black rooster with a red tail? Unexplained money showing up at the rooster's owner's house? Or in this case bank account. It never goes outside?"
"Oh shit!" Sam said as it finally came to him. "It's a fucking Aitvaras."
"Give the girl a prize, which means we need to go find ourselves a bigass axe. Or maybe a sword," Dean pondered.
"You do realize that we have a couple problems here, right?"
"Such as?"
"Well first and foremost the only way to kill an Aitvaras is when it's in its dragon form."
Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "Hence the sword."
Sam looked at him and wondered if maybe all of those hits to the head had finally taken their toll on his brother. It was sad, but maybe it was for the best. He could buy Dean a plastic sword and a stuffed rooster and his brother would think that he'd saved the world.
"Seriously Sam, quit looking at me like I'm nuts. It's just one more in a long line of monsters."
"Um, except not. It's a dragon Dean! A dragon!" Sam couldn't believe that Dean wasn't seeing and acknowledging the extreme mortal peril of this. "Dragons aren't your average monster, they're like the ultra mega monster to end all monsters!" He knew he was panicking slightly, but come on. A dragon! He'd never heard of another hunter successfully killing a dragon, not that there were many of them left to be killed. Well, there was St. George, but that was a hell of a long time ago, plus the guy was a freakin' saint. He obviously had a little extra assistance.
"Chill Sam, I'll take care of the dragon slaying part of it. All you need to do is drive it out of the house."
"I don't think you're understanding the ramifications of what you're asking me to do," Sam told Dean slowly. "If I drive it out of the house it will turn into a dragon. A large, scaled, fire breathing, princess eating monster."
"It'll work perfectly. The only way it can be driven out of a home is by an 'honest, god loving person,'" he finger quoted dramatically. "And that sure as hell rules me out. Plus, you'll be safe in the house while I kill it, so you won't have to be worried about being eaten. Princess," Dean added cheekily as he winked at his brother.
"Okay," Sam said as he took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. Luckily he had taken a yoga class back at Stanford, though it definitely wasn't something he'd ever admit to Dean. That was just asking to be horribly mocked. "So let's say hypothetically that we do manage to kill this thing without dying ourselves or being grievously injured. Will that actually help Jackie?"
"Yeah, I'm not quite clear on that part. But at least we can for sure stop it from screwing over anyone else."
"Take me back to the motel and I'll do some research, see if I can find out what happens to the victims after the Aitvaras is killed."
"Yeah alright, I suppose I could use a nap," Dean mentioned with a happy sigh.
"So I'll be researching and you'll be napping?" Sam asked with raised eyebrows. "In what universe do you think I'd let that happen? You can clean the weapons or something, make sure the axe or sword or whatever is plenty sharp enough to cut through scales."
"I just cleaned and sharpened all the weapons day before last."
"Then watch some TV or something! Ugh, you know what? Maybe you should take a nap. It's probably the only way I'll get anything done."
"Works for me," Dean stated.
"Well that's just great."
"It is great."
"Well fine then."
"It is fine indeed."
"Well," Sam looked up from his laptop and over at Dean who being unable to fall asleep had instead started mending their clothes, "it looks like if we can kill the Aitvaras, it should somehow reverse what it did."
Dean looked up. "So let's say it dumps the money back into the software company's account. Having the money paid back doesn't get Jackie off the hook for supposedly stealing it in the first place."
"I dunno how it works exactly Dean, but according to what I could find and what Bobby could find, the victim is always cleared of any wrong doing."
"Well," Dean said with a shrug, "Hopefully you're right. Jackie's a pretty cool chick."
"Dude, she's like forty years old."
"So she's experienced, so what?"
"You really have no shame, do you?"
"Nope, got rid of the last of it back in 1996."
"So that wasn't too bad." Dean popped a Lynyrd Skynyrd cassette into the tapedeck and settled into the driver's seat.
"It was a little bad," Sam disagreed. "That thing took a chunk out of your leg before you managed to kill it."
"Bah, it was just a friendly nibble."
Sam scowled at his brother also known as the stupid jerk who always tried to downplay his injuries. "A friendly nibble doesn't require fifteen stitches Dean. You're just lucky the Aitvaras turned into a pony sized dragon."
"Whatever, I could have taken on a full size one easy."
"If you ever try to take on a full size dragon it will kill you and then I'll bring you back to life and kill you again myself for being such a dumbass." Sam paused his diatribe and cocked his head. "What's that noise?" He questioned right before the Impala's hood started smoking.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean gently pulled the car over to the side of the road and gave Sam a dirty glance.
"What did I do?"
"I don't know how you did it, but this is definitely your fault Sam." Dean pointed an accusing finger at him as Sam gaped in astonishment.
"Just because I was the first one to hear a weird noise doesn't mean it's my fault," he protested. Dean simply narrowed his eyes and after checking to make sure the road was clear, he stepped out of the Impala and popped the hood.
Sam pouted for a second, but really, even if Dean was being a douchebag, he couldn't stay in a bad mood. Things had actually worked out pretty well for once. Well, with the exception of Dean's leg. They had slain the evil (morally misaligned) dragon and rescued the damsel (forty something year old spitfire of a woman who had now been cleared of all charges, because apparently the bank was now admitting fault) and they had ridden off into the sunset on (in) their magnificent black steed ('67 Chevy Impala).
"So how come the steed doesn't ever throw a shoe or something in the movies?" Sam asked out of the blue. He was standing next to his brother who was waist deep in the Impala's engine trying to figure out why the stupid piece of junk metal had crapped out on them. Or as Dean had put it, 'trying to figure out what Sam had done to injure his sweet precious baby.'
Dean ducked his head out from under the hood and looked at him quizzically. "What the hell are you talking about Sammy? What steed? In what movie?"
Sam coughed. "Uh, nevermind, just thinking out loud."
Dean continued to gaze at him strangely. He shook his head. "Whatever man, if that's what your thinking is like, feel free to keep it to yourself, okay?"
Sam nodded, dealing with a Dean whose Impala was on the fritz was like dealing with a grizzly bear who'd just tangled with a porcupine. Well, food was a universal panacea for Dean, and it was just possible that he was getting a little hungry himself. Sam stopped himself, barely, from leaning against the side of the Impala knowing that it could very possibly set Dean off and contemplated whether a pizza place would deliver to a stalled car on the side of the road.