"Next!" Dean shouts at the growing line of exasperated customers.
"My order was supposed to be shipped here yesterday. What happened to it?" an old lady demands as she approaches the check-out counter.
"Sorry, Ma'am, but any issues with our products and the delivery of those products is something you need to bring up to the customer service desk," Dean replies with a loud sigh. "It's right over there," he adds, pointing to his right.
"But—"
"Sorry, Ma'am. Like I said, not my problem."
The elderly woman gives Dean a nasty look and then shuffles off to the customer service counter. Dean sighs again and calls for the next in line to approach.
"Just these," says a low voice, placing two packs of beer on the conveyor belt.
Dean looks up to see hazel eyes and shoulder-length light brown—almost blond but not quite—hair.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean hisses under his breath.
"Um... getting groceries? This is a grocery store, yes?" Sam replies with a pointed look.
"Couldn't you have gone somewhere else?" Dean persists. "Like, literally anywhere else?"
Sam rolls his eyes at his older brother and says, "Remember the days when we used to be a team? Now you don't even want to see me in public!"
"It's not like that..." Dean grumbles. "You know I'm still with you, Sammy. That hasn't changed."
"Well, it certainly feels like everything else has," Sam says. "After what happened with Cas—"
"Don't," Dean warns quietly. "Not here. Not now."
"Fine, fine," Sam relents. "I just... I thought you two were close."
"We were," Dean says sharply.
Before Sam can make any further comments on the topic, Dean quickly rings up his brother's items.
"Will I be seeing you tonight?" Sam asks after paying for the beer. "Or will I be drinking alone again?"
"I have to work until closing tonight, so I won't even get back to my motel room until eleven. If I have time I'll try to swing by your place tomorrow," Dean replies.
Sam scoffs, "Right. If you have time. I thought giving up the hunting thing would've opened up a lot of free time... Guess I was wrong, though."
Dean just glares at Sam as he leaves the store. He wants to tell his brother how much he truly misses him, how much he wishes they could go back to the old days, but he just can't. Not yet, anyways. It's too much of a risk, for both of them.
For now Sam can be pissed at him all he wants. Dean isn't too happy with himself, either. He knows he has to be careful, though. He took too many chances before; he was reckless. That won't happen again, he tells himself. Never again.
The motel room is cold and uninviting. Dean shrugs off his dark green jacket and tosses the article of clothing over a grimy-looking chair. He plops down on the edge of his bed—creaky and possibly bed-bug infested—and kicks off his work regulated sneakers.
His watch reads 11:35 in the evening; he should probably go to bed.
Instead, however, Dean finds himself flicking on the crappy little box TV set across from his bed. He lets out a tired sigh and props himself up in bed with a few lumpy, stained pillows.
Guess I might as well watch some TV, he thinks to himself as he flips through channels to find something worth his attention.
After buzzing past a cooking channel, three shopping channels, and the weather channel, Dean lands on a local news network.
"...yes, this is breaking news. If you are just tuning in to this broadcast, we have been informed of a sizable incoming hail storm. Though it is quite late and most of you watching this are probably at home, please be cautious if you intend to be outdoors in the next few hours. Hail is uncommon, but not unheard of, this time of year. This particular hail storm, however, is likely to produce hail the size of baseballs in some areas. Other areas may only see hail equivalent to the size of golf balls. But in any case, be careful. If you have a vehicle parked outside somewhere, you may want to find cover for it, as it's likely to be damaged in the storm..."
Dean's eyes immediately go toward the door. His Impala is parked underneath some sturdy-looking trees, but the hail could potentially still break through.
And there's no way in hell he's going to let stupid balls of ice damage his baby.
Without any further consideration, Dean swings himself out of bed and grabs his keys from his jacket pocket. He remembers seeing a parking garage only a couple blocks away from the motel, so he could move his car there just for the rest of the night.
Outside, the hail has already begun to fall from the sky. Dean practically sprints to his car, eager to protect it from as much damage as possible. He revs the engine and pulls out of the motel's lot a bit too fast. The vehicle lurches onto the main road but begins to quickly slide uncontrollably.
Shit, Dean thinks to himself. The thunderstorm must have slicked down the asphalt.
Though it isn't currently raining anymore, small pieces of hail descend from the night sky sporadically. In addition to that, Dean's car is still sliding across the road. Thankfully no other traffic appears to be around... at least for now.
Dean lets the vehicle slide to a stop, only applying the brakes once it's completely halted. This leaves him in a predicament, however, since his Impala is now parked sideways in the opposite lane.
Feeling mostly annoyed and not nearly enough afraid, Dean puts the car in drive again and starts moving forward slowly. He maneuvers into the correct lane just in time, too. A speeding truck whizzes past, only missing him by a few seconds.
Dean lets out a shaky sigh of relief a moment too soon.
Before he has a chance to react, a black SUV races toward him. From the looks of it, the vehicle also appears to be hydroplaning across the asphalt, unable to stop. Dean tries to frantically swerve away from the oncoming SUV by careening toward a deep ditch. Since it's dark out, though, he doesn't see the giant tree lurking just ahead of him. It's just off the side of the road, obscured in part by the surrounding foliage, which is currently blocking any light from the overhead moon.
The crash sounds before Dean even realizes what's just happened. There's a loud thud and then suddenly Dean's head hits the steering wheel, hard. He feels blood gush out of his nose and black dots dance in his vision when he tries to survey the extent of the damage to his car.
"Fuck," he swears aloud.
With a grunt of pain, Dean pushes the driver's side door open and stumbles into the hailstorm. He instinctively reaches for his phone to call for help, but remembers that he left the device in his motel room inside his jacket pocket.
Dean clambers back inside his vehicle to look for a flashlight. After rummaging around the backseat, he finds one. He uses the object to illuminate the car's windshield and finds the glass to be cracked in several places but no shards seem to have fallen loose. At least not yet.
He doesn't even want to see the damage done to the front end of his Impala.
Since he didn't hit the tree at a very high speed, Dean hopes that the car will still run well enough to get him to the parking garage. It should only be a block or so away now.
Dean starts the engine once more and carefully backs the vehicle away from the tree and back onto the road. One of his headlights appears to be broken, so his visibility of the lane ahead of him is a little compromised. He drives slowly until he reaches a stoplight on the corner where the parking garage is located.
The light turns green and Dean begins to make his turn just as a large chunk of hail drops down on a rickety power-line. The wire holding it taut is frail and weathered with age, causing it to snap when the ice chunk collides with it. In turn, the fallen power-line swings out into the road exactly as Dean passes the corner. The electrified cord smashes through his windshield and nearly zaps him.
Dean quickly slams on the brakes, but that only causes the wire to slam right into his broken nose. He feels a sharp jolt of electricity and then... nothing.