"Now I have no fear in the dark of night..." Dean sang out from behind the closed bathroom door. "I run to the arms of Our Lady of Electric Lights."
Clearly, his brother had enjoyed the Clutch concert. Sam was glad they decided to go after all. It had been a toss up after the probably-a-fairy didn't try to jump them in the alley earlier that day. The Hunters had pulled a short a research stint to see if there was a problem that sounded like fairies going on around here, but Detroit was a big city. Since they didn't have bodies on the ground yet, the brothers decided the rest of the research could wait until morning.
Sam should have known when the name of the band first came up how much Dean was going to enjoy himself. Because it wasn't one of their dad's musical choices. This band was all Dean's preference, with its driving rock beat and a little bit of blues mixed throughout.
Sam shook his head and loaded the new CD into the laptop. The Impala wouldn't play CDs because a certain someone stubbornly refused to change out the tape deck to something more modern. If anyone wanted tunes in the car that wasn't one of the cassette collection, or didn't want to be at the mercy of the local radio stations, it fell to Sam to rip a copy into his iPod. If he was feeling generous, he would give Dean a digital copy for his phone.
When he wasn't feeling generous, he mixed Dean's favorites into playlists guaranteed to make the older man complain. (Because that what little brothers are for, right?) Though it was a delicate balance, crafting the perfect playlist. There had to be enough songs Dean really liked so that he wouldn't demand it be turned off, but there also had to be songs Dean hated. (So Sam could snicker silently while Dean winced.) Sprinkled with mutually appreciated songs, of course.
Today's pick to torment big brother included a reprise of "Sugar Shack" and "Ballad of Bilbo Baggins" performed by Leonard Nemoy, of all people. No matter how much of a closet Lord of the Rings and original series Star Trek fan Dean was, this rendition would drive him up the wall.
A knock at the door interrupted diabolical little brother planning. Snapping his lap top shut, Sam grabbed a gun to check the door. No one ever knew what to expect when answering a motel room door, but in their experience it was motel staff, cops, or monsters.
That wasn't what waited for him on the other side of the cheap wooden door: tousled blond hair above a sultry come-hither smile, black backless halter top, cherry red micro mini skirt, incredibly high heels. (Heels tall enough she could look Sam in the neck instead of the chest.)
"Hey, Baby." She greeted, strutting into the room with exaggerated rolls of her hips. "It must be your birthday or something, because to get to unwrap me for the night."
Of course, that was the moment Dean chose to come out of the bathroom. Green-eyed gaze flicked over the scene, taking in the scantily clad woman already making herself comfortable on the bed. "Dude, if you need the room to yourself for a while, let me know ahead of time so I can clear out before she gets here. I thought we established that years ago."
Sam threw the pissed bitch-face at him. He knew that Dean knew that this wasn't Sam's idea; that something else was going on here. Both brothers subscribed to the 'no cash for ass' policy when it came to sex, for so many reasons.
"Whoa, hold on, now." The woman's posture shifted into defensive and her face hardened. "I was told I had a date with someone named Dean. Nobody mentioned double-booking or threesomes. That costs extra, and I'm only paid up for one. Whichever one of you is Dean, either pay the difference or tell your friend to take a walk."
Brothers shared a confused, searching look before Dean took the lead.
"I'm Dean, but I didn't order entertainment for the night. Who gave you my name and fronted the cash?"
"Sorry, Honey, a girl never kisses and tells. It's bad for business." The woman fluffed her hair a bit and put the smoldering look back on her face. She was quite the actress. "So, we gonna do this or what? It's already paid for."
"Bad for business, huh?" Dean nodded like he understood and began to rummage in his jacket pockets.
A lifetime or backing each other's plays had Sam doing the same thing.
Both brothers held up their respective fake FBI badges.
"Feds?!" the woman shrieked, furious. "Goddammit! This is entrapment!"
"Someone's getting set up here, sister, and I don't think its you." Dean flipped the leather wallet closed. "Let's try this again. Who hired you?"
"I don't know. We don't ask for names and we don't give 'em." The woman folded her arms across her chest, still nervous about getting busted.
"Oh, come on," Sam scoffed. "You can tell us more than that."
She rolled her eyes. "Some white girl, scared as a rabbit to be on our block. Scrawny thing, light brown hair. Probably legal to drink, but not much over that. We all thought she was lost until she started asking if we delivered. Most of the working girls got twitchy about the job, something wasn't right about that rabbit, but its been slow for me, ya know? And the money was good. It sounded safe enough."
"Sent you to me by name?" Dean clarified.
"Yeah, said the name Dean and gave me a motel room number," the woman agreed. "Look, that's all I know, okay? Can I walk?"
Dean held a fifty dollar bill up, catching the woman's eyes. "Take the night off."
She snatched the bill and fled the room.
"Who knows we're here?" Sam wondered out loud. "Why would they send you a hooker?"
Eyebrows crinkled in thought. "Jay. The girl from last night. I mentioned the hotel and the door number. Don't ask me why she'd send Julia Roberts over here."
"Two weirds in one day. What are the odds they're not related?"
Dean groaned. He knew that answer to that one: they're always related. "I guess we need to have a talk with that Jay chick in the morning."