Yawning, Dean gave a dissatisfied curse and shoved the woman's limp body off the bed, ignoring the thud when she hit the floor. Humans weren't nearly so much fun when they stopped screaming.
That boy, though? Sam. Yeah. Sammy. He looked like he'd be all kinds of fun. Those big hazel eyes, those pretty lips. And, man, his pain when he saw his brother hanging all over the woman? That had been fucking sweet.
He chuckled. Brothers and lovers! That was some funny shit!
Rolling out of bed, he strolled nude across the room to the window and pulled the curtain back, scanning the parking lot and the street beyond. Still clear. Wouldn't be long, though, before the cavalry came riding to the rescue.
Ignoring the raspy, unsteady breathing of the woman on the floor, he pulled on his clothes and boots, checking the .45 to make sure it was loaded before tucking it into the holster under his arm. Not that he needed it, of course, but damn, loud noises and spraying blood was so much more fun than breaking necks!
Stepping out of the motel room, he shut the door and lit a cigarette, staring at the Impala. Time to dump this beast, pick up something shiny and red. Something that didn't have a tracker on it. Nice little Mustang, maybe.
He smirked. It would've been a treat to see the look on John Winchester's face when he saw what his precious son had done to the woman inside but fuck it.
He had other, tastier, fish to fry.
ΩΩΩ
Bobby pulled his Chevelle into the lot of the Circle-K, still open at nearly four in the morning.
Parking in the space next to John's truck, he watched as the big man got out of his truck and climbed in beside him. "John."
John's tone was curt. "Thanks for coming."
"No need to thank me." Bobby noted the tightness of the man's mouth, the look of grim determination and the clenched fists. "Where is he?"
"Tracker puts the Impala at a motel half a mile down." John fell silent for a moment, watching as a customer left the glare of the convenience store, climbed into a nearby SUV and drove away. "I did a reconnoiter about fifteen minutes ago. It's still there."
"Is the woman still with him?"
John's mouth got even tighter. "So far as I know."
"How the hell did you know to put a tracker on the car, anyway?"
"I don't know." Irritated, John shook his head. "Instinct? I just knew something was wrong. Dean has his faults, but he wouldn't have gone off like that. He wouldn't leave his brother."
"How's Sam doing?" Bobby looked at the truck's tinted windows.
"I left him in New Orleans." At Bobby's surprised look, John snapped, "Sam's fine where he is. It's Dean we need to focus on."
Bobby held his tongue. Maybe John was right. The boys were close. Seeing Dean like that had to have been pretty hellish. Besides, if something went wrong, the last thing they needed was the damned thing jumping from Dean into Sam.
"Did you bring it?" John asked impatiently.
Bobby nodded, hooking his thumb into the back seat and John twisted around, letting out an approving grunt when he saw the box.
"Good." John sat still for a moment. After a moment, he closed his eyes and blew out a deep breath. "God damn it, Bobby…"
"John." Singer grasped his old friend's arm, squeezed it. "We will get him back."
ΩΩΩ
Sam sat in the middle of the bed, arms wrapped tight around his knees, more frightened than he'd ever been in his life.
All he could see was the evil staring out at him from Dean's eyes. All he could feel was the pain of his heart breaking as his brother walked away from him.
His cell phone, on the bed beside him, rang. Bad to the Bone. Dean's ring tone.
Hands shaking, Sam picked it up.