Chapter 14: My Soul From Out That Shadow

Luke turned on his phone again as they drove back into Worcester – this time it was working.

Weird...

Meanwhile, back at the motel, Morgan was standing on one side of the reception desk, sighing as she handed note after note over to the landlady – who was considerably less friendly with Luke MIA, not there to charm her on Morgan's behalf. She was paying for the damage done to the screen in their room – which she had just finished tidying up, in her blitz of the place. Morgan winced as she watched the money in her wallet rapidly evaporating, knowing that Luke wouldn't have much in his, either. It seemed she would have to go out and so some more work, tonight, to pay for their room and food, and other such extreme luxuries, for the rest of the week.

A cloud of gloom seemed to settle over her as she left the smugly money-rippling lady behind, returning to her empty room, feeling acutely alienated. It was going to take a lot to lift her out of her black mood, they always came on at her time of the month. Luke was, God alone knew where, she had tried knocking on Sam & Dean's door, and had no reply. They were lying right under the noses of two hunters, who... who, she, well, she didn't want to have to hate. Living on a knife-edge, as ever, but seriously courting disaster, here. Whatever reason Luke had that made it so important for them to stay, she hoped it cleared itself up fast. She trusted him not to muck her around on the important things, like this, but it still would've been nice to relax. If only for a moment.

No such luck, she reckoned idly, turning the TV in her room back on, slumping into her bed.

Oh, how glamorous the life of a hunter was...

The impala tucked itself neatly into her spot as Dean crawled forwards, that feeling of satisfaction at the end of a completed journey – with no crashes, tickets or crazy chases – washing over him as he killed the engine.

'Dude,' Luke began, from the back-seat. 'Reckon that case of yours is looking even more interesting, lads.'

'Case of ours,' Sam said, over his shoulder. 'You and Morgan are involved with Cathy, right?'

'Aye,' Luke admitted, voice betraying none of his unease. 'Anywho, thanks for the lift.'

They were all getting out, ready to head in opposite directions once more, when Dean spoke:

'Hey-' (Luke turned around.) 'Uh... earlier, Morgan said that you guys were going out tonight.'

Luke nodded, beaming.

'Too right, gotta celebrate last night, nuking all the vampires and whatnot. It's practically tradition.'

'I like your style, man,' Dean said (to Sam's reserved chagrin). 'So, the invite still stands?'

'Make friends,' Luke heard his sister's voice saying in his head.

'Aye, course. What time suits you?'

'Whenever. Sam?'

Sam sighed, not really the kind of guy who had nights-out like he suspected Luke did. The melancholy of thinking about that child, earlier, had settled on him again.

'Sure... Great...'

'Alrighty,' Luke nodded, flashing a quick horns-gesture across his chest. 'Nip down when you're ready.'

'Cool.'

'Alright. Laters.'

He hopped up onto the walkway, strolled down it, and played a jaunty little staccato of a knock on his door before disappearing through.

'Well, that was enlightening,' Sam said, once the sound of the door shutting had dissipated into the silence of encroaching evening.

'Yeah,' Dean was chewing his lip, gazing at the shut door.

Coming to himself, and checking that Sammy hadn't picked up on his day-dreaming with a flick of the eyes, Dean took a breath.

'Come on, Sparky.' He slapped Sam (also staring at their door) on the shoulder. 'Bet we got time to catch five before the fun begins.'

'Y'alright Morg?' Luke asked brightly as he fell into their haven. She sat up on her bed, arms drawn up around her knees. 'Anything happen while I was out?'

'Yeah,' she said. 'Lo dropped by.'

'Did he? Bugger! Haven't seen him in bloody ages, how's he doing?'

'He's... not himself.'

Luke, who was fiddling with his newly-fixed phone, looked up curiously through the strands of his straw blond hair.

'How d'you mean? What happened?'

Morgan lowered her eyes, pushed herself off the end of her bed.

'Nothing,' she muttered tersely, closed off. 'Nothing. We've run out of money though.'

'Have we? sht...' Luke replied, distracted from her closing up on him, though it didn't escape his notice.

'I think I'm going to have go on the hustle tonight.' Morgan sighed.

