DISCLAIMER: We do not own Supernatural. Wish we did. Or at least wish we had a joint-custody agreement and got to spend time with it every other weekend with supervised visitation. Oh well…
"All problems become smaller if, instead of indulging in them, we confront them. Touch a thistle timidly and it pricks you; grasp it boldly, and the spines crumble." - William S. Halsey
Dean drove down the highway humming along to the music and tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel to the beat of the drums. It was the happiest I have seen him in the last couple days, hell it's the happiest I had seen him in a long time and I hoped that for his sake it would last. I couldn't really blame him though this was his idea of a good time, the three Winchester siblings taking on the world, even if Sam and I felt differently. My eyes shifted over to Sam who was on his smart phone trying to figure out if there truly was a job in Concrete, Washington or any indication that it's where our father was. I watched as his fingers slid over the screen, his face scrunched up in concentration and that's when a thought occurred to me.
"Hey guys," I spoke up causing Dean to turn the music down slightly but not all the way off and Sam to look up from his phone, "you don't think dad has purposely gone missing, do you?"
"What?" Sam questioned his nose twitching just like it did every time he asked something in disbelief.
"Who goes missing on purpose?" Dean added with a sigh that told me he thought I was insane. "That's like saying someone purposely gets murdered or…or…I don't know that Sam purposely doesn't cut his hair because he knows you always wanted a sister."
"Hey!" Sam protested subconsciously running a hand through his wavy hair sticking some behind his ear.
"No, think about it," I sat up a little straighter in the seat trying to get back to my original thought, "What if dad isn't really missing? What if he is doing all of this to get the three of us hunting together again? I mean think about it, what better way to get back at Sam and me for leaving in the first place?"
Sam seemed to be thinking over what I said, contemplating the possibility of the whole scenario while Dean wasn't having any part of it.
"Dad is missing, Megan, I highly doubt it has anything to do with you or Sam for that matter. A little high and mighty there, don't you think?"
"I'm just saying…" I trailed off when I saw the look of anger in Dean's eyes.
"I think your good friend Missouri would have said something if that was true instead of warning us about some darkness." Dean stated putting extra emphasis on the word 'your' as if to say I was the one who dragged him there to meet Miss Cleo as part of some horrible practical joke.
"What darkness?" Sam asked looking over to Dean and then back to me clearly upset that we had left that little detail out. "What are you guys talking about?"
"Nothing, never mind," I replied leaning back in my seat. I should have never voiced my opinion in the first place. There was no need to have Sam worrying about us more than he normally did.
"So, what do you got on those coordinates, college boy?" Dean asked glancing over in his direction not wanting to elaborate on the subject anymore than I did.
"Honestly? Nothing that exciting," Sam answered scrolling through a webpage, "the only thing I could find was some reports of a supposed ghost that's been haunting the showers of a women's health facility."
"Women, showers. We need to save these people," Dean declared pressing down on the gas pedal.
"So," I started slowly, trying to get the feel of the conversation again. "You gonna give us a full dissertation on the peeking Tom-ghost or what?"
Sam eyed me through small mirror on the back of the sun visor. Even though I could only see that back of his head from where I sat, I could tell that he had his lips set in a firm line. He sensed the stressed attempt at casualty in my voice and gave me a reassuring shrug.
"Sam," Dean suddenly broke the chain of unspoken words exchanged between my younger brother and me, "continue."
"Yeah, I see you're very interested," Sam put out with a small chuckle, looking back down at his phone and zooming in to read the small print. "The victim claims that the ghost threw her down a flight of stairs."
"He just left us holding the bag…again," I looked out the window and mumbled under my breath.
Dean cupped his hand behind his ear, eyeing my through the rearview mirror, "What was that Megan?"
"Guys," Sam looked between us, obviously feeling a bit overwhelmed in this circumstance. "Can we stop this before we're all too far gone?"
"Oh no, you heard me just fine, Dean." I sat up from slouching against the seat, my back as straight as a wooden post, ignoring my younger brother's plea for us to just drop it. "We're just lone guerrilla in a civil war that isn't going to end easy. Dad is eluding us…I don't know why. But I know he is and he just expects us to make a living by doing the best we can."
