"Ready to ditch this joint, little brother?" Dean asked, twirling the car keys around his index finger before his hand encompassed them.
Sam frowned. "Dean, I think we should stay, see what's up with the hunter."
Dean scowled. "If you think I'm letting your ass anywhere near his, I'm telling you now, it's not going to happen."
Sam pursed his lips. "I'm a werewolf Dean. It's not going to change. We can't avoid every hunter forever."
"We can try," Dean groused. Sam sighed. "Look, man, I know your worried. But you don't need to be. It's still a little while before the full moon, and all we're doing it checking him out."
"No."
"Dean-"
"No."
Sam crossed his arms and planted his feet. "I'm not going."
Dean narrowed his eyes at him. "You're acting like a child."
His little brother raised an eyebrow, huffing a laugh. "I'm acting like a child?"
"Yes."
"Dean, I'm not leaving. We haven't even been here three days and the pack covered their tracks. There's no way the hunter could have known we were here. He's not hunting us, so I'm curious as to what exactly he's here for. Aren't you?"
Dean mulled this over, jaw clenching periodically and his green eyes studying Sam.
"I don't like it," he warned. Sam grinned. "Great; let's go."
The bar was dark and cold and smelled as if the tables were washed with beer. Sam could tell Dean couldn't smell it to the same degree, so he figured his enhanced smell getting even more sharp probably had to do with the full moon next Monday.
Heads turned when they entered, but no one seemed too concerned with the unknown men coming in.
Dean nudged him. "Can you smell him out?"
Sam frowned. "I didn't pick up his scent. I have no idea who it is."
Dean sighed. "Just like old times then, huh?"
Sam was a little hurt because of the disappointed hint in his words, but took comfort in the fact that the other words seemed to be joking.
"I guess."
Dean nodded at him and went to go ask the bartender for info, and Sam turned to ask a few of the customers. A man weaved through the crowd, going in his direction. He looked pretty rough, tan jacket, ratty red baseball cap, and scruff he needed to shave.
He tapped Sam on the shoulder. "Hey, sorry to bother you, but could you come help me? My car's broken down."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "Um..yeah, sure."
He followed the man outside. True to his word, the rusted truck he drove was down. "I'm not really good with cars. My brother can get it up and working again."
The man nodded. "Sure. Thanks."
He turned to go inside, and he'd only gotten a few feet before something hard and heavy struck him on the back of his head.
"Thanks," Dean said, sliding a twenty across the counter. He turned and glanced around for his little brother.
Sam didn't seem to be in the bar. Dean frowned and 'hmm'ed to himself before going outside.
He didn't seem to be out there either. "Sam?" he called. No answer. "Sam!"
Still nothing. There weren't many cars out in the parking lot. He jogged up to a guy working on his engine. "Hey, you seen a a guy; he's really tall, floppy hair?" The man's brow creased in thought.
"...No, I can't say I have. I'm sorry. Do you need me to call the police?"
Dean waved that away. "No, I'm sure he's around here somewhere."
The man nodded. "If you need any help-"
"Thanks," Dean supplied, cutting him off.
The engine the man was working on sputtered before rumbling to life. The man put down his hood and nodded at Dean.
"Hope you find who you're looking for," the man said before driving out of the place and onto the road.
