Author's Note: Thank you so much for those willing to take the time to review and to the person that messaged me, yes, you're right. Haley's mind is very fragile. I'm going to experience with that more later on in the story—what made her that way, and so on—great guess, lol. Also, to narrow down any confusion, this chapter takes place directly after they left the motel. They met up with a few other hunters you might be familiar with to investigate a job in town that requires multiple hands. They decided to split up in the process. If there's time, drop a comment. I'd love to hear from you. Thanks again.


Chapter: Two--Swiveling the blunt end of her athame, Brooke Penelope Davis took a moments leeway from the brawl to swerve a contemptuous glare in her boyfriend's general direction. His shamefaced, sauce smeared expression staring dopily in return as she heaved a repulsive groan. "Dean, that's disgusting," was her frigid response, and with a breath she adds knowingly, "and Sam hates anchovies."

Mouth stuffed with breadcrumbs and melted gobs of cheese, Dean sighs; indifferent. "I know," he states, "but we don't," that inevitable, shit eating grin was plastered across his chiseled jaw, just as a bellows belch emitted from his lungs. Of course, sensing her disapproval, he soon shrugged in defeat. "Alright, fine. He can have the breadsticks, does that make you feel better?" he asks, thumbing through the page of a withered Cosmopolitan, looking up briefly to catch her gaze.

He loved working her up, and seeing that droll rolling of her eyes, he knew he had succeeded as he watched her trudge over a mound of festering ash. "You're insufferable, you know that?" she cries, plunging the tip of her blade through the scalp of one stumbling, demonic counterpart, as she sighs. Coiling the blade through his festering membrane; spatters blood blotting revoltingly against her sweater as she then twists the knife further, farther; a devilish glint lighting her eyes.

With a pause, both observing the slithering corpse flutter about, Brooke takes a breath, a hand resting at her lip; observing Dean as he brought his bottled root beer close his lips. A definitive smirk lining his expression as he then scanned the article's witty subtitle. His head tilting upward, dangling a lump of breaded cheese and sliced ham to his parted lips as he chortled in amusement; turning the article over, a nodding gesture swooping towards the page. "Hah, look babe. Two weeks to tight cheeks."

Swiping the bloodied portion of her blade against her tattered jeans, Brooke surveyed the cemeteries quiet boundaries, ignoring her boyfriend's laughing banter as she then turns to face him.

"Lovely," she replied, and growing tired of his antics she approached him, taking advantage of the silence as she stepped forward. "You know," a pause and her hand falls to the brim of his jeans. "You could help," smiling briefly at his expression. His eyes wide, cheeks puffed, bread visibly peaking from his lips as he simply cocked his head. Befuddled.

With a shake of her head, Brooke breathes a laugh, her hands fumbling through the clasp of his belt, sliding the knife through the loop of his jeans before stating softly. "Of course, it's a shame there's not much left to help with," she laughs at his stiffened response, loving the affect she had over him as his arm draped around her waist. Tracing a hand up his buttoned coat her fingers stop, wiping the curve of his lip. "Fancy you showing up after all the dirty works been finished, huh, boyfriend?" tracing the hairs on her arm, his thumb brushes her palm with a strangled breath.

"Did I mention how sorry I was about that?" he gulped, and she smiles plucking the remaining slice of pizza from his hand, dropping it with a thud on the ground. The magazine soon to follow as his arms fell loosely against her backside.

She pretended to think, considering his question before she smiles. "Hmm. Oh, I'm sure you were getting around to it," she rasps, just as his lips delved against the more sensitive areas of her skin. As she threads her hands through his collar, she grins. "In fact, I think you were going to make it up to me somehow, weren't you?" the scent of engine grease and aftershave pelted her senses, laughing lightly at the feel of stubble brushing her neckline as he nodded brusquely, roaming closer.

"Damnit, Brooke," as his stance melds against her, hands fleeting to her skirt, Dean moans a murmurs response. "God, we're going to hell for this," he moved her back against battered cement, a forgotten tomb laying rest behind them. Coarse fingers threading against her; throwing her leg roughly over his hip.

At his touch, she moans, her nails tugging through his cropped hair, grasping his shirt even tighter as she jerks him forward. "Broken record, babe," as she arches against him she states under a kiss. "We're going to hell for a lot of reasons—"

"Right and corrupting the minds of your little sister wouldn't be one them, now would they, Dean?" and with a gruff clearing of his throat—asserting the throne of most impeccable timing ever—Robert Singer averts his gaze. His hand clamped over a good portion of his niece, Haley's face, the other tugging idly at the crease of his ratted cap.

"Oh, shit!" Brooke's pants, as Dean rustled with the folds of her skirt. "Dean, stop," she swats at his chest with frantic gestures as he meddled playfully with the strap of her blouse; either indifferent or blatantly unaware of Bobby's presence as he laughed.

"Hey, Bobby," of course it would be the first, Brooke thought, cursing him under her breath. "What's going on?" so casual, Dean dipped his head. "Hales," and with a small wave, Haley returns his greeting. Shuffling miserably in one of her brother's thin sweatshirts and torn, elephant slippers. Only fueling Bobby's anger as he looked towards them, making certain Brooke had covered herself before stepping forward. Leering with such glaring demeanor that as he clasped Dean's arm, Brooke half expected it to crunch from the impact.

"Damnit boy, I ought' a ring your neck," Bobby cries, wasting no time as he pelts another brusque tug; swatting the back of his head. Huffing an agitated breath, looking between the two, expressionless, as he wordlessly stooped forward. Pelting Brooke's head as well before growling in response, "Hell, I ought' a skin both your hides," and with clenched teeth, his disbelieving eyes roam towards Dean's box of forgotten takeout. Not hesitating in pelting him a second time, as he groaned. "You damn igits." With pouting lips, Dean rubs his head sorely, Brooke kneeing his side, hushing him from saying anything he might possibly regret as he went to murmur lowly under his breath.

"What was that boy?" Bobby asks, and with a shudders shake of his head, Dean smiles assuring him it was nothing. "Damn right it's nothing." Bobby replied, eyes roaming over the fields of rustling willows, his expression wearied.

The circles under his eyes more noticeable then ever as he turns his head, "They're over here, Ellen," he calls suddenly, casting a glance to his surrogate niece, expression softening as he drapes an arm over his shoulder. "Watch over these knuckleheads for me a minute, would you, darlin'? Your auntie Ellen's damn near blind as a bat. I've got to see to it she finds the clearing alright," with a gentle smile he places a chaste kiss to Haley's temple. Another glare jolting towards Brooke and Dean as he then descends through the cemeteries. Bristling shrubbery following his lead as the three watched him go; his habitual tugging of his cap causing a grin to curve at Dean's lips as he quietly scratched at his brow. Eyeing his little sister, who looked every bit the abandoned puppy as she stood, shuffling idly beneath their gaze.

Her sleeve subconsciously rubbing at her eyes, increasing his need to just fold her into his arms and steal her away from all the evils the world had wrought onto them, as he watched the tips of her shoes grate lightly into the soil. Her bangs falling into her eyes as she frowned; tilting her head upward, expression soft as she states under her breath. "Daddy called," and at her words Brooke could have sworn that for a moment, Dean had stopped breathing.