Authors' Note - Set after the events of Season 9, Episode 11, but before the events of Season 9, Episode 15. Your choice as to where in that time frame this falls. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy - May have somewhat slow updates, but don't forget to drop a line and tell me what you think!
"Hey, I think I found one."
Sam lifted his gaze over the edge of the laptop screen, watching as Dean, sitting across the table from him, lazily glanced over the rim of hours-cooled coffee. They had been sitting in the small town diner for what seemed like days without a word spoken between them, with only the steady clackling of keyboard tiles and the drumming of fingertips against a plastic-made-to-look-marble table glued awkwardly close enough to his side of the booth to make moving around impossible, and the occasional polite conversation with the aging waitress who came around whenever she realized they were still there, to fill the silence weighing on their shoulders.
Maybe if he weren't already having such a horrible week, Dean would have given her more than just a few short lines, given she looked as burned out as he felt considering the oily, stringy hair well camoflauged into a messy bun and her preoccupied lack of thought which lead to his triple bacon cheeseburger with everything becoming a double cheeseburger with a single strip of bacon, a handful of tomato slices, and a pitiful last-breath-of-the-bottle splash of mustard to crown its dishonored glory.
Maybe.
"Took you long enough. How far?"
It came out with more contempt than he'd wanted, his tone a low and threatening growl, despite the innocent words. Still, he felt a tiny swelling of satisfation at Sam's barely lowered brows, from the obvious irritation in the crinkling of his nose to the tell-tale curl of his upper lip as he bit back what promised to be a scathing retort. It gave him a sense of... less irritation with the wait. Sam, taking a long shallow breath, found that the exhaustion of the past few days was wearing on him, numbing the urge to rise to the challenge shinning in his brother's eyes.
In all honesty, Sam had been researching a case he'd decided was a case over two hours ago, while he avoided mentioning anything to Dean. Not that it was a difficult feat; Dean seemed more than happy to sulk and brood over their recent string of unfortunate events, just as Sam was content keeping his mind preoccupied from waiting on word of Crowley's hunt for the First Blade and the implications bringing it and the mark of Cain together spelled for Dean. So what better way to clear his head than to dive head-first into another job?
Well, that was before he realized how complicated this case might be. Adjusting the computer so Dean could see the screen, Sam threw a quick glance over his shoulder, but only two people had entered the diner in a while, and both seemed finished with their meals and ready to leave. Likewise, their waitress was no where in sight as Sam leaned back over the table, his voice lowering.
"'Bout two hours north, but Dean, there's something-"
"Weird going on," Dean finished for him, tearing his eyes away from the laptop while reaching for his bag. "There's always something weird going on. We'll talk it over in the car, let's just get the hell outta here."
"Wait, Dean...!"
The rest of Sam's protests died on his tongue amid the blur of movement that was his brother. In mere seconds the bell to the diner door was chiming its merry tune, leaving Sam digging at his temples with calloused knuckles. Letting out a long, slow breath, he dug into his pocket, fingers closing around a twenty dollar bill. Throwing it onto the table with one hand, he closed the laptop with his other, collecting it under his arm while scooting out of the too-low booth where he was sure his knees had become one with the bottom of the table.
His long stride took just seconds to reach the door, passing their waitress on the way out as she headed toward their now vaccant table. Without knowing quite what made him stop, though the glossy look in her eyes was a slight concern, he watched her robotically carry a quarter-full coffee pot to their table, topping off Dean's unfinished cup. What kept Sam rooted to the spot was that she turned, ignoring the money left in plain sight on the table, and walked away; as if she hadn't even noticed they were gone.
His brows knotted together as he studdied the scene, trying to make sense of it, when two startling honks from the parking lot spilled a fresh wave of frustration over him like a bucket of ice. The sound that stole from his lips was somewhere between a grunt and a growl as he forced himself to turn back toward the doors, pushing them open into a blast of suffocating heat. Wincing at the brightness of the day despite the waning hours, he made short work of the trek to the impala, leaving the twinkling chime of the diner bells long behind with the slam of the passenger side door.
Sinking into air-conditiioned bliss, Sam turned to face Dean, catching him as his hand landed on the gear shift.
"Dean, wait. I think there might actually be a case here, too. That waitress? She-"
"Was out of it? Drugs maybe? Loony bin case? I dunno, Sam, everyone else looked pretty normal in there to me. The only monster like thing she did was butcher my poor sandwich, so if you don't mind, there's a store down the street where I'm gonna get myself some real grub. Then we're gonna hit the road, and talk about that case you found. Okay?"
Without waiting, Dean shifted the car into reverse, the slight kick of the car following his mumbled, "Okay." as he backed out of the lot. Sam slumped back into the seat with a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes toward the window, watching the quaint little building disappear behind them, replaced with the backdrop of another small town; all different, yet all exactly the same.
Maybe Dean was right. Pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, he shifted his laptop onto his lap and opened it again, the screen flashing back to the pages he'd been looking at before Dean's race for the exit.
"Anyway, so two people have been pronounced dead with- get this- no real cause of death. Not natural causes, not even suicide. Stranger than that-"
Within seconds the car had pulled into a spot in front of a tiny mom-and-pop shop, been turned off, while Dean opened the door and stepped out into the sweltering heat.
"Where are you going?!"
Frustration colored Sam's quick outburst as he leaned across the divider, despite the waves of heat pounding at his face from the dry wind the impala attempted to sheild them from, to watch Dean with one foot still in the car, lean down to fix him with an impatient, unyeilding stare.
