Riddle of the Night
Rain cascaded down the thin pane of the car window. Sam stared out into the rejuvenated countryside that seemed to be moving at a fast pace. He could feel the guilt, rising in his chest, threatening to take him over. "Dean, can you pull over?" "Sure, Sammy. Is Princess getting carsick?"
Dean flashed a grin that was quickly rescinded when he heard Sam jump out of the impala, retching on the side of the old, gravelled road. Automatically entering big-brother mode, he launched himself outside the confines of the toasty car and ran to Sam's side.
He never really appreciated the A/C unit in the car till now, with it being a chilly 44.6 ºF out in the wind and rain. Sam was trembling, but was pulled to a standing position by a brow-furrowed Dean.
"Sam, what's wrong?" "Nothing Dean, just think my stomach didn't agree with that stack of chocolate-chip pancakes I had."
Sam pushed the dark wisps back from his forehead, avoiding any eye contact. Dean stood there for a minute, thinking, and just as he was about to say something, he stopped, before continuing with the much safer "Okay, Sammy. C'mon, get in, we've got some fugly to get rid of and im freezing."
The Impala's doors opened and closed in uncanny unison. Sam really hated lying to Dean, but some things were better left unsaid. Especially vision-related things.
Vision
The smell of damp earth penetrated Sams nostrils, and he could hardly see anything in the dark undergrowth that encroached upon him. He staggered along the dead vegetation of the ground and tried to find his bearings. "DEAN!" His voice cracked under his current frame of mind.
He felt something warm trickling down his back along with a crippling stabbing sensation and reached behind to touch it. He brought the wet fingers to his mouth and licked. The twang of a rusted, metallic liquid filled his mouth and he realised he really needed Dean. Now.
End
Returning his thoughts to the scenery he noticed a speed sign of 60 and knew they were close to the sleepy town of Red Lake, home to the Red Lake Warriors. Or so the brochure, which Sam had printed from the rickety old, black & white motel printer, claimed.
Dean, as usual, had the cassette player blasting some AC/DC song, "Get it hot! Get it hot!" He sang along, about three semitones out of key. Sam rolled his eyes, obviously meaning to over-do it, pretending it annoyed him. But deep down he loved seeing his brother without a care and enjoying himself without it being brought about by some skank named starla from a bar, who he wouldn't remember in the morning.
"So, give me a run down of the hunt, Sam". Dean was trying out his I-mean-business voice, but all it managed to accomplish was to make Sam laugh.
"Haha, okay fat Tony, (Dean was giving out very dirty looks) there have been these weird murders, people suddenly turning on their loved ones. No motive at all. And to add to that, other bodies have also been found with huge gashes down their backs and their hearts missing."
"Werewolves?"
"I don't know, I mean the missing hearts seem like their M.O, just not the other murders."
The sky had lost what little light it had left and they had entered the outskirts of town. Dean pulled the Impala into the un-sealed gravel car park of a cheap looking motel.
The sign said it was called 'Sandy Shore'. Ironic, considering Red Lake was land-locked, and kinda gross considering the neon 'h' of Shore wasn't working.
"Great Dean. We are staying in an infected wound." "Just hope there aren't bed bugs.."
The look of horror on Sams face was classic.
Sam suddenly clicked onto the fact Dean was messing with him and swiftly clipped him over the head. "Ow, what was that for?" Dean feigned innocence. Sam just pouted and waited for Dean to go book the room. Sighing, Dean walked up the faded wooden steps that looked like they might have been yellow a few decades ago, and stepped into the cramped reception room. He wished he'd made Sam book the room.
Upon the walls (Which were a hot pink by the way) were enough Barbies to put Mattel to shame. It was as if a six year old girl was let loose with some glue and her entire doll collection. "Huh."
Shaking his head, he stumbled up to the desk.
Later that evening
"Next time, im picking the motel." Sam whined from the bathroom.
Dean silently agreed, though he would never admit it. Turns out the rooms shared the same color and decor as the reception.
"At least the bed-spread is clean?" He tried to justify the his choice, in vain of course. Hearing running water, he figured Sam was washing up and turned to the small TV set for entertainment. After 10 minutes of erratically changing channels, he settled on Deal or no deal. Not really watching, he turned to his thoughts. Most of which contained a cheeseburger in some form or another. But the most pressing thought was why did Sam lie to him this morning?
He could always tell when Sam lied because his eyes did this shifty little dart to the upper right-hand corner of his socket. He had his suspicions; most likely it was a vision. But it could wait until the morning before he began his inquisition, as they were both tired from the long drive.
In the warm stream of water, Sam wondered if his brother picked up on his little lie. It made him feel uneasy that he might. This hunt also made him feel worried, like there was something wrong, apart from the obvious werewolves etc.
Stepping out of the claustrophobic shower onto the icy lino, He grabbed a towel and walked out into the room. Sam looked on at his big brother who was snoring and yawned, drying the droplets of water from his damp hair. He pulled on an old, faded blue sweatshirt that looked like it belonged in an op-shop and a pair of clean boxers.
Too wiped to think about anything else too heavy duty, he dragged the maroon covers up over himself and let the black envelop him.