Which he knew she hated.

'Oh, that's alright,' Luke consoled her. 'We're going out with Sam and Dean tonight, remember?'

'Oh, yeah,' Morgan grimaced.

Which meant she'd be around hunters, wearing her hustling outfit, which always felt... like a betrayal of all the sensible clothes she could've been wearing instead. Always made her feel cheap and easy, the rub lying therein, in that that was exactly what she needed to look like to lure in the idiot poker-players and self-confessed pool geniuses. If only Luke had been any good at it – but she had yet to remember a single incident of Luke playing any game of chance which didn't end up in him being ganged up on and chased out of town, or worse.

So, to her it fell.

'D'worry, sis,' Luke said, dropping onto his own bed. 'We'll have fun, anyway, eh?'

A few hours later, the two sets of siblings were getting ready.

Luke was going rocky, as ever. Black shirt, showing up his light tan, gold hair, the greeny-blue eyes and white-white teeth. Sleeves rolled up to show his elephant-hairs and cuff-watch, tidy jeans, black converse (which he had a feeling he would soon loose, shoes never stayed on him for long).

Luke caught sight of Morgan looking at herself in the mirror. She was smoothing down the front of her dress, hands flat on her stomach, taking in a deep breath – her expression blank, mild, disinterested, although he knew better than to take hers at face-value. Nerves, that's what it was, nerves and self-consciousness. It staggered him that someone as good-looking as his elder sister could be so convinced of her own imperfection.

Morgy was easily one of, if not the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen (and he'd seen a few) – but she had never thought of herself that way. Dresses and strappy shoes made her nervous (she wanted to wear shoes she could stamp in, damnit – which is what she was doing, that very moment, to wear them in). So did the of majority make-up (just a dust of smokey something-or-other, purple, over her eyes – making them pop and smoulder in her face). She never wore jewellery, because it got so easily caught in a fight. Now, all she wore was a charm anklet – protection, not decoration.

She'd never been girly-girl, not even...before – but he did have to hand it to her, the one look she could pull off, in anything, was sexy. Take what she was wearing now. A simple, classy, LBD. Knee-length skirts, kind of multiple shimmering, asymmetric layers. There a slit up her left leg, or rather a place where the folds of the skirts had an opening, so she cold run – and reach the Betty's black garter-band. The dress was one of her only ones, with loads of satiny straps down the front of the bodice, like the back of a corset. Morg had a way of not revealing much, but it always seemed to go a lot further than other women. No embellishment, nothing cheap done to draw attention to herself, but she looked... after the jeans, combats, guns, sweating... surprisingly womanly.

'Looking good,' Luke commented, off-hand, sizing himself up in the mirror.

Morgan's eyes flickered from her reflection to his, caught in the act, and she blinked.

'You're not looking too bad either,' he finished, and her face relaxed into that withering, wry amusement as faked elbowing him in the stomach.

Dean and Sam were walking casually down the stairs, down from their room, heads dropped. Sam was in his denim shirt and that long-sleeved old hood-jacket he hadn't worn for more than a year. Kinda tight on the arms now. Freshly-washed hair springing in curls round his ears, falling in his eyes – Dean had perked up his faux-mo a little. He was in his black T and red shirt (and leather jacket, 'cause it was cold too) and eponymous biker boots. Sam turned round, to speak to Dean – behind him – over his shoulder as they neared Morgan and Luke's room. The impala was parked right in front of it.

'Did Luke mention where we're going?' he asked.

'What's the matter, Sam?' Dean asked, amused, as he moved to the driver's door. 'Scared he's gonna take us somewhere fun?'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Sam shot, pretending to be offended.

Dean cackled.

'Oh, come on, dude. Your idea of fun's an early night and a cup of cocoa. You practically smoke a p-arrrgh...'

The reason Dean's sentence trailed off was because Luke had just appeared outside his door, in front of them – and with him, Morgan: holding up her leather jacket, about to put it on. Dressed to kill, and probably with no simile intended. She looked up at the abrupt vocal fart, almost thrown in her face.

