Disclaimer: Sam and Dean, you've heard of them, so you know I don't own them … but I'm gonna pretend just a little bit longer ;0)

Getting lost inside the mind-maze that is Dean Winchester ;0)

Synopsis: Dean's hungry, Sammy's trying to cope!

Out of my mind

By Merisha

Thanks to Lynne for Beta-ing it for me ;0)

Yup, that coffee buzz is definitely kicking in. It usually happens after my 3rd straight cup. My body starts to twitch, my eyes start to dart and my mind goes into overdrive. I savor my last swig of 'Starbucks Double Espresso Roast'. Caffeine is so gooooooood. There's a slight burning feeling as it settles in my stomach, which brings me back to my immediate problem. I'm officially hungry.

I'm sure I'm on the verge of starvation, fading away into nothingness before my very eyes!

I wonder if the world will miss me. I'm pretty sure that the chicks will miss me, cause chicks dig me … yup, I am so dug by chicks. In fact, just call me electron … because? … because I'm a chick magnet! Note to self, there's a pick-up line I've got to remember.

I'm grinning mindlessly again, must learn to stop doing that. Grin.

Going to pull into the next diner I see. I think I'm gonna have a steak. Grin. Yes sir, I'm gonna have me a whole cow, horns and all, with fries and a shake. I can almost taste it. I can picture my mouth wrapping around a ten inch rump and taking a humongous bite.

My steak must be medium rare, not too medium and not too rare, flame grilled to perfection. Maybe with a chunk of corn bread to mop up the juices. And my crispy, golden fries drizzled with ketchup and mustard. I wonder if they do tankards of milkshake like they do with beer. Is it too early for beer? Maybe I should have a tankard of beer? And a piece of pie, I definitely want me some pie!

Better find some place quick cause I don't think I'm gonna make it, I'm on my last legs, and I think I need to take a leak.

"Growwwwwl"

Was that my stomach? Damn traitor!

Quickly cover it with a cough.

"Coughhhhh"

I covertly look over at Sam, pretending to look out the rear view mirror. Nope. Doesn't seem like he noticed. His nose is deep in a book. Okay. Sign up ahead says 'Diner 5 miles'. Now we're talking. Steak, here I come!

"Are you hungry Dean?"

Holy shit Sam, way to give me a heart attack! Good thing I have the reflexes of a cat. The car only swerves slightly into the oncoming traffic.

"Ah, maybe just a little"

"Really Dean? Just a little? Cause it sounded like you were mimicking the mating call of the beluga whale there for a minute!"

He's smirking, the little shit is actually smirking at me! That's right, laugh it up Sammy, I have ways and means my boy, ways and means! Where did I put that bottle of Nair? And what in hell is a beluga whale anyway? I know what a whale is, but a beluga? Maybe it means dumbass. Yeah, probably means dumbass whale. Trust my nerdy brother to come up with some pedantic shit that I can't even spell. He's such a geek, nope, let me rephrase that, he's such a beluga!

"I haven't eaten since breakfast ..."

My voice comes out a bit whiney so I immediately compensate with a manly

"… dude!"

"Breakfast? we just ate breakfast 2 hours ago!"

"Hey, I can't help it if I have a fast metabolism! I have to eat to maintain this gorgeous physique!"

I wiggle my eyebrows and give Sammy my cockiest grin. I get rewarded with an empty M&M's packet thrown at my head. Damn kids of today, no respect!

"Ah shit Sammy, look what you made me do, we just drove past that diner!"

Sam looks back suspiciously.

"Dean, that dump was not a diner, I think I saw a few cockroaches trying to escape."

"Yeah, very funny, I'm turning around!"

"No Dean, seriously, you can't eat there, you'll die of food poisoning and I am so not willing to fill in all the unnecessary paperwork that will involve!"

He's smirking again, the little shit!

"I have a very strong constitution Sam, and I'm gonna die of hunger before I die of food poisoning!"

He's giving me that 'sometimes-you're-so-totally-out-of-your-mind' look.

"Listen, we'll just keep driving, there's bound to be a decent place somewhere up ahead, maybe with a drive-thru."

I'm beyond disgusted.

"A drive-thru? Sam I cannot believe you just said that! Like I'd ever submit you to the humiliation of a drive-thru baby!"

I'm talking to the Impala, gently patting her highly polished dash with my free hand. My wingman is very insensitive sometimes. He smirks again. I don't think he grasps the seriousness of the situation.

But the gods of beverages must be looking out for me because I spot a bar slash diner slash fill-up station to the right and I do a magnificent 180°. The impala drifts on the asphalt to a perfect stop, straight into a parking spot, just in front of the door. I look over at Sammy who is holding the roof and the dash and giving me the dirtiest look he can muster. Grin.

