NEW CHAPTER! Who's more excited than me? Answer: No-one!
And, not to be spoilery to any Aus or UK guys reading this who don't get all greedy and watch America's eps over the internet - 0.0 at the season finale. Just 0.0. I am WITHOUT SPEECH (perhaps a good thing for all the people that have met me...).
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it I'm afraid. :-( I dont even claim to own a single original idea. And that's what makes me so refreshingly unoriginal!
Sam downed his latte with a surprising amount of gusto. His hair was mussed and his face hadn't quite fallen back to normal after waking up. Though his eyes had lit up briefly when Dean had brought him coffee and informed him their room service breakfast would be there any minute, he was soon back to scrunching up his forehead and looking sullen.
Dean noted with complacency that the morning-after dark circles that Sam was sporting didn't make him look mysterious and more than a little bit badass, as they did Dean. They just made him look like a computer geek who'd spent the night playing Dungeons and Dragons.
Sam sat back on his bed and groaned. "Urgh," he said.
"Welcome to a hangover, Sammy," Dean said, sipping his coffee.
"Urgh, ilin one ower begdore."
"Dude, now you're not making any sense."
Sam sighed. "I said," he began, speaking slowly. "I've been hungover before."
Dean simply stared.
"I went to college."
"But you were a geek Sam. But there's no shame in admitting it. Geeks get all the hot chicks when they're, you know, eighty and about to kick the bucket."
"So I should stay optimistic?" Sam half chuckled, half groaned.
"Exactly." Sam's face turned pale. "Sam?"
Sam leapt off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Within seconds, Dean heard the mildly disturbing sound of Sam vomiting in the sink. Sam emerged moments later, wiping his face with a moistened hand towel.
"You have no idea how much better I feel now," he said simply.
"Dude, unfortunately I do. You don't have that dizzy, liquid feeling in your stomach anymore?"
"No. One hell of a headache though."
"Feels like someone's constantly hitting you over the head with a partly frozen turkey?"
"I would have said rolled-up newspaper, but yeah." There was a knock at the door. "Oooh, you got food."
Sam rushed to the door and beamed at the lady standing in the hall with a silver trolley laden with breakfast goods. Sam tipped the lady and wheeled the trolley in.
"Oh, God," he exclaimed seconds later as he bit into a warm ham and cheese croissant. Dean picked up a raspberry donut – cinnamon coated with a nice bread smell – and took a big luxurious bite.
"Good?" Dean murmured through a mouthful of jammy bread.
"Mmm," Sam said, moving onto a piece of toast. "I feel like I haven't eaten in days."
"That's because you just threw up everything you ate in the lat thirty hours. And everything you drank."
"But I wasn't very drunk, was I?"
Dean laughed. "Well, God knows how, but you made it up to the hotel by yourself. That means you weren't quite catatonic."
Sam shook his head and smiled. "But I was drunk enough that I can barely remember anything I… oh, shit, Ally!" Sam's furrowed his eyebrows and Dean chuckled. "What's Ally going to think?"
"That you're a guy."
"But shouldn't I call her or something? Isn't that just what you do in this situation? Well, it's not what you do, but-"
"Sam, it's ten in the morning on a Saturday. If she was as half as drunk as you she wont even be awake."
"Then why am I awake?" Sam asked absent-mindedly as he searched for his cell.
"We have a full morning ahead, Sam."
"Aw, crap. I don't have her number. Wait, did you say it's Saturday? She leaves today!"
"Leaves as in going back home?"
"Yeah. And I can't even call her."
"Wait," Dean said, a grin creeping at the corners of his mouth. "She sleeps with you, doesn't give you her number and leaves the state the next morning?"
"Yes," Sam said, staring at his phone as though expecting the number to just appear. Dean laughed. "What?"
"You just got used, Sammy-boy."
"Wait, what?"
"Used. And not like in ninth grade where you'd get used for your ability to do eleventh-grade math. I mean used for sex." Sam glared a little.
"Shut up."
"Sex, Sam. You were used for sex," Dean said slowly, his eyes bright and his mouth curved into a smirk.
"Stop saying that!"
"What, sex? Sex!"
"What, are you twelve?"
"You're never going to hear from that chick again, Sam. You'll just be another name in her little red diary, another notch in her bedpost."
"No-one actually puts notches in their bedposts. I am going to have a shower," Sam said.
"The stain of being used doesn't wash off, Sam," Dean said seriously.
"Going," Sam said, walking to the cupboard and retrieving a towel.
"Alright, I'll stop. But hurry up, we have stuff to do."
"What kind of stuff?"
"I'll tell you after."