'That reminds me, Sammy,' Dean said, turning to his brother. 'We gotta check the fire-extinguishers in our room.'

'Why?' Sam asked, sensing her involvement in that statement. 'There's no fire.'

'Not in the building, anyway.' Dean replied, Zippo smile on.

Sam and Luke shared a shared vaguely-stunned eye-contact (Sam's eyebrows rose as he surveyed his brother, eyes narrowed) and cleared their throats – embarrassed for- and amused by-.

'We car sharing?' Luke said.

'Sure, why not,' Sam said, because Dean had his mouth hanging and that idiot grin on his face as he tried to summon up something cocky and funny to say. He made sure to get a jab in while Dean was... indisposed. 'Car-sharing, that's very green. And Dean is a tree-hugger.'

Luke snorted. 'Aye. Plus, I need to give you directions.'

They were about to move to do so when a wolf-whistle cracked the air, making all three men jump.

'Dude!' Morgan (the source of it) cried, eyes sparkling. 'Is she yours?'

She was staring, enraptured, at the Impala.

Dean beamed, seemed to grow a foot taller. 'Yup.'

She dropped off the walkway, stance bouncing almost like a fighter getting ready to bob and weave, walking along its length, running a hand up the hood, over the roof, down the trunk. Just eating up the muscle car with her eyes, mouth twitching with a genuine hint of admiration.

'She's gorgeous.' She said finally, delivering her verdict. 'I bet she's got that Steve McQueen growl, am I right? Feel it in your gut when you gun it?'

'Yeah.'

'Screw the Bronco-' she threw the keys over her shoulder at Luke. 'I'm riding this.'

To Dean, it was oddly like being sized up himself – like she had that night, in the bar, when he'd still been Zippo, and she'd still been Cherry: but, if possible, even more fun. There was one hitch, though – it actually got to him. He couldn't think of a snappy comeback. Dean scratched the back of his head as Morgan and Luke and Sam (shaking his head at him) climbed inside. Damn. When had The Snark ever failed him before? Stupid downstairs brain.

Also? He was really wishing he'd cleaned the pipes...

Lenore awoke when the knocking started at the attic trap-door, awoke with an unpleasant start, finding herself alone, again – though she had been surrounded by people, others falling into day-slumber, when she'd finally let sleep claim her. She had troubled dreams, of honey and blood and hovering knives.

She was exhausted after that long, hard morning of investigating, chasing Kate all over Worcester... or so she had told them. After leaving Sam and Dean's motel, she had in fact taken evasive maneuvers, spent hours winding around those little country back-roads... to give herself time to think as much as anything... so that they would be thrown off the trail, unable to trace, by her path, where exactly the hunters were. Of course, an unfortunate side-effect of this was that the two other hunters' location was concealed. She had known, when she told them of Kate's death, that there would be uproar – whether it was justifiable or not didn't matter. Oddly, they had taken the news... calmly. Which was, if anything, even more disconcerting.

She wouldn't knowingly let them go after Sam and Dean, though. A debt was a debt.

Lenore pushed the covers off herself, and once more made her way through the old farm-house, once more found it empty – although that thick, stench-filled, cloying smoke of before had vanished, all the windows being tightly shut. It was still deserted, though, as she descended first the narrow, rickety and then normal staircases to the ground floor. She had expected one or two early-risers, of course – some were always up at the crack of dusk, she couldn't fault them for that.

What she didn't expect was to find them all waiting for her, once again. She didn't expect Eli to be standing, in her place, at the head of the table, arms folded, patiently.

'Eli,' she said, as she appeared, and they all acknowledged her presence in hastily-averted glances or outright hostility. 'What is this?'

'I called a meeting, while you were sleeping,' Eli said, voice calm, cool. Un-empassioned.

Which should have been her biggest warning.

'Why?' She demanded to know.

'To discuss Kate, and the others, and what we should do about it.'

Lenore stared, sternly, round the packed room. 'Why didn't you ask my permission first?'

Oh, but she had a feeling she already knew that answer. She wanted to hear him say it, though. Eli, finally building up enough backbone to stand up to someone, and it just happened to be her. Oh no.