"Well, boohoo," My older brother sneered sarcastically. "Christmas is ruined. Will it really kill you to not question him once? To do what he says just once and not be such a buzz kill?"
It just might, I thought bitterly in my head. "I should be back in my apartment with Steph studying and writing papers about polycentric cultural norms not out on some wild goose chase to find a man that doesn't want to be found."
"And there you go with the mood swings again, Meggie, I swear you need to come with a warning label or something," Dean shook his head in a frustrated matter. "You know, you always used to pick a side of an argument and stick to it. Now? Now, it seems you can't even remember what you are fighting about you just want to be the one that picks the opposite of everything we say just to be difficult."
"Well, Winchester is still my last name so I guess difficult comes with the goodie bag," I spat out angrily.
"Guys," Sam gently interrupted, calm and poised. "Fact of the matter is that dad isn't here right now but maybe he'll be in Washington. So, can you two just shut up?!"
"Ain't you a peach," our brother muttered under his breath before reaching over to turn the volume dial up. I swear, fighting with Dean was a lost cause - it was like trying to prove you're sane in a mental hospital.
"What if we're making a big mistake?" I manage to say through the racking throbs in my throat.
"Wouldn't be the first time, Meg," Sam craned his head back with a reassuring smile. "Gives us a chance to outdo ourselves."
We drove all day stopping once to siphon some gas from an abandoned car on the side of the road and once again because Sam needed to empty his bladder after drinking three sips of my water bottle. When the sun started to go down Dean took the first exit in the mindset to find the closest bar.
"Awesome," Dean grunted across from me at the table, taking a small sip of beer and holding it in his mouth for a second before swallowing. "Of all the bars in Skykomish we had to come to the one that specializes only in Motown."
"What's wrong with Motown?" I threw back, failing to see the point of his comment. "Diana Ross has an excellent voice."
"I'm sure she does but it's not classic rock," Sam said halfway through getting up from the table to find a bathroom.
I smirked in response, running my fingertip along the mouth of the beer mug in front of me. "I swear he has the bladder the size of a peanut."
Just then the overly-cheery waiter with suspenders covered in flair, his hair slicked back and combed to one side so it hung over his eyes like it was the 90's appeared next to our table.
"Radical. What else can I get you guys?"
"Are you implying," I snapped, placing both palms flat against the checkered tabletop, "that I look like a guy?"
"What?" The waiter cringed, his smile wiped clean off his face. "No, ma'am. I wasn't implying that at all!"
"Uh," Dean broke in to save the kid, who couldn't be more than seventeen, from my definition of fun. "I think we're good."
"Yeah?" The waiter turned all his attention to Sam when he sat beside me. "You want to try a couple of fryer bombs? Or a chipotle chili changa? Listen, bros. You have got to try our ice cream extreme. It's extreme."
"Bros?" I questioned with an eyebrow raised. Did we not just go through this? "How about I give you an extreme wedgie?" I warned, calmly looking up at the waiter who shrunk back under my gaze. "Get your extremities out of my face and just get us the check."
"Y-y-yes ma'am," he stuttered tripping over his own feet as he scurried over to the counter for our check.
"Someone should have slept in the car," Dean mumbled with a shake of his head bring his beer back to his lips.
"You didn't have to be so rude, Meg, he was just being friendly," Sam sighed giving me a pointed look.
"And? I was having fun," I shrugged dismissively. I knew Sam was right, and I probably was just a smidge rude to the teenager with enough creativity to be the Picasso of his generation but all the over-the-top cheery, happy-go-lucky attitude that was literally oozing out of him was more than I could handle.
The more I thought about it the more I believed my father wasn't going to be in Washington but voicing my opinion had gotten me nowhere so instead of starting yet another argument I managed to kept my mouth shut, at least for the time being, and silently followed my brothers to the car after Dean left a sizable tip for the waiter.
We found a reasonably priced motel and Dean went in to get us a room while I stretched next to the car.
