My Crazy Mind Prompt: Dean is so busy trying to get "the job" done that he doesn't realize Sam has taken up playing their moms old guitar in what spare time they have. So when Sam asks him to meet him at an open mic night out in the middle of nowhere ohio, he figured they'd be laughing at some untalented losers, not that his brother had wrote him a (pretty awesome) lovesong and was apologizing for their fucked up life. Now it's Dean's turn to get a little chick flicky when he realizes how much Sam has really done for him and he needs to find a way to show his little bro that he loves him a little more than he should too.

This comes in two parts. Prepare for part two.

Dean was tired. Tired of driving, tired of thinking, of hunting, of getting his ass kicked, of being lied to. But mostly he was just fucking exhausted. He hadn't slept more than 3 hours in the past week-when he had it was only in his car might he add- and he was about to pass out at the wheel and crash his baby, no matter how much he loved her. So when he pulled into a motel in the middle of Batshit Nowhere, Ohio-Hill of dirt or something?- he totally did not feel guilty leaving his sleeping brother in the passenger seat. Not at all.

Fucker got to sleep.

God, he was tired. Where was the fucking clerk so he could get a damn room? He banged impatiently on the deskbell and cringed at the loud ringing noise that startled him out of half dead stupor into something similar to but not quite conciousness.

And it still took the stupid clerk another 5 minutes to come to the front desk. If the older Winchester had the energy he would have punched the asshole in the face. Repeatedly. But as it was he could barely muster the effort to shove his Mastercard-the one under the name Rick Savage- into the clerks face and fall helplessly into bed after waking his sasquatch of a brother.

He didn't even feel bad leaving Sam to bring in both of their bags. Not even a little.

And even then, the instant he hit the not so soft sheets, his phone rang. While he talked to Bobby about a possible case he considered smashing his face off the coffee-stained bedside table just to get some shut eye. And of course the very instant he got off the phone Sam came storming grumpily into the room, throwing Dean's duffle right onto his face.

And thats what broke him.

"The hell Sam! Seriously! Get your damn panties out of a twist okay! You can take your screwed up lady hormones somewhere else!" He stood quickly, too quickly and pushed his fingers against the bridge of his nose to calm the bout of diziness that struck him before he wobbled onto the floor.

Sam's rebuttal died on his lips. "Dean?" he questioned, concern and fear etched into his tone.

"I'm fine Sammy," Dean grumbled back, all his anger gone and replaced with the drowsy haze he couldn't seem to escape. "Jus' tired." And when he flopped down onto his bed and nothing disturbed him Dean almost thought it was too good to be true.

For once, it wasn't.

When he woke, it was too damn quiet. The birds weren't chirping, no dogs were barking and it seemed as though the whole town was at a standstill. It was also late the next afternoon.

As he stumbled out of the disheveled sheets and realized he was somehow stripped down to his boxers he noticed the distinct lack of gangly sasquatch in the other bed.

He sighed into the back of his wrist. "Aw hell."

Dean checked the bathroom, the Impala, under the bed, around the motel, down the street, and the 8 nearest places he could buy rabbit food before he found the note.

8PM, 251 W5 AVE

And finally a crudely drawn picture of a guy on a phone, the letters u and mand what Dean really hoped was a giant yellow school bus, because if it wasn't, he...well he really needed to invest in some art lessons for his brother.

But it obviously made zero sense. Was it a ransom note? It would be weird if his kidnapper had forced him to write it. A call for help? Maybe, but it seemed too polished, no matter how horribly Sammy drew he had obviously worked hard on it.

But what did it mean? Obviously the first part of it was the time. 8pm, simple enough. It was the rest of the note that confused him. 251 W5 AVE meant nothing to him. Neither did that stupid picture of a stick man calling some guy named um on a bu-.

"Columbus." Dean laughed, "You sneaky bastard."

It was a lot easier to decode after that. After some googling he found a "251 West 5th Avenue Columbus" and came up with some scary place called "The Shrunken Head". It seemed to be some sort of horror film tiki bar-which actually seemed oddly perfect for their situation-and they were...having an open mic night.

Dean smirked slyly to himself, remembering the only other time he had been to an open mic night with Sam. The two of them had snuck out of the motel room to go see one of Dean's friends at the time play at this local drag called "Stanky Joe's". And aptly named that bar was, the food stunk, the people stunk and the musicians who boarded the stage to, as Sammy put it, "dump their load of crap on others in the form of screeching" definitely stunk.

So maybe as he grabbed his coat he figured they'd be lazing around, getting wasted and having some of that brother time they really couldn't afford, and hadn't had since before his little brother left him for Stanford.

Or maybe he had just hoped.

I promise I will write part two. It might take a while, but I will in fact write it.

Please love me?