'Because we don't like the direction you're taking us in,' Eli answered, glaring, unashamed. 'When feeding off cattle was purely for survival, your way made sense – but not any more.'

'Unless it's escaped your notice,' Lenore frowned. 'We are still under threat from hunters. If anyone goes missing, they will still come-'

'No. We've found a new way,' Eli interrupted, and the other vampires looked up eagerly, nodding, hunger and insatiable gluttony shining in their eyes, to a fang.

'What new way?'

'A new way to feed, on humans, without getting caught.'

'Eli, that's not possible-'

'Yes it is!' He shouted, losing his temper. 'It is! Rufus's nest knew that! He was teaching them, teaching them new ways to survive. Do you remember when not hurting humans used to be about survival, Lenore? Do you remember that? What about survival? What about evolution? Not hurting people is about not getting caught, for us. What is it about for you?'

Lenore regarded him coolly, through her eyes, heart hardening.

Numbly, on some level, her shock registered. She really couldn't believe he was doing this. Vampires mate for life, how could he adhere to some rules, laud them as untouchable, and then break them so thoroughly? She was, privately, already devastated.

'What do you mean?' She asked.

'After you left, not long, after you left,' Eli said, accusingly. 'The Doc showed up with another body. Kate's body. Where were you?'

'Driving, I... I told you, I followed her to the hunters-'

'Then how did she arrive back before you?' Donovan, the bald & tattooed behemoth shot.

'I don't know.'

'Oh, I think you do, Lenore,' Eli intoned, a threat lurking in his voice. 'I think you know where they are, and you're trying to hide it from us.'

'But why call a meeting?'

'Because it's not just them who need addressing, Lenore,' Anna, the meek one, murmured. 'You care more about them not getting hurt than us not getting hurt.'

'That's not true-'

'No!' Eli snapped, slapping the table with his fists. To their credit, some of the others jumped – perhaps not carrying as much conviction as he. Hell hath no fury...

'Listen! We've made this decision for the good of the nest, for the survival, of the nest. That's our principle. But apparently,' here, the first sign of sadness, regret, as he sighed, 'it's not yours.'

Lenore folded her arms, feeling their eyes burning into her, as she looked at her bare feet.

'So... so, what have you all decided to do?'

'We're going to do what Rufus's nest were doing, we're going to find his new way to feed, to survive. We've already contacted vampires, elsewhere. They're coming to join us, here. We'll show them, too.'

'This is madness,' Lenore thought, 'Rufus's nest died, and so will you, so will you all. How can you betray it? Everything you've worked for, for one kill? Nothing is worth reverting...'

'Does this 'new way' involve hurting people?' she asked.

She didn't need them to nod to know the answer.

'They're our food Lenore,' Eli growled. 'They're a lower link in the food-chain. We were made to feed on them.'

'No better than animals, then?'

'We are animals! We are predator, they are prey – Rufus understood that, why can't you? We feed on them for survival, or not, when it suits us. It suits us now.'

'So where does that leave me?' Lenore asked, quietly.

This question drew the greatest looks of disquiet, of unease.

'Eli...? Where does that leave me?'

He folded his arms, too. 'If you can't change with us...? Not here.'

Lenore stood her ground. 'I can't be a part of this.'

'Well then,' Eli sat down, although he looked deflated, not meeting her eyes, disgruntled.

'You know where the door is. Goodbye Lenore.'

Numb, sickened, frightened for her unlife, watching a set of values she had abided by for so long, worked so hard to discover, and achieve, come crashing down in flames. Lenore turned on her heel, her feet still bare, and, without stopping collect her things, to say a tearful goodbye to these people – yes, people – she had protected, lead, loved, to the utmost of her pioneering ability, strode out, into the dark...

She could only think of one place to go...

They were pulling up outside what looked like an old deserted warehouse, mills, maybe an old industrial estate.

'Luke,' Dean asked, 'you sure this is the place?'

'Yup,' Luke put away his phone. 'This is it. Just follow me.'

