Chapter 1—Missing
"Dean, how many of those have you had?"
"I don't know. I stopped counting after like, three."
It was another late night for the Winchester brothers. They were both broke and stuck in a backwater hick town in a lousy motel. They both had been working the poker and pool tables for awhile until Dean decided to challenge another person to a drinking game. From there, Dean kept the guys coming. Sam decided to intervene when he finally seemed unable to sit upright by himself, which only took about six rounds.
As Sam pulled Dean through the door of the honky-tonk, a few weird, pale people stared after them. Sam didn't make eye contact, but Dean waved as he stumbled by and said very loudly, "Hey! Wanna come to my place?" The laughter that erupted behind them was cut off as the door slammed shut.
"Come on Sam! I could have taken on that one guy and totally whooped his ass!"
"Dean, you should hear yourself. It's like talking to you on slow mo!" Dean swaying, rubbed his drunken eyes and stared at Sam. He looked like a lost puppy.
"Let's get you into a bed." Sam gripped Dean's arm and tried to pull him around to the passenger side. Dean grabbed the driver's door instead.
"Dude, what the hell?"
"I'm driving!"
"You can't see straight. No way."
"I am!"
"You're not driving!"
"Too hell I am! I'm not as think as you drunk I am." Sam rolled his eyes.
"You'll just crash the car," Sam pointed out. Dean grumbled, but stumbled around to the other side.
"Don't screw around," he mumbled as he slouched into the passenger seat. No remark came. Dean opened his eyes, "Sam?"
No answer.
It seemed to take forever for Dean's head to turn. He stared at the empty seat beside him and looked at the open door which cold air blew in through. He dragged himself across the seat and looked down at the ground outside. The Impala's keys glinted on the ground. He picked them up and looked around.
"Sam?" he called again, looking back at the cold keys in his hand. Pulling the driver's door shut, Dean dragged himself back across the seat and got out of the Impala. "Sam!" Stumbling back to the honky-tonk, he practically fell into the door and barely made it to the bar before his legs gave out. Using the bar for support, he stared at the petite, blonde girl behind the counter.
"Back for another round?" she asked, wiping a glass out and placing it back under the counter. She flashed him a white smile.
"No," replied Dean distractedly, rubbing his thumb across the key in his hand. "Did the guy I was with come back in?"
"No," said the blonde seductively, "but my shift ends soon, and I could keep you company until he comes back."
"You don't understand!" stressed Dean. "I need to find him!" He leaned over the counter some more and stared at the girl pleadingly.
"Well," snapped the girl, "I didn't know you were like that!" She turned away from Dean and continued to angrily wipe glasses and put them away. It took awhile for Dean's drunken brain to register the meaning of her words.
"I am not gay!"
The girl snorted. "Yeah right. If he ditches you, I can easily find you a replacement that's worth your money." Dean's mouth opened to retaliate, but as soon as he did, he felt a wave of nausea come over him. He closed his mouth and somehow made it to the door without falling dead on his face. His legs were shaking so badly that he had to grip the doorway so he wouldn't fall into the mud outside.
Once he made it outside, Dean stumbled toward the Impala in a haze. He barely got there before he fell on all fours and upchucked whatever was in his stomach. After he finished dry-heaving, Dean used the bumper of the Impala to climb back up to his feet. Everything around him had taken on a dreamlike haze to it. The street lights that illuminated the muddy parking lot seemed brighter than before, the laughing and thumping of the music coming from the roadhouse was louder too. It felt like he was floating as he pulled himself along, using the Impala as a support. Dean tried to open the driver's door, but before he could open it, everything around him went black.