"Interesting isn't it?" Sam questioned throwing his duffel bag over his shoulder and handing me mine.
"Naked women being haunted?" I retorted unsure of what he was talking about.
"No," he laughed and motioned with his head to where Dean was walking out of the office, "how much things really haven't changed."
"Yeah," I nodded, walking over to the room Dean had gotten for us but I was lying.
Things had changed, hell, everything had changed. We weren't the Winchester siblings taking on evil anymore; we were three very different people who happened to be related. We were bonded with memories, blood and responsibility. I watched as Sam checked his voicemail his whole face lighting up at just the sound of Jessica's voice. I found myself wanting to read my old comforting book of The Catcher in the Rye. Then there was Dean who was lounged on the bed with a beer in his hand flipping through the television channels looking like he didn't have a care in the world.
"Hey, Meggie, look what's on," Dean smirked sitting up a little straighter against the headboard and turning the volume up. "We should play, you know, get you out of whatever mood you are in at the moment."
"Dean, we're supposed to be finding dad or even working a job, not playing some drinking game you and Meg made up to amuse yourselves," Sam sighed putting away his cell phone and looking over to me as I contemplated the idea.
Sam was right, it was a game that Dean and I had made up many years ago when dad forbade us to leave the motel room. When we were younger Indiana Jones used to be Dean's idol, and I suppose still could be, so we just had to watch it every time it was on. As we got older we turned it into a drinking game. Every time anyone would mention the Holy Grail you would take a shot, every time someone was shot at you took a drink of your beer and every time a commercial came on we would get up spin in a circle three times and take another shot without falling over. The first time we played was the best with Dean falling face first into the dresser after his second spin but in his defense it was towards the end of the movie.
"We'll start fresh in the morning," Dean waved off Sam's comments before also turning his gaze to me as if I would be the deciding vote. The look in his eyes was one I had a hard time saying no to. "Come on, it's a marathon."
"Fine," I huffed grabbing a beer and a bottle of whiskey I had stashed in my bag and plopping down on the bed next to him. "But only one movie."
"Where are those damn shot glasses?" Dean rummaged through his rucksack, pulling out two glasses and putting it on the bedside table.
A wide grin etched my face when I held the glass which I had picked up from Mount Rushmore years ago, and said over my shoulder, "I can't believe you still held on to these."
"See," my brother nudged me playfully, switching the channel, "you're less of a pain in the ass already."
"Whoa," I reeled back when I saw what movie he switched it to. "We are not playing this to Lord of the Rings."
"You said one movie." Dean threw the remote to Sam so I couldn't reach it from where I sat beside him on the bed.
"You're really trying your best to get killed, aren't you?" I joked, "What can I say, small things amuse small minds. Should I just sign my will right now or should I wait 'til we're completely inebriated to split assets?"
"Shut up," I felt Dean's hand clumsily trying to cover my mouth as Gollum's origin's started with the eerie music. Sam coughed loudly, trying to cover his snickering. "What are the rules for The Return of the King?"
"Every time Legolas does something bad-ass we take a sip of beer." I laid down the ground rules. "And whenever we see the One Ring on screen we down a shot." When I looked back at Dean he was scribbling on a pad of motel stationary. "What are you doing?"
"Oh," he bemusedly grunted, continuing to scribble something on the pad. "Just writing out my suicide letter explaining why we're so self-destructive."
"Because we're so drop-dead gorgeous and can afford to be self-destructive." I finished with a smug tilt of my head, getting off the bed and turning up the volume on the television to drown out my brother's low mumbling. Just then the scene when Deagol first saw the ring came up and I hurriedly poured out two shots of whiskey. Thrusting one to Dean while halfway through upending mine.
"Ah, damn," he caught the alcohol in his mouth before it made a mess on the bed sheets.
As soon as he put his head down, I grabbed the glass again and poured another round since the ring came up several times in those few minutes. In my hurry, most of the liquid spilled on the furniture and dripped onto the floor.
"That wasn't so bad," Dean let out a burp, pounding his chest with his fist since he was drinking too quickly. "Man, Meg, we're not drinking to enjoy we're drinking to destroy!"