He got out of the impala, grinning at the mystified expressions of his companions and dancing on his feet as he wove his way over – in between two of the mill-buildings. They followed, mingling glances, but following after anyway – because it was Luke, and, even after a day, Sam and Dean had learned that some leeway needed to be given. He lead them down the alleyway, and the space expanded into another parking-lot – absolutely full, he'd taken them a way which negated the need to fight for a space. Nice.

'Lu, how d'you know this was here?' Morgan asked, surveying the car park. There were quite a few classic cars, like Dean's, and she couldn't see a spare space anywhere, there were rocked-up dressing people milling around, chattering in groups, calling out to each other, laughing.

Luke grinned. 'I've been texting Lo. He told me all about it.'

That put her on edge, straight away. Morgan gathered herself into a closer distance from Luke, (Sam and Dean dawdled closer, too, behind) eyes darting around the car-park, seeing a new villain in every shady face. Christ, wasn't this night just going to be a barrel of laughs? They joined the large crowd of people milling around near the entrance. There were two entrances, one into a small, one-story thing in front of them, one a large square door in the dark-green painted, boxily-made building next to it – obviously an old factory, or something. Over peoples' heads, she could see the bright inviting glow of a green and yellow neon sign, painting the zinging words "Ralph's Chadwick Square Diner" painting its message against the black night sky. They waited a few minutes, she stamping her feet against the cold, stomach doing nauseating somersaults at the thought of Lo being near.

She didn't think she could stand it if he turned up, humiliated her like that in public. She couldn't even understand why she hadn't told Luke... Maybe because... because it was so hard to admit to being anything less than bullet-proof? When he just took everything on the chin, throwing it off as lightly summer rain. She didn't want to have to admit to how her heart had convulsed in her chest when she'd thought Dad- that was the point, wasn't it, really? How could she explain getting away, without mentioning Dad?

Morgan sighed. 'Bugger this for a bunch of bananas,' she snapped, nodding at the door-man, a ten-gallon wearing guy with a Metallica tour shirt, handlebar moustache and full set of sleeves. 'I think it's time to introduce him to the girls.'

'Don't ya think that's a little harsh?' Dean suggested, behind her, overhearing her muttered threats. 'Shooting him?'

Morgan snorted. 'I didn't mean those girls. Luke, hold my coat, I'm not freezing my bollocks off out here.'

Luke took her jacket with a flourish, bowing aside as Morgan strode off. The bouncer looked up as she drew near, smiling but holding out a hand to bar her path – looking like he could've been persuaded, though. Unfortunately for him, Morgan's "girls" turned out not to the kind hiding by her leg, nor the kind currently filling out her bodice to admirable effect – but the ring-less, bracelet-free balls of pain attached to the end of her arms. A raucous cheer went up from the onlookers as Morgan, without any consideration for the laws of preamble, decked the door-man in a business-like manner, and went back to retrieve her coat as the mob moved forwards.

'Fcking bouncers,' she muttered, bad-temperedly (to her brother's beaming delight). 'Either they're hard enough to smack me about, or they're in the wrong job. So, are we doing this, or what?'

'Word!' Luke cried.

'Shut it, blondie.'

They took the larger, square entrance to the right, and found themselves in a bar with more jukeboxes than you usually saw in one place. All the people they'd seen outside seemed to have dissipated, somewhere, so they were left with a far cosier atmosphere here.

There were booths, low wooden tables and chairs, low enough to slouch in, wreaths of smoke (tobacco and otherwise, wafting that sweetish scent over) weaving around in the highest air like serpentine custodians of headspace. A few of pool-tables, frequented and circled by serious, gritty-looking men, not one of them capable of getting past airport security without setting off the metal detectors – perhaps best suited to the low-lit hanging lights. A bar counter with a piece of sheet-metal fronting it: one which had either been beaten into a pattern by the smith or kicked so hard, so often, over time, by its visitors, that it made no difference. There were hundreds of different whiskies and liquors lit up from below, like baubles, in the back of the bar, big burly men rolling casks of beer out from back, already – where a quaint little sign, pointing to the toilets, read "Poker in the front, liquor in the rear". Laughter and warmth rolled out of it as with the smell of oak in the furniture.

In short, their kinda place.