"Ok," Sam said, pulling his shampoo out of his bag. "Mysterious."
"Such is the nature of our profession, Sam." Sam walked towards the bathroom door but stood frozen as Dean began to murmur.
"At the Copa… Copacobana…"
Sam's eyes widened.
"What?" Dean said. "I thought you liked Barry Manilow."
Sam emerged from the bathroom, looking decidedly less tired. Dean was seated at a small table, searching through a pile of papers. Sam sat down next to him.
"Here," Dean said, handing Sam a plastic bag.
"Oooh, aspirin," Sam said, unwrapping the contents. "But Dr. Pepper? Dean I hate Dr. Pepper."
"So do I, Sam. But for a hangover it's the best thing."
Sam popped two aspirin and followed it with a large swig of Dr. Pepper.
"You have to drink the whole can." Sam stared at the can, and finished it in one terrible gulp.
"Ok, Dean. Lay it on me."
"Ha, that's what she said."
Sam looked down at the papers. "What, Dean is this a job?" He was still speaking slow from the hangover, but he was beginning to sound less and less pained.
"It is."
"You found a job here," Sam said, half question, half statement.
"Partially true. I found the job before I found here. So while you were prancin' around, Miss California Sunshine, I've been working a case."
"Dude, you came to California just to work a job?"
"I did."
"Dean, that's screwed. This was our vacation," Sam said softly. Dean's jaw clenched a little.
"No Sam it was your vacation. I don't want a vacation. I was just fine working a job."
"But you had that chance to relax, Dean-"
"I know! I know I'd rather hunt than 'holiday' and be a freaking tourist," Dean said. He took a deep breath. "Any normal person would jump at the chance to relax like that, especially after they've been through what we have. But I'm not normal. I know it's fucked, but that's just how I relax."
"Sorry, that's… fine." There was a pause and Dean looked at Sam. "What?"
"Nothing. Just, you seem happy." Sam smiled.
"Well, it's just good to know you were on a job."
"It is?"
"Yeah. Because you were sorta avoiding me. And I'm glad that you weren't doing it because… well because you just don't want to spend any time with me."
"Dude, you know I hate chick-flick moments."
"But it's nice to know you still want to hang out with me sometimes, even after I piss you off so much. Because I know you're always there for-"
"Ok, Sam, seriously. Add Reese Witherspoon and a catchy soundtrack and you've got yourself a hit."
Sam laughed and looked down at the papers. "So, whaddya got here?"
"Two murders in the area – all pretty standard except for some reason the bodies are missing their hearts."
"What, like cut out?"
"Nope, just gone."
"Well, that's definitely supernatural," Sam said, raising his eyebrows.
"'S what I thought. But that doesn't narrow it down. All sorts of things are capable of this kind of mutilation. Demons, spirits, practically everything with mind powers."
Sam looked uncomfortable.
"Well, obviously not everything."
"So what have you found out?"
Dean filled Sam in on the facts of the case. Jaime's and Kirk's similar residences, their backgrounds, the mysterious apparition in the elevator and the papers he'd recently acquired.
"So basically, you're at a dead end," Sam said with a sigh.
"Actually, no. And that's why I need your help." Dean picked up a piece of paper. "See?"
"It's a statement of Kirk Miller's pay."
"Yeah, and look there, in the margin. Kirk is payed by the job, and it says here that he did some work for client #826, moving larger items like billiard tables and pianos… at Scott Kruger's address."
Sam stared at the paper while Dean gave a self-satisfied grin. "When was Jaime killed?" Sam asked, looking up at Dean.
"The next morning. Kirk was killed less than 30 hours after that."
"And why do you need me?"
"Last time I went to the Krugers I was chased out by the maid. There's not a doubt in my mind that if Scott himself had seen me I'd have been arrested," Dean said with a grimance.
"So, real friendly guy then."
"I need you to talk to him, Sam. And maybe sweep the place. It won't even take you half a day. Then you can go back to… holidaying."
"That's OK," Sam said lightly. "I don't mind helping."
"You don't?"
Sam ignored Dean. "So you think it's Scott's house? And it's linked to the woman you saw?"
"Yeah, but get this – this morning while you were asleep I went to the library and researched more on the house. Couldn't find a female owner who fit the description for the last five decades. But I do a search on this guy – Gavin Burke – who owned it from seventy six to eighty four. And I found this." Dean pulled up a picture of a woman, smiling, receiving an award for her prized roses. "His daughter. It's her, Sam – and she died in eighty three. Heart attack."
Yup, kinda long. But I really do hope you enjoyed it. Now take the time to review and tell me about all the literary atrocities I just committed! Go on:-)