"Dean, sometimes you are such an asshole!"

But he shakes his head and gives a nervous laugh, so he's not completely pissed. I think he's becoming immune to my Daytona driving skills. I chuckle and my older-brother-gene encourages me to rag him further.

"And sometimes you are such a girl, Samantha!"

As we get out of the Impala the name calling begins, all the way to the "little boys room" with "Tiny" and "Wiener" topping the bill and then all the way to the diners 'bell tinkling' swing doors.

"Jerk!"

"Bitch!"

"Ass!"

"Beluga!"

Sam shakes his head again and starts laughing. I join in.

We both chuckle over to the nearest empty booth and slide in, swatting the tears of amusement from our eyes. It feels good to laugh; we've had a tough week, what with Sammy nearly getting molested by an amorous goat. I'm still having problems getting that picture out of my head. Serves him right for trying to take a shortcut through a pasture to a haunted farmhouse, with promises (in his college boy voice) that the "mammal species, genus Capra aren't natural aggressors and are in fact quite tame". Tell that to the Billy goat that fell in love with Sammy's leg. Goat $200, Medical Supplies $50, Sammy's face, Priceless! And me getting kicked sorely in the shin (thank god for little mercies not the jewels) while trying to rescue him. Leaving me with an impressive Technicolor bruise. Then having to wrestle the horny mother off Sam while he made a quick get away back over the fence, me a millisecond behind him, goat horns right on my tail. Things like that can really cramp a guy's style. I ragged him for hours, smirking through the pain, until Sam reminded me of my incident with "Betsy-the-lamb" when I was 12. It's still a sore subject, so I immediately backed down.

A pretty brunette waitress saunters over to us and my mood goes from fine to fantastic in 0,3 seconds.

"So what can I do for you boys?" She drawls in a purdy Texan accent.

I dazzle her with my patented heartbreaker smile and she's hooked. Now to reel her in.

"Hi, I'm Dean …" I give a sufficient pause "… but you can just call me Electron!"

I don't dare introduce Sammy (who is trying very unsuccessfully to muffle a laugh) wouldn't want to break the spell I'm casting over her. I make sure to hold her eyes captive with mine. She's almost swooning in my gaze and unconsciously licks her bottom lip. Sometimes it's just too easy. Grin. She giggles sweetly and asks the inevitable question.

"So why do they call you Electron?"

I lean in closer and she automatically leans down to hear what I have to say, giving me an awesome view. I revert to my husky bedroom voice, giving her a seductive wink and looking at her as if she's the only person in the room.

"Cause I'm a chick magnet."

She giggles flirtatiously, and replies in what must be her husky bedroom voice, "I bet you are cowboy!"

Sammy's rolling his eye's at me, but I brush him off. There's nothing that he can teach me about romancing the ladies. She eventually walks away with our orders, her hips swinging seductively. I put her telephone number in the top pocket of my jacket. Her names Candy. She gets off at 8. Grin.

"I cannot believe you actually get away with BS like that!"

He's shaking his head but grinning broadly. I'm glad he's impressed. I don't tell him that I've noticed a couple of girls at the other table checking him out, whispering and giggling to each other. Sammy seems to be oblivious when it comes to appreciation from the opposite sex.

"Well Sammy, what do you expect, I am after all the older, more-knowledgeable-in-the–ways-of-women, member of the family."

I wink at him. He chuckles, unconvinced.

"Dean, I think that you may be the only person I know that can rattle off the cheesiest pick-up lines and still get a date."

"Must be my pheromones ..."

"Yeah."

"… and my boyish charm …"

"Yeah."

" … and my dazzling green eyes …"

"DEAN!"

Pause.

" … and my kissable lips!"

Sam launches one of his freakishly long arms at me and I barely manage to miss a swat to the head. Grin.

All bets are off when the food eventually arrives. My slab of cow with side orders and Sammy's health-bran-fruity-cocktail-salad-contraption. He says he's still full from breakfast. Our waitress doesn't even look at Sam. She winks at me, I wink back, Sam clears his throat. She twirls her hair, I flex my arm muscles as I reach for the salt, Sam makes a comment about getting a room, she reluctantly leaves.

I look down lovingly at the steak presented before me. I bow my head, fold my hands and pray.

"Lord, thank you for making cows! Amen"

Sam snorts loudly.

"SNORRRRT!"

He's giving me that 'you-are-such-a-total-moron-sometimes' look.

"What? Cows are the main producers of beef!" I say while chewing on said piece of beef. Chew.

"No Dean, actually cows are the main producers of milk, Steers are the main producers of beef."

Blah, blah, blah … blah, blah …

"Well thank you Dr Doolittle!"

I feel outwitted by my baby brother, again, but then suddenly inspiration hits me.