Morgan squeezed into the outside seat of their booth, next to Luke, opposite Sam and Dean, and finally heaved a sigh. She could see all the exits, smell the booze, feel the safety of lots of people, all around. Safety in numbers, she hoped. Alright. Maybe tonight would be alright, then. She got her cigarettes from her jacket-pocket, tapped one out and lit up. Yeah. Maybe it would.

'Right,' said Luke, smacking his hands together. 'Who's getting the first round in – Dean?'

Dean scowled, but got up, ungraciously, took their orders and padded over to the bar to retrieve them.

'Right!' Luke said, once his back was turned. 'What did you have in mind, Sam?'

Sam glanced at Dean's back.

'What're you two plotting?' Morgan interrupted.

'A...kind of a...Prank war?' Sam said, having the sense to sound sheepish about it.

Morgan sighed. 'You're asking Luke. Of course it's a prank-war. Does Dean deserve it?'

'Big time.'

'Well, then, feel free to waste your time colluding with this tit.'

'Colluding?!' Luke cried. 'Please, Morgy, there are ladies present!'

'Yes. I know. I'm looking at one.'

Luke put a hand on her shoulder, pretending to choke up. 'Morgy? I... I love you too.'

Now that was the way to get rid of his sister in a hurry.

Elsewhere, the bouncer – having picked himself up off the floor, from amongst other peoples' feet – was currently in the process of retreating to a certain back room. It was plush, luxurious and sound-proofed, and, like the bar, similarly crowed with smoke, drifting across the low ceiling: but of a richer, cigar-toting kind. He found it almost deserted, but for the boss, who was sitting behind his desk. Never did to think of the boss as being alone, though, there was always someone nearby.

Lo looked up from lighting his cigar, tracing a spark through the air with the waving match-head before it snuffed out. He took a drag and exhaled through his nose, surveying the scruffy man before him.

'What happ-ened to you?' He inquired. The bouncer was sporting a livid bruise, stretched right across the bridge of his nose, two striking black eyes in a mask across his face, sheltered by the brim of his cowboy hat. It suited his murderous expression perfectly.

'They're here,' the bouncer muttered, begrudgingly.

Lo nodded. 'Good. Bring the woman here, to see me.'

Dean retrieved their orders from the bar, somehow managing to hold four drinks in his big hands without spilling a drop. He fought a roundabout route back to their booth, and sat down hey.

'Excuse me?'

He looked up, and found himself sitting with strangers.

'Oi, Dean, over here mate!' Luke called, and he twisted round to find them at another table.

'What the- I thought we were sittin' here.'

'Nahhh, mate, change of scenery. Come on!' (He winked at Sam).

Swearing under the sound of the nearest jukebox, blasting upbeat soul music, Dean undertook his complicated route again and slapped his load down into the table, where they left a cold wet mark, condensation the glass bottles. Everyone dug in, picking up theirs. He looked across at Morgan, who raised her beer in a silent toast to them all, and in thanks, as he shuffled round, about to grab his new seat. He was almost there, about to start talking, laying a few lines down, when a shadow fell across their table.

'Oh, look Morgy, it's the guy you punched!' Luke pointed out, unhelpfully.

'Yeah, thanks Luke.'

Cowboy hat doubled lecherously over her, one hand flat on the table, the other stretched out across the back of the chair, behind Morgan's head.

'There's ways you can make it up to me, sweetness.'

Dean and Sam exchanged an urgent look – Sam where he sat, beer hovering, about to be drunk, Dean behind the guy, who was in the way of his seat. Easy enough to-

'Dean-' Morgan growled, anticipating him. 'You raise a hand to help me, you will lose it.'

Dean raised his eyebrows, but backed up a step in reluctance, all the same – still on his heels, just in case.

Morgan placed her cigarette, carefully, on the edge of the ashtray, and swung around in her seat, sitting legs akimbo, like a man, for a moment – ignoring the fact that she was wearing a dress. She hated the bleeding things, anyway.

'You got a problem with me, pal?' She prompted straight-forwardly, jerking a hand at him.

'Oh, far from it sweetheart.'

'Good. Then fck off then.'

'Not without you.'