"Real food, remember?"
Again, without waiting for a response, Dean had drawn himself out of the impala, giving the roof a sharp rap as he slammed the door on Sam, who's lips curled as he fought back another grunt. When that didn't work, and the sound came out anyway, he gave into it, throwing his hands into the air as he sat up, leaning against the side of the door as he jammed his fist into the side of his cheek. Once more he stared mutely out the window, this time without seeing any part of the world around him.
Instead, his thoughts were consumed by the hope that, along with his 'road food', Dean would grab himself a Snickers.
"So you're honestly trying to tell me these people friggin' died while having sex?"
"During, after, no one knows, that's the thing."
Dean scoffed, his knuckles tightening into white bricks that covered the delicate steering wheel of his baby like ivory on ebony. Still, he couldn't help stealing a glance when Sam turned the computer to face him, his scoff from earlier blooming into a bark of laughter as his eyes returned to the road.
"Hey, at least they died happy."
"Seriously? That's what you take out of this?"
Attempting to control his laughter into a quiet snigger, Dean cast a few more looks toward the passanger side, gaging the look on Sam's face. Shock, disgust, and anger answered his seeking gaze, helping his laughter fade as one hand abandoned the wheel to point at the photos.
"Oh, come on! Don't tell me they don't look like they've got grins plastered all over their cold mugs, 'cuz from where I'm sitting, looks like these guys were having the time of their lives."
"Yeah, well, be that as it may," Dean couldn't help another snort as from the corner of his eye, he watched Sam turn the laptop back toward himself, "Two vics show up within twenty-four hours of each other, both who just died during sex- oh, but nothing actually happened to them that would kill them?"
"Yeah, yeah, I get you. Sounds like our kinda thing."
Shifting for a better position, Dean made himself comfortable as Sammy started explaining what he'd found so far.
"First guy was reported missing a week ago by his boss for not showing up to work- apparently he had a reputation for never missing- and then later that night by his wife, who said she came home to an empty house and just 'knew' there was something wrong. Next day, he's found completely naked, spread-eagled in the middle of a local love hotel bed. Not to mention, he's dead. Wife says it was an 'act of god', punishing him for being unfaithful."
"So, what? We thinking witch?"
Glancing back at Sam, Dean watched him shaking his head, absorbed in the computer as he continued,
"I dunno. Might be, since it only gets weirder from there. See, the next guy wasn't even reported missing. He was just found a day after the first vic, this time behind a strip joint."
"I know which crime scene I'm investigating," Dean chuckled, earning a long silence from the other man.
After a few seconds, Dean arched an eyebrow, glancing over to meet Sam's stern gaze, displeasure written on his face as he sat there in defiant silence. Dean could feel his lips twitching downward as he turned, refocusing on the road. When his silence wasn't enough to make Sam continue, he huffed, grumbling,
"Right. No fun. Forgot about that. Won't happen ag-"
"Just shut up."
"Then start talking."
He could hear shifting in the seat beside him, but he refused to let himself look at Sam, instead focusing on road signs and mile markers, on the red mustang that blew past them in the fast lane, on the dangerously blinding glint of that evil ball of flame peeking out from along the tree line beyon-
"When the girls were interviewed, they told police he was a new guy, never came in before, and left out the back with some girl who didn't even work there."
"Footage?"
"Still shots, and only of her back as she's leading him out. No one recognized her, and to quote, 'everything seemed normal'."
"Well, that generally tells me everything I need to know. So whatever was put in the report there-"
"Wasn't the whole truth." Sam finished, nodding his head.
"Right. When we get there, I'll drop you off at the widdow's place and then check out what really happened to Happy McFeelGood."
"Dean," came the low warning. drowned out by,
"Relax, Sammy. All business; got it."
Dean reached forward to turn the radio on, a smile tugging at his lips to hear Credence Clearwater Revival croning out their greatest hit through well-kept speakers. Then Sam was trying to talk over the song, but with a flick of the dial, CCR was once more the dominant sound between the two, and Dean was more than alright with it.
After that, the rest of the trip folded into Sam and Dean ignoring each other up until they were parked in front of a Mrs. Willow Faulkinson's house, with Sam just stepping out of the car, pausing as he did so. Arching an eyebrow, Dean leaned slightly over to see if there was anything that had caught the younger's attention, when Sam turned around to lean back into the car, keeping the door open while giving him a hard stare.
"Alright, what's your problem?"
"What problem?"
"I dunno. I guess... you're just more of a dick, lately."
Trying and failing to resist the urge to roll his eyes, Dean scoffed, shaking his head as he righted himself in the seat.
"Yup. Partners are dicks. Speaking of which, close that door so I can get back to 'business', will you?"
Plastering the nicest smile he could on his face, he turned his head to look at Sam, whose eyes had narrowed. They stayed that way for an uncomfortable amount of time, but it was Sam that finally broke the tension by heaving an exhausted sigh, leaning back, and slamming the door shut. Within seconds, Dean had the impala pealing back onto the road, music screaming to the world through her open windows.
Shifting further back into his seat, he turned the radio up a few more notches, still unable to drown out his own thoughts for all the wailing of his favored steel guitars. For now though, he would have to settle with focusing on the case at hand.
"Strip joint, huh...?" He couldn't even hear himself talk over the music. "Let's see what you got."