"Don't cows give birth to baby bovines? So that would automatically make them the producers of beef!"

Ha, beat that grasshopper! Chew. Sam's looking at me in shock.

"Dean, you just said bovines! Have you been reading the Farmers Weekly again? Sussing out the milkmaid centerfold or perhaps you're looking to purchase a sheep or two!"

He bursts out laughing, must be the look of disgust on my face.

"I wouldn't talk if I were you … Mr Goat Whisperer!"

I burst out laughing at the total look of disgust on Sammy's face.

I eventually compose myself and give up the banter, transferring my full attention to the meal before me. Damn this is some seriously fine grub. My eyes roll with pleasure and I 'groan' as I bite into another tender, juicy piece of steak.

"Groan."

I 'ah' as I bite into a chunk of freshly baked cornbread.

"Ah."

I 'ooh' as I jab my fork into the sticky piece of strawberry pie.

"Ooh."

Sammy's looking at me with his eyebrows raised. His own spoon full of goodness hovering in mid-air as he watches me.

"What?"

"Dean, you really need to see a professional about this unhealthy love affair you have with food."

"I don't have an unhealthy love affair with food! It's more like a wholesome religious experience!"

I sigh contentedly, rubbing my pleasantly full stomach. Sam snorkels. We sit in silent companionship, sipping some more good, strong coffee. Need to keep my caffeine levels up.

I notice the two girls still giggling and casting longing looks at Sammy. He just sips his coffee, oblivious. I swear those girls could come over and give him a skilled lap dance and he still wouldn't notice. A money making scheme forms in my head whereby money from Sam's wallet finds a new home in my wallet. And Sammy thought he was the "evil-one" in the family. Grin.

"Sammy, those two chicks over there are eyeballing you like you're the prize-winning Turkey at Thanksgiving! "

"Who?"

He looks around surprised, sees the girls trying to hide behind their hands, giggling girlishly. He blushes furiously and says:

"Nah, I think they're looking at you!"

'No way man, they seem to have a thing for gangly, long legged freaks."

Sammy gives me one of those "I'm-gonna-kill-you-when-I-eventually-catch-you" looks.

"Bite me!"

"10 bucks says you don't have the cojones to go over there and get a telephone number."

He looks at me assessingly, which should have been my first warning.

"Make it 20"

"You're on!"

I know that there is no way in hell that Sammy will get a telephone number; he's far too sensitive to chick's feelings. He likes to get to know a girl, wine her and dine her. He'd never go straight for the jugular and ask for a telephone number. Me on the other hand, I don't waste time on frivolities, I'm more of a "wham, bam, thank-you ma'am" kind of guy.

He walks over to the girls who almost squirm out of the chairs. Sammy's face is blazing red. I have to give him credit for plucking up the courage. He leans down, and after a few seconds, he looks over at me, shaking his head sadly. The girls follow his gaze and look at me sympathetically. They are hanging on his every word, which should have been my second warning.

Incredibly one of the girls scribbles on a napkin, shaking her head forlornly and giving me another pitiful look. He moseys on back with a devious grin on his face. The whole process took him less than a minute.

"Hand it over!"

"What? There's no way Sammy, you couldn't have gotten a telephone number that quickly?"

I am dumbfounded that my baby brother could firstly wangle a telephone number out of some girls, and secondly only take a minute to do so. That surely has to be a record somewhere in the world, and I refuse to believe that I wasn't the one to break it.

"Well here's the proof!"

He waves the napkin under my nose.

"What did you say to them?"

"I told them that you suffer from fatuity. They thought it was some sort of illness. I told them it was and that unfortunately you couldn't be cured."

The little shit is smirking again.

"Then I said that you were having a serious problem trying to remember a telephone number, and that when I gave you the correct number, you wouldn't believe me, so I came over to get it in writing."

I gingerly open up the folded napkin and read the number.

"911!!"

"Well Dean, you weren't ever specific about the type of telephone number I had to get. You just said "get a telephone number", which I successfully did. So Big Bro, according to those girls over there you're a beluga and according to my calculations you owe me 20 bucks! Hand it over!"

His eyes are sparkling with mirth. The little shit!

I give him a withering look. He's getting too good at this, I'm gonna have to up the level of my game. He had me seriously worried that I was loosing my touch. Note to self, be more S P E C I F I C next time, dumb ass.

I rummage around in my sparse wallet and pull out a hard earned 20. I hold it lovingly between my fingers. Sam snatches it from my grasp and hums "If I were a rich man" as he saunters out the diner to the car. Leaving me with the bill. I pull out one of my numerous credit cards; lunch today is on Mr. G Samson from Kentucky.

Sammy is turning into a sneaky, scheming, cunning and Wily son of a gun! THAT'S MY BOY!!

Grin.