Morgan sighed, nodding to herself, unsurprised. She jerked Luke's beer out of his hands and lips just as he was finishing it, and held it up as if to club him. Cowboy Hat scowled, snatched up one of his own, and smashed it on the edge of the table. It was... really interesting, watching his face go from leering booze-hound red to porridge grey. Morgan, smiling an unpleasant smile, replaced her own bottle, in tact, on the table, reached over to his quivering hand – now filled full of razor glass shards - and squeezed.

Everyone winced, including Cowboy Hat – who nearly passed out with the pain.

'You bitch!' He gargled, collapsing to his rangy knees, holding his afflicted hand by the wrist. 'My hand!'

'Pal, you should learn to fight,' Morgan said, picking up her still-smoking cigarette. 'Before you try.'

'You fcking bitch!'

'Second mistake: Iam not the bitch in this scenario.'

'My hand!!'

'Oh, for fck's sake, get over it!' Morgan snapped, scowling at him. 'Pick out the shards and you'll still be able to blow up your girlfriend. Now piss off.'

Cowboy Hat hesitated and she let her eyes stray near him, a dog watching-but-not-watching its bone. 'Don't make me tell you again!'

He lurched to his feet, and staggered away.

'Amateurs,' Morgan grunted, shaking her head sadly at his back. She took a shaky drag on her fag. 'What kind of moron tries to smash a glass bottle with his own hand? J-e-sus wept.'

When Dean, shaking his head at the show, looked over to share the joke with Sam, he realized that he and Luke had disappeared.

'Hey, where'd they go?' He asked Morgan. She paused in tucking her cigarettes back into the pocket of her jacket to jerk a thumb over her shoulder.

'In the john.'

'Where you going?' (as she stood, gulping down her beer).

Morgan dabbed at the lippy she could feel coming off after her first drink. Bloody stuff.

'I'm going to shoot some pool, deprive some people of their hard earned money,' she said, checking the side of her hand. She slapped her emptied bottle down on the table, with relish, having knocked it back.

'Have a blinder,' she wished him, and left before he could return the sentiment.

'Dude,' Dean thought, watching her skirts swish into the crowd surrounding the pool tables. 'Can't get a holda that pistol...' He looked down over his own beer, at the litter of glass pieces across the edge of the table.

'And I'm not the only one...'

Across the room, Morgan's mood was steadily improving. Bit of harmless violence, get some booze in her, and things were looking up. Now, time to play pool – and she may as well enjoy it, if she was stuck here. Meanwhile, Dean went off to find his brother and found him, and Luke, as he had expected from Morgan's promptings, in the John.

Sam and Luke were standing before the urinals, hands where you'd expect.

Talking – which was weird enough on its own – and not about what you'd expect.

'Dude,' Sam was exclaiming. 'How's yours get so big?'

Luke shrugged, looking down at it too. 'I dunno. I've been around a while...?'

'Huh...'

'Christ. Yours is big. Wider than mine – I suppose you can get a better grip on it, like?'

'Yeah, I guess.'

'Aye. Mine's just a brick.'

'Sam?!' Dean forced out, in a strangled voice.

Sam and Luke twisted around. 'Yeah?'

Dean found his eyes drawn, inexorably downwards... where they were both holding their cell phones, both flicking through contact-lists.

'Alright?' Luke jerked his chin in recognition. 'We were just comparing phones.'

Dean's eyes, which had, up until that moment, been horrified, slid away from them, glazing over in dawning comprehension. He blinked. Of course they were.

'Right.'

Luke twirled his phone round, pistol-style, in his fingers, dropped it into his pocket and snapped on a brief smile. He did that awkward "we both know I no longer need to pee, and are not thinking about that fact" head nod and disappeared through the door. Sam, moving his eyes from Luke's back to Dean's face, found himself being stared at, in faint, low-lidded disgust.

'What?' His own eyes all wide and innocent, as only he could make them.

Dean shook his head, took a step forwards and unzipped his flies.

'Ha! Your face!' Sam thought, as he stared aimlessly at the wall before him, smiling a tiny dimpled smile. 'Thanks Luke.'