First off, a good ol' confession: I have published this story before, but back then it was at least 16 pages long and in one go. No one really read it, and I don't blame them. But I liked the story line, so I give the very-edited-and-pulled-to-pieces-improved version of 'California Dreaming'!
All I own is series one (and of yesterday!) two of this amazing TV show, AKA Eric Kripke owns all. Apart from Gemma. She's mine MWHAHAHA! (sorry...)
Dean hated Crossroad Demons. They were annoying, stupid, and they did nothing but waste his time. Never in a million years will I make a deal with one of those things, he thought to himself as he took a drink from his fourth or fifth beer. Actually, better make that ten million years.
The reason he was thinking about this certain type of demon was because he and Sam had just finished a case with them. A few idiots had decided that they wanted to be really good at what they were really crap at, and had summoned the suckers using a few dark bits and bobs. Even though they had managed to save a man from being mauled to death by a really mad invisible dog, Dean knew that it wouldn't be the last time he would hear of them.
"People are crazy," Dean thought aloud. He then proceeded to drain his bottle in one.
Sam glanced up from a book he was reading and laughed. He could see his brother was drunk, heck, even a blind man would be able to see that Dean was drunk, but he decided to play along. "And why's that, Dean? Why are we 'crazy'?"
Dean narrowed his eyes as he tried to decide what Sam to talk to. They were all floating around each other, and Dean shook his head until the real one came into focus. "Cause we are."
Sam laughed again and turned back to his book. "Whatever, man, whatever." But Sam still had to agree with Dean. The last case had troubled him a little more than he would ever let on. It puzzled him what people would do for wealth, fortune and fame. People are crazy.
Dean watched his little brother read for a bit, but got bored after a while. He is such a nerd! He thought grumpily. "Why do we never do anything fun?" he asked, pulling up a chair at their current motel's dining room table. He flopped onto the seat and rested his heads on his crossed arms.
"Uh, because we're usually working."
"Yeah, so? Why can't we go to a bar, or meet some ladies once in a while? Why do we have to spend every night together in a motel room?" Dean unsuccessfully suppressed a shudder. "That sounds dirty."
Sam pulled a face and closed his book and committed the page number to memory in the process. "Alright. Tomorrow night, you, me, we'll hit a bar. Just as long as you promise to behave and not set me up with anyone again." He got up and grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge. "I don't think I'll ever get over Freddie."
"Hey, he looked interested in you," Dean sniggered, taking one of the beers. He slammed its top against the table to get rid of the lid and grinned as he raised it to his lips. "He was better than anything you've had recently."
Sam decided to play the maturity card and rolled his eyes. He then re-opened the book about Norse Folklore and Mythology that Bobby had asked him to do some research on. He had agreed half-heartedly when he had been assigned the task. No matter how many jokes Dean cracked, reading about Norse gods was not one of his top ten favorite things to do.
So he was slightly relieved to put the book down when his phone went off. "Hello?" he said into it, standing and walking into the bedroom for some privacy.
Dean watched his brother go as he took another drink. Sam had matured -hunting wise- in the past year and a half, and he was proud of his baby brother. Not that he would ever admit it. It depends how drunk I am. Hey, maybe I should bring it up tonight! Dean laughed at his own joke, but stopped when he heard Sam's conversation.
"What are the doctors saying?" Pause. "Are they sure?"
Dean heard the bed creak as it took Sam's weight, and it was then that he realized something must be wrong.
"Yeah…yeah…OK. I'll see you soon. Take care of yourself."
Dean heard sniffling coming from the other room. Something must be really wrong. He tried to decide if he should go through and comfort the younger man when Sam came through. Dean busied himself as Sam wiped at his eyes and only looked up when he was sure the water works had stopped. "What's wrong? Is it Bobby? Is it-"
"No one you know, Dean," Sam reassured him. He then went silent.
"Well, what is it?" Dena pressed. He couldn't stand it whenever he only got half the story.
"It's this girl I went to Stanford with. Gemma Marshall."
"And what, she getting married and that's breaking your heart?" When no reply came, Dean got up and took his brother by the shoulders. "Tell me what's up. I heard something about a doctor."
"She's got terminal cancer," Sam said slowly and carefully. He looked up, and his eyes filled with fresh tears. "She's dying, Dean."
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