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"Well, hello, Miss Midnight Gorgeous!"
"Oh, brother. Every time he sees a classic car." Sean shakes his head, as Rick zeroes in on the Impala, eyes wide and worshipful.
"Him and Dean will get along fine then."
They were all standing outside of Sam's hotel room, getting ready to head out for lunch, then go look at the house where Sam had found the Impala. Sam trusted these guys already. They knew about the supernatural, had experienced it, they were brothers too, and seemed genuinely concerned about Dean.
It didn't hurt that Bobby was able to confirm their story about the Shifter.
Rick is still drooling over the Impala, asking questions about the engine and other crap Sam has no clue about.
"You wanna drive?" he asks, tossing Rick the keys.
"Hell friggin' yes!"
"Just don't tell my brother ok? He'll freak."
"No probs, man, but if it helps, I can return the favor and let him drive that." He points to a Chevelle in the parking lot, red with black racing stripes. "That's my baby. So trust me, I understand, and his baby is in very good hands. Now, I need a burger and some pie, so let's go!"
Dean shifts uncomfortably on the concrete floor.
Dammit, he's waking up. He's learned to prefer the dark midnight of unconsciousness to reality. When he's out, they leave him alone.
Friggin' demons.
Dean hates demons with a passion. There was Ruby. And Meg. And Azazel, Alastair, and a whole other host of black-eyed bitches determined to end him. At least he knew what they wanted.
But these guys.
He doesn't understand it. It's been a constant stream of drugs and beatings, but it doesn't make sense. They've mentioned using him as bait to bring Sam in, but that doesn't make sense either.
His hunter's brain is telling him that he's missing something, that there's a clue that he isn't seeing, but he can't latch on to it.
He wonders if the drugs have actually damaged his brain, because he used to have pretty decent critical thinking skills. If his instincts told him something was wrong, he was usually pretty good at sorting through the debris and figuring it out.
There's a clatter nearby, loud voices arguing, but he can't make them out.
A shiver of fear dances up his spine.
Somehow, he knows they're arguing about him.
That can't be good.