"Ew, that was warm," I stuck my tongue out and shivered slightly, looking at the empty glass I just consumed. "Haven't had that much hard liquor in a long time."
"Really?" Sam looked up from texting on the next bed. "Didn't you have a steady job at a bar?"
"Haven't you heard of 'no drinking on the job'?" I looked from the movie back to my little bother, fumbling to pour another round when Frodo had a close up with the ring.
"Yeah, just didn't think you've heard of it," Sam mumbled turning his attention back to his phone. "Can you two even get drunk anymore?"
"Meg, you're like the fittest one between the three of us," Dean looked over, rubbing his jaw with his hand ignoring Sam's comment. "You just messed it up by being rigid."
We could enjoy the next twenty minutes or so of the movie in peace before the commercials started rolling around and Orlando Bloom had more screen time. I held out well enough, pressing a hand against my abdomen two hours in to keep my head straight and the liquor inside. Then things started to get hazy.
"Hey Meg," Dean nudged me, rubbing his acting head with one hand while gripping his third bottle of beer in his other hand. "Let's go dress up like Batman and Robin and patrol the neighborhood."
"No," I dragged out, not being able to help letting out a snorted giggle. "But then again, the idea has possibilities…I think you got me drunk."
"Look," he cried out, pointing at the television screen at the large creatures pulling Grond onto Pelennor Fields. "Look at that dog playing in the mud!"
I stretched my neck forward, eyes squinted to focus on the dark animals. "That's a rhinoceros."
"Well, it looks like a dog to me."
"A dog with horns?" I jumped to my feet, wavering for a moment, before forcing myself to spin in a circle three times, hands tightly clapped against my mouth. I dry gagged when I put the shot glass against my lips but swallowed it anyway.
After making my brother do the same, he fell back on the bed, propping himself up on the pillows before saying, "Oh, I see them now."
That was the last thing I remembered.
"Good morning," Sam basically sang, opening the door slowly, trying not to disturb his ailing siblings. But the slow creak of the ancient door hinges made me wince.
"Oh God, just open the door, Sam!" I groaned rolling over to try and go back to sleep and that's when I noticed the feet in my face. Sitting up a little straighter I noticed Dean and I had somehow managed to sleep horizontally on the same bed. "Get up," I nudged his feet away from my face and turned to see he had his head mushed against the phone on the bedside table and was curled up with a pillow.
"No," he grunted his voice thick with sleep.
"Guys, come on," Sam sighed placing a large coffee in each of our hands in an attempt to wake us up and get us moving. "I've already interviewed the woman who got attacked in the shower but now there's something else."
"Ow," I winced rubbing my temples to get the throbbing pain to go away.
"There's more than naked women?" Dean questioned excitably sitting up and leaning against the headboard. I couldn't help but bust out laughing no matter how much it hurt my head to do so and Sam joined in. "What?"
"I wish I could call Ghostbusters on your face," I replied pointing out the impressions of the phone buttons on his skin.
"Ha ha," he mocked, rubbing his cheek while looking like a kid who just got pinched by his bearded aunt.
"Guys," Sam got our attention with a look of annoyance on his face. "Like I said, there's more…I'm not saying the guy wasn't off his rocker but he was telling the cops he saw Bigfoot."
"And we're the ones who drank last night," I rolled my eyes.
"Yeah and then I saw this," Sam said handing me over his cell phone and showing me a picture of, well, a big foot print.
"Sammy, I think that light-bulb's got Bigfoot mistaken for your footprints." I accidentally hit the previous button as I went to hand the phone over to Dean when I pulled it back toward me quickly.
"What?" Dean questioned.
"You didn't?" I nearly hissed at Sam as he snatched his phone back.
"Oh, I did," he laughed.
"Delete it, now," I instructed with as much authority in my voice that I could muster up but he just laughed again.
"No, it's blackmail."
