Chapter 9

The strong smell of nicotine, hard liquor, and sweat flooded the brother's senses as they entered the bar. Dean had complained that every bar in the town looked as though it belonged in a country club, so upon seeing the dark old building with only a single neon sign signifying its existence, he jumped at the opportunity. But the brothers had to admit that this was not the usual dive that they were used to occupying either. It still contained the familiar thick puffs of white smoke, the blaring music, and the loud crack from the back pool tables, but that was about where the similarities ended. Sam had dubbed it "cleaner" but wasn't entirely sure if you could call a bar that. There was little or no mess around on the tables and aside from the music, the noise level remained a fair medium even though it was packed.

What surprised Sam the most was that throughout the maze of leather and faded jeans, a few white collars littered the space. He shifted unconsciously as he caught sight of a group of businessmen in their suits and ties and felt almost intimidated in his ratty old blue jeans and faded tee. This perplexed him to know end because for the last four years Sam had done nothing but try to become one of those men and now their very presence made him feel uncomfortable.

Dean, on the other hand, was neither bothered nor wary, he was going to have fun, whether or not the bar really seemed to offer it. The second he had crossed the threshold and seen the long wooden bar he'd made a beeline for it. Immediately striking up a conversation with the cute red head behind it, and began his ritual of shameless flirting, ordering a round in the process.

Sam let out a sigh, and scanned the tables. Instinct led him to one off center with a good view of the exit and clear access to the pool tables. He took his seat, and watched as the red head turned back to work, effectively shutting down Dean's attempts. Dean smirked sheepishly when he caught Sam's tight face as the younger tried to suppress a laugh, and handed the his brother one of the cold dripping bottles. Dean took a swig from his own, relishing the feel of the amber liquid as it flowed down his throat, before settling into the seat next to his brother.

The rest of the night flew by quickly, alternating between constant ribbing, bouts of laughter, rounds of pool, and excess drinking. Sam and Dean were able to let go completely. They even allowed their true skill of the game to show; a fact that brought the praises of many young attractive women as they looked on. Dean was more than thrilled for the attention, but even more ecstatic that he'd found the one loophole in Sam's list of rules for the night. The youngest had issued a look of absolute disgust when Dean had smugly informed him that Tequila wasn't technically a beer.

Sam resorted back to the table after the last game they'd played, Dean had let him win again although swearing he didn't, and Sam thought the least he could do was leave Dean to hit on every one of the female onlookers if he so chose. He didn't fail to notice how the elder favored the brunette in the corner or how Dean would sneak glances at her while the other girls fought for his attention. Sam smiled as he watched his brother in action and rested back in his chair allowing the music to wash over him as he took in the scene.

Sam's calm demeanor faded rapidly as a thought occurred to him. He sat up straight in the chair and glanced down nervously at his watch, gasping as he read the time. 12:45.

He swallowed noticeably and managed to croak out his brother's name, before dropping his head in his hands, mentally kicking himself for allowing himself to have fun instead of being aware of the situation at hand. He brought his head up when the table rocked beneath him and frowned when he saw the reason.

Dean leaned against the table, and Sam knew it was cause he probably couldn't maintain his balance otherwise. The brunette from earlier had her arms around his waist, her body resting on his and Sam cleared his throat when he heard her giggle at whatever Dean was whispering in her ear.

"What's the problem, Sammy?" Dean's words slurred slightly as he nuzzled his head into the brunette's flowing locks.

"It's after midnight." Sam stated, feeling rather foolish. A feeling that was escalated by the small laugh that escaped the girl's lips as she pulled her face from Dean's and turned to look at him.

"So?" she questioned before turning all her attention to the sandy blonde before her.

"Dean, the job, remember? You promised." Sam pleaded, desperately trying to get the elder to focus on the larger issue at hand—his life.

"Yeah, yeah. I know, Sammy." Dean replied, releasing himself from the girl's grip but still refused to lose eye contact with her, "Don't worry about my brother…uh…"

"Rachel" the girl offered coyly

"Rachel." Dean repeated before continuing "He just doesn't know how to have fun."

"Dean…" Sam warned

"Ok, ok. How about you go get us another round, Rachel, so I can talk with my annoying brother."

