"Wonchu take me to...FUNKYTOOOOWWWN!"
Sam swayed dangerously as he attempted to walk and keep his brother upright at the same time. Dean was leaning heavily on him, almost hugging him while singing loudly in his ear. 'Disco?' Sam thought to himself. 'He's drunker than I thought.'
"Wonchu take me to - hey, that's a good idea."
Sam raised a questioning eyebrow at Dean.
Dean slapped a heavy hand on Sam's chest. "Funkytown. 'S a good codeword," he slurred.
Both of Sam's eyebrows rose. "Codeword for what, exactly?"
"You know." Dean's hand left Sam's chest and began weaving around in the air. "For when we're in trouble an' shit." He turned back to Sam, trying to fix him with a serious stare. Sam nearly burst out laughing. Dean cupped Sam's chin with his hand and brought it uncomfortably close to his mouth. "You just say," he whispered hoarsely, "funkytown. And then I'll know you're in trouble."
Sam tried to wiggle his face out of Dean's grasp. Dean gripped tighter, tugging painfully on Sam's jaw. Sam reached up a hand and pressed it against Dean's face, pushing him away. For a few minutes, the two brothers stood in the middle of the city sidewalk, tangled in an odd sort of face-grabbing/pushing dance.
A car horn blasted at them. Distracted, Dean let go of Sam so he could turn to the departing car and flip it the finger while yelling obscenities at it. Sam massaged his sore jaw. Dean was still yelling at the distant car, his arms outstretched and chest puffed up in his classic 'you wanna go?' pose. Sam rolled his eyes and impatiently grabbed him by the back of his leather jacket to begin the long process of hauling Dean back to their motel room.
Sam swore silently as he juggled with the motel keys while trying to keep a firm hand on Dean's t-shirt so he didn't stagger away. Finally wrenching the door open, he dragged his brother inside and led him over to one of the twin beds.
"Come ON, Sammy! Lets go meet some chicks! I'm sure one of them would give you a pity fu-"
Sam forcefully pressed down on Dean's shoulders to make him sit on the bed.
"You're such a buzzkill," Dean muttered. Nevertheless, he began to clumsily kick off his shoes and shrug out of his jacket. Sam went to the washroom and filled up a glass cup with water from the sink tap. He stood over Dean with it, holding it out expectantly. Dean cast a suspicious eye at the water, wrinkled his nose at it and then glanced up at Sam's humourless face. Rolling his eyes with a dramatic sigh, he yanked the glass out of Sam's hand, then held it up to him.
"Cheers," he said with a wink and a grin before downing the entire contents in one long gulp. Then he belched.
Sam grabbed the empty glass out of Dean's hand and returned it to the washroom counter. When he returned a few seconds later, Dean had already passed out, legs still hanging over the edge of the bed and both arms sprawled above his head. He was snoring loudly. Sam sighed. He tended to be a light sleeper as it was. Dean's snoring would not help. Shaking his head with a rueful chuckle, he slipped on his light jacket and headed outside for some fresh air.
Lenoir City, Tennessee. Sam could have killed Dean for this particular hunt. They stuck out like sore thumbs in a city of 7,000 and after Dean's performance at the bar downtown, Sam was beginning to have serious doubts that they wouldn't be chased out with pitchforks. Dean spent the better part of the night drinking happily away and flirting with the bartender (who Sam did have to admit strongly resembled a Playboy centrefold). The bartender enjoyed the attention and flirted back, even allowing Dean to playfully smack her skin-tight jean clad ass while bending over to wipe up a table. And while Dean was oblivious to the jealous glares he received from the multitude of 30-something year old men clumped together at small round tables drinking beer, Sam, who remained sober, was not. Sam grew a kink in his neck from constantly checking over his shoulder warily, wondering where the first punch would come from. Luckily, it never came.
Neither did their hunt though. They had spent two nights here already; this would be their third. Dean had accidentally tripped across a book of American Indian legends in the children's section of a public library back in Knoxville. He had reluctantly followed Sam to the library so Sam could use the microfiche computers, and to be honest, he didn't have much to do on a Sunday afternoon anyway. Afterwards, Dean babbled on excitedly about an Uktena, which he described as a "freaky-assed snake with deer horns". Sam shrugged and went along with it, seeing as how they had nothing else on the go at the moment. That brought them here, and after two days of traipsing about in the thick black mud on the embankment of the Little Tennessee River and questioning the locals who stared at them as though they had sprouted antennae on their heads, Sam was ready to call the entire thing quits.
He walked down the skinny sidewalk that ran in front of each motel room. He paused to gaze up absently at the flickering blue neon sign for "The Little Tennessee Motel", complete with chipped white stucco on the exterior and hideous orange plush on the interior. Sam wasn't quite sure why these places called to them. He was tempted to start writing a coffee table book so he could catalogue all of the tacky and downright weird places they slept in. He never could make heads or tails out of the one that used unicorns as its starting point for design.