"What?" Dean repeated looking between the two of us. He let out a pained groan that probably would have been more at home coming from Chewbacca as he rolled over in bed to sit beside me on the edge. His hands blindly reaching up to rub his forehead and the bridge of his nose in an attempt to wake himself up.
"He took pictures of us last night," I sighed and hung my head in embarrassment.
"So?" Dean questioned still not seeing the problem.
"I'm wearing a lampshade on my head and you have a bed sheet tied around your neck like a cape," I explained.
"No way," Dean shook his head but Sam held his phone up so he could see and a look of horror flashed across Dean's face, "Delete it. Now!"
"I was right," Sam smiled with self-satisfaction, "some things never change."
"What is that smell?" I looked around absently, tasting the acid from my low gut start filling my mouth when I saw the Styrofoam box filled with hot bacon and sausages.
My mouth became watery and filled with a salty sourness that I knew meant that my upchuck reflex were tingling. Apparently, Dean had the same premonition 'cause we both made a bee line straight for the bathroom. Since my wonderful brother took up most of the space over the toilet, I emptied the contents of my stomach in the sink, blinding groping for the faucet handle.
"Try holding your liquor next time," Sam leaned against the bathroom door, lips pulled together in a motherly sniff. "Whole day was almost wasted on just trying to get you two out of bed."
"It's only," Dean blinked futile attempts to focus clearly on the face of his wrist watch. "three in the afternoon? You got bacon and sausages at three in the afternoon?"
"I thought you guys would like the greasy breakfast."
I reached back to firmly pat my little brother's forearm, which was as far as I could reach from standing doubled over the sink, appreciative of his help. "At least you didn't get one of those fruity drinks that you hippies think is healthy."
I could tell that Sam flashed one of his trademarked bitch-faces before snapping, "It's not fruity. It was carrot juice."
"Not what she meant by fruity, Princess..." Dean muttered, feeling a smirk come to his lips. "Just… remind us never to get that shit-faced again, okay Sammy?"
"As if you two will listen to me," Sam snorted and disappeared into the main room, pulling at his tie.
The only coherent reply Dean could give was a prolonged moan as his face sunk deeper into the porcelain sink. I washed my mouth out, beads of cold sweats starting on my forehead as I stumbled back to bed, pulling the soft white top-pillow near my flushed cheeks.
God bless Holiday Inn and their hospitality.
"It's all gone," My older brother groaned, falling beside me and pulling the blankets toward him instead.
"Better gone than coming back up again," I yanked the sheets back with the little strength I could muster.
"I don't mean the whiskey, Meg."
"Then what do you mean?"
"The beer."
I felt the empty case of beer that he threw over land on my shoulder then fall on the floor.
"You two need some aspirin or something?" Sam wiped the crumbs of the bacon, sausage, and egg breakfast with a napkin, clapping his hands loud enough for Dean and me to jump.
I looked up at my younger brother, my green eyes bloodshot and unfocused. "Doesn't work. Myth," I mumbled – my mouth mostly obscured by the bedding.
"I remember," He grinned wide like the Cheshire cat from that old Disney movie Alice in Wonderland. "I'll just go out and round up some sloppy joe in a dirty ashtray."
I had to summon up all my willpower to stop myself from attacking Sam, which ended up being much easier when I found it was impossible to stand on my own.
An hour later and my head was still throbbing.
My hangover remained the vicious elephant in the room – a room which also included a thoroughly passed-out, 180 pound man.
"Here," Sam held out a tall glass of chocolate milk. "drink up. Jess always says that her best remedy for a hangover was chocolate milk."
I nearly choked trying to drink it. Sammy might be the one person on the planet who could screw up a glass of freakin' chocolate milk. Despite this, I smiled past my harsh coughs. "Sam, you are a saint."
"Sleep it off for a couple of more hours." He laughed gently, "I'm going to do a supply run."
"Remember the beer, Samson," I waved the arm that wasn't pinned under my body at him as he walked out the door.
As Dean let out a loud snore next to me I couldn't help but smile. So, this might not be what I had planned, and I definitely never thought I would be hunting again, but being here with both brothers was kind of nice. I had missed my family whether I wanted to admit it or not.
