Authors Note: This story is dedicated to my good friend, MaliBearsBuddy, who actually doesn't realize how much I love her and how much she inspires me daily. I'm going to try to update this regularly (Shh! I know I've promised that before, but I really mean it this time!). This is your late birthday present, 'cause I haven't found the one I've typed up. If I find it, HAPPY CHRISTMAS! Heh. Love you lots, Soph. - Michi
Sam leans casually against the cool exterior of the Impala, a crumpled newspaper lying in his lap as the chorus of "Slow Ride" wafers through the night's air. He was waiting on Dean to score a couple of bucks so they could get back on the road. Not the most honest way to earn some cash, but pool hustling isn't easy and there's no room for a 40 hour workweek being a hunter. The two had just gotten off a job, pretty cut and dry demon exorcism, and were now heading towards Indiana. Another asylum case, as if they needed another.
Sam clothes the newspaper, raising his arm to glance at his watch. 11:27. Dean had been in the bar for a good two and a half hours. He frowns. There was only two reasons why Dean would be taking this long: One, the people Dean was hustling decided to use his face as a punching bag, or two, there was a girl in there. Sam was hoping that it was not the latter, but it wouldn't have been the first time Dean had blown Sam off outside for a few hours, in BFE for that matter, for a chick that he probably never got the name of.
There was one sure fire way that Sam could tell which option it was, and that was to call him. Get an ignore, it'd be easier to barge in on him and tell him they needed to leave, no answer…. Well you can probably figure that one out. Sam slides off the cars hood and tosses the newspaper into the window, grabbing up his phone. He hits Deans speed dial and waits. One ring, two rings, three. He's ready to hang up, take the hit to hang around a little longer, when he hears the feminine voice pick up and the music he's been listening to for the past couple hours flood into his ear.
"Hello?"
"Uhh…" says Sam, confusion running amuck through his head. "I was calling my brother. This is his phone, right?"
A bought of laughter sends a shiver up his spine. Something wasn't right; the voice sounded familiar but distant, a voice he just couldn't place.
"Yeah, Sam. This is his phone. He was going out the door and I guess he left it," the voice said. "Just tell him to come back in when he gets out there."
Sam swallows. "Ahh…Okay. Thanks."
He hears the line click and is met by the onslaught of a frowning Dean. Obviously, nothing about this was right. Before he gives his brother the chance to speak he says, "Go back and get your phone."
Dean's eyebrows crease together. His hand was only a mere inch from the Impala's handle before he pats at his pockets, obviously looking for his cell.
"Dude," he says. "How the Hell'd you know I didn't have that?"
Sam gritted his teeth, tossing his own phone into his seat through the window. "I called."
With a raised brow, Dean nods in understanding, smirking, and heads back inside. Sam tags along, an uneasy feeling turning his stomach with each step he takes. Dean disappears in the crowd, likely towards the bar, and Sam hangs out towards the entrance near the pool tables, waiting. His eyes trail over the over occupied room, teeth nibbling at the inside of his mouth. He was on edge because of the news report he had read and the girl who had answered Dean's phone. This whole scenario had begun to feel weird and it hadn't even been fifteen minutes. The voice on the other side of the line had been so familiar, he should have known who it was, it was on the tip of his –
"Hey, Sam."
The flash of blonde hair and brilliant smile was the first thing to catch him off guard, stop his thought dead in its track.
Sam sighed out a relieved breath. "Hey, Jo."