Chapter Info

Title: Time to Work
Number: 2/18 (subject to change)
Warnings: Language, very slight sexual reference
Author's Note: I have a trilogy for this story planned out and I'm so excited to get this story going again so I can work on the other two. :D Stupid me completely deleted the first draft of the sequel, but I remember what happened. In the meantime, I'm glad you're enjoying this story! Thank you for the reviews! I hope I can trouble you guys for some more. ^.^

Dean was dreaming about two girls going down on him in Fiji when he was shaken awake roughly. He hardly slept enough as it is and he knew his father didn't care how much sleep Dean got, if they had a job to do, they would do it no matter how much or how little they slept. He blinked his eyes open and looked up at John grumpily.

"Yeah?" he croaked, his voice hoarse. He knew exactly what his dad wanted, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"We've got a case. Ithaca, New York. Get up." He's so pleasant, Dean thought with a roll of his eyes. He knew better than to argue, though and sat up. John looked like he hadn't slept at all, but he hardly ever did. Whenever he wasn't focused on one case, he was working on the case of Mary's murder. Dean stopped a long time ago trying to push his father into bed so he wouldn't be so cranky. Besides, lack of sleep is unhealthy, but John Winchester was stubborn and didn't care. He hadn't really since Dean was a teenager.

Dean rolled off the bed and quickly went into the bathroom for a quick shower. When he was done, he pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt followed by a plaid over-shirt and his leather jacket along with some socks and his boots. When he went out, John had already left so Dean quickly packed up his bag and ran outside to the Impala. John wasn't there and Dean looked around, seeing his figure at the front desk checking out. John looked out and gestured to Dean who nodded. He grabbed the keys from the ignition and open the trunk, throwing his bag inside beside John's and slamming it shut. He slid into the passenger seat as John came back out and slid into the driver's seat. He turned the car on and was gone a second later, the tires squealing on the pavement.

"What's the case?" Dean asked, scooting down in his seat and putting his feet up on the dashboard. John glared at him for a second even though he knew Dean wouldn't move before looking back to the road.

"Girl was found dead in the shower stall in a dorm bathroom at Cornell University. Her roommate found her."

Dean whistled lowly and shook his head. "Damn. That sucks. But how do we know it's our gig? It's a college, she probably ODed or got alcohol poisoning or something."

John looked over at him. "Her throat was slit and her guts were on the outside. I don't think she did it herself and I don't think it was drugs or alcohol."

Dean winced a little. He had been doing the job twenty-one years, but somethings still got to him, and his stomach, especially things like that. The girl was probably only eighteen or so and had barely experienced life. Not that Dean's life was so fulfilling, but he lived for twenty-five years and saw more in his first ten than most people see in their whole lives. And the poor girl that found her, she'd never be the same. Seeing a friend like that, hell seeing anyone like that could change a person's life and give them nightmares. When Dean was younger, it happened to him a couple of times.

"Who was the girl? Why was she killed?"

"Her name was Toni Walker. Her roommate Blake Huntley was the one who found her. Both eighteen, both freshmen at Cornell. Blake was the only one on the floor at the time. They have two other roommates, Heather and Brenda, and they—and by that I mean me—are kind of looking at Brenda because she is known to be mean and rude to everyone and Blake confirmed she hated all of them. The only problem she was in class at the time." He shook his head. "And I don't know why she was killed."

"Awesome," Dean said sarcastically. He had a feeling it wasn't their gig, it probably was this Brenda girl or some other serial killer psycho, but when John's mind was set on something, there was no talking him out of it. So Dean just turned up the radio, Rock You Like a Hurricane blaring through the speakers as he drifted off into a light slumber where those girls were back and there were now three of them. Hey, it's better than dreaming about the shit he usually dreams about.

.x.x.x.x.

Dean was woken up ten hours later when they finally pulled up to a ratty old motel right outside Ithaca called Falls Motel. He yawned and climbed out to stretch as John went in to check in. He looked around, breathing in the crisp fall air. He would never admit that he loved it. John came out soon after with a key and grunted, pointing towards one of the rooms. He stomped over and Dean sighed, getting in the trunk to bring out their bags and tug them into the room. He glared at his father as he dropped them by the bed and then fell into his.

"Sleep now," John said. "We're up at six tomorrow to get started." There was no room for argument as he slammed into the bathroom. Dean rolled his eyes and burrowed into the pillows and blankets, grumbling to himself. What else was new? His father was being an ass. But he tried to make himself fall asleep faster. Counting sheep didn't work, mostly because he wasn't five anymore, but usually girls, sex, and whiskey did it. Anything to get his mind off the case so he could get some shut eye.