He jammed his hands into his coat pockets, kicked at a pebble by his foot and continued his aimless sojourn. Their motel was surrounded by pine trees and was mere feet away from the lazily flowing river. The night was clear and the moon was full, casting a pale light to backlight the tall trees. 'Peaceful,' Sam decided. He inhaled deeply, savouring the cool night air and the silence. He walked towards the forest, weaving his way through trees and brush until he came to the wide river's edge, where he stood and watched the hypnotic flow of the river. He began to slowly make his way along the river, stooping to pick up a palm-sized rock. He ran his thumb over the smooth black surface. He whipped his wrist towards the river then counted how many times the rock skipped across the surface before finally sinking with an audible "blump".
He reached down blindly to grasp another rock, but his hand touched something else instead. Something smooth and slightly soft pulsed under his palm. "What the-" Sam started as he turned to look down at whatever it was he was holding. It was a tail. Sam's eyebrows knitted in confusion as he frowned at the large, sinewy tail. Then his eyes travelled slowly up the tail to the exceedingly large body of a snake that seemed to stretch on as long as the river itself. His jaw dropped. In the distance, he could see a head rear up sharply, then turn to look at him. Green eyes glowed at him and Sam heard a distinct hiss. Then Sam saw the horns on top of the snake's head.
"No freaking way," Sam breathed.
The Uktena's mouth opened and a forked tongue hissed angrily at Sam.
Sam bolted. He ran pell-mell through the forest, glancing back every few feet. Although he couldn't see the serpent, he heard it, slithering its way through the underbrush, crushing twigs as it chased Sam. It was fast too.
Sam came barrelling out of the trees and towards the motel, jumbling with the motel keys in his pocket as he ran. He ran shoulder first in the door, head turned so he could watch the Uktena's progress while shakily inserting the keys into the lock. He pushed the door open and immediately tripped over the threshold, scrambling up onto all four and crawling towards their duffel bag where the precious guns rested. Dean continued to snore on the bed.
Something grabbed hold of Sam's leg. Yelping in shock, Sam turned and was horrified to find the Uktena wrapped firmly around his thigh. He yelled wordlessly, then clawed his way along the floor, reaching desperately for the black bag. The Uktena dragged him backwards. "Dean!" Sam screamed.
His brother's snoring hitched and then to Sam's amazement, Dean rolled over on the bed and snuggled underneath his jacket. "Dean!" Sam yelled again. His brother batted the air as if a mosquito buzzed around his ear. The Uktena hissed at Sam, then caressed the tall Winchester in a bone-crushing embrace. Sam fought for air, gasping and thrashing at the same time. The Uktena squeezed harder. Sam thought his eyes might pop out of his skull.
"De-...Dean," Sam weakly gasped. His muddled brain fought for the right words to wake his brother up. "Funky...Funkytown," he wheezed. "Funkytown!"
Dean's eyes snapped open as he simultaneously threw himself off the bed and landed in a judo-like pose with a howl. Unfortunately, he was facing the wrong direction.
"Dean," Sam whispered urgently as his eyelids began to grow heavy.
Dean spun around and charged the Uktena drunkenly, tackling the beast that recoiled violently. Sam dropped out of the coils of the snake and hit the shag carpet in a limp heap. Dean punched the Uktena in the head. The serpent's head whipped to the side under the impact, then it straightened and hissed at Dean.
It was then that Dean seemed to realize exactly what he was fighting. His eyes widened as his mouth dropped in shock. "Holy shit," he whispered.
One of Sam's eyes groggily opened. He saw Dean crouched on the floor in a dangerous face-off with the Uktena that reared up as if it were ready to strike at any moment.
The Uktena hissed. Dean screamed. Then to Sam's bewilderment, the Uktena screamed right along with Dean, its tone a few octaves above Dean's low bellowing. Dean's mouth hung open in confusion while the Uktena slithered away lightening fast out of the motel room and back into the forest, a high-pitched wail following its panicked escape.
"We are so out of here," Dean breathed as he straightened to his feet. He began rummaging through their room, gathering up duffel bags and stuffing them with weapons and clothes.
Sam remained where he was on the floor. "A little help here," he moaned as Dean stepped over him to exit the motel room.
"Snakes!" Dean exclaimed as he began throwing the bags into the trunk of the Impala. "Why the hell did you even agree to this Sammy? Are you freaking kidding me? Since when do we deal with snakes the size of a football field, huh? Hell no!"
Sam reached up weakly with one arm as Dean stormed back into the motel room. Dean reached down and pulled Sam up a little too quickly for his liking, then left him to gather up some more stuff. The room spun violently. Sam put his hands to his head to keep his brain from sloshing around in his cranium. Dean came back and grasped him by the elbow, leading him out of the motel room and into the passenger side of the car.
As they peeled out of the motel parking lot and onto the highway, Dean shook his head with a smirk. "It worked though."
Sam was hunched down in the passenger seat, still holding his aching head with one hand. He cast a tired eye at Dean. "What did?"
Dean threw him a lop-sided grin. "Funkytown. Totally worked. You see those reflexes that kicked in when you said that?"
Sam rolled his eyes and went back to counting how many ribs felt crushed.
Dean was still smiling as he drove on. "Really resonates, ya know? Funkytown."
Sam never wanted to punch his brother so badly in his entire life.