A/N: Okay first things first. Did you know that you are not allowed to post choose your own adventure style fics on this site? Yeah well I apparently over looked that part also. It's under guidelines. It actually says no "choose your own" style posts. SO. Unfortunately I guess we'll have to stop with the voting thing. I will however finish this little endeavor anyway. Thanks for reading!
Also sorry this is a little late. I actually had to work this week. Go figure.
Alas I own nothing save a 30 year old rocker recliner in the ever popular shades of Avocado, Chocolate, Russet and Lemon but mostly Avocado. ; )
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The figure steps back giving him room to unfold his large frame from the confines of the trunk. A wave of dizziness grips him causing him to sway and his stomach to clench. He sits heavily on the bumper of the car putting his head between his knees. In that position he is able to read the license plate on the car. Ohio CNK 80Q3. Shit. Dean's gonna be pissed.
His head now clear he straightens raises his hands to shield his eyes. No longer directly in the glare of the sun the figure swims into focus.
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Dean comes awake by degrees. Aware first of only light then sound and finally smell. He wrinkles his nose a knee jerk reaction to the reek of stale sweat, cheap cigars and under that, barely perceptible to someone not so used to its subtle coppery bouquet, blood.
He does a quick inventory making sure all parts and pieces are present and accounted for. His hands are cuffed, one on either side, to one of the vertical bars on the metal bed frame. His right shoulder is bunched making it ache and there's a tender spot just above his right ear.
He cracks his eyes just that much. Day light streams into the room from somewhere out of his line of vision. He sees nothing but he can hear loud snoring. A little wider and he turns his head just so. Out of the corner of one eye he can just make out a figure in the aged easy chair. He rolls onto his back freezing when the mattress squeals. He holds his breath for an interminable amount of time before finally relaxing again.
He takes a chance and lifts his head completely scanning the room. No Sam. Son-of-a-bitch! He pulls experimentally on his bonds keeping a wary eye on the figure in the recliner. The guy is big though not fat dressed in a polo and a pair of khakis. Short blond hair neatly trimmed. Average Joe. Weird. Where's the B.O. coming from?
The bar he's pulling on shifts slightly. He freezes again. Waits. Then he hooks his toes under the horizontal bar at the foot of the bed and using it as leverage pulls as hard as he can on the cuffs. The bar above him gives with a pop he'd swear later you could hear for blocks. The guy in the chair makes a choking sound in his sleep but doesn't wake.
Dean sits up in the bed. Sharp pain lances through his head making the room spin. He brings his united palms to his forehead rubbing with the heels. He touches the side of his head gingerly. Feels dried blood flake away.
He scans the room again. Different perspective now. Sitting he can see everything. On the table next to the recliner is a notebook and hugging its cover….a paperclip.
"Score." He says creeping over to get it.
He's just popped the second cuff when he hears a rattling outside the door. Keys in the lock, loud like a bagful of quarters. He throws another glance at the guy in the chair who continues to sleep on oblivious.
Instead of trying to hide or search for a weapon he boldly walks to the door and opens it.
"What are you doing here?"