"Don't be too long." Rachel responded softly, brushing her hand across Dean's face before turning her back and walking towards the bar. Despite her departure, Dean cocked his head slightly, continuing to stare at Rachel's retreating figure, taking immense pleasure in the sway of her hips. Dean threw one more longing glance in the girls direction before turning around completely and mouthing "damn" to a now on-edge Sam.

"I knew this was a bad idea." Sam murmured, looking up to see that his brother's stare in his general direction had reverted back to the brunette. "Dean, focus!"

"Oh, I am, Sammy boy." Dean laughed

"Dammit, Dean! Do you want to die today?" Sam yelled, unleashing his frustration at his brother's choosing hormones over the lack of a potential future.

"Maybe, but I think I want to get laid first. We have like 17 hours left, or something like that." Dean retorted playfully.

"Whatever, Dean." Sam muttered grabbing Dean's jacket and handing it to him.

"What? At least I'd go with a smile, right?" Dean joked, nudging Sam's shoulder with his fist.

"You need help. You know that? Serious, psychological help." Sam stated, shaking his head.

"That's what Rachel's for. She seems to really want to help me work out my issues, if you know what I mean." Dean raised his eyebrows repeatedly, a huge grin plastered on his face as he slid into his jacket and turned, walking back to the object of his current state of lust, failing to notice his brother's footsteps behind him.

"Say good night, Dean." Sam commanded through clenched teeth, grabbing Dean by his collar, "If you're not in the car within ten minutes, I swear, I will kick your ass."

"Ah, c'mon, Sam." Dean complained, wriggling free of Sam's grip and readjusting his jacket. "Give me at least 15. I am a dying man, after all."

"Fine, Dean. 15. Just do me a favor and keep your pants on." Sam complied begrudgingly, glancing yet again at his watch. He was already starting to feel bad that he was ruining Dean's idea of a good time, but his concern for the elder's well being overtook that and he rehearsed their battle plan over and over in his head and he exited the bar.

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Dean knew he'd drank too much, the knowledge extremely reinforced as he sauntered out of the bar, his body tilting a little in efforts to balance and his eyes blurring. He also knew Sam was mad at him, but he didn't care other than fact that his little brother had ruined his last chance to score maybe in his entire life. He didn't drink cause he minded the dying, he always figured he'd die young anyway, it was the fire that bothered him. Although, he'd never admit it to Sam, the idea of being ignited didn't appeal to him--at all. In fact, in his mind, that was probably the dumbest decision he'd ever made, up until this point, and hands down the worse possible way to die. But he'd had his reasons and well, all he could do was seriously hope the plan Sam had concocted would work or at worst he'd asphyxiate first but he really didn't remember Kingston as one to make things easy.

Dean tugged at his jacket sleeves as he reached the Impala, shooting his best "Dude, why?" glance before sliding into the passenger, not failing to notice the disapproving look on Sam's face. Dean knew that Sam wanted--needed--him to be strong in the face of fiery death and he would be. He just wouldn't be sober.

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The hour-long drive consisted of Sam reiterating the plan over and over again. Dean's buzz was fading, and he was more alert as the realization of the task before him and Sam hit home. The conversation went from what exorcism Sam was going to use to Dean's concern that he was going to do it alone, and then to Dean's having to drive partially drunk to the cemetery and dig up bones. Sam capped off the discussion by reminding Dean to call once he had the bones dug up, and not to burn them until he'd finished the exorcism. And Dean reminded Sam not to enter the cabin until he called.

It was a solemn moment as Sam stepped out of the car, clutching the sacred book to his chest. Dean struggled over whether or not to tell Sam "goodbye", he didn't want to, so he didn't. Sam fought to stay outside of the car, wanting nothing more than to embrace his older brother, to tell Dean those forbidden three words in the Winchester household, and tell him it was all going to work out, he would see to that. But he figured that would make an uncomfortable situation worse, so he didn't.

The roar of the Impala's engine shattered the painful silence and then waned into oblivion as the car conquered road.

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Sam flicked on his flashlight and began circling the exterior of the house to secure the area and to learn his options of escape if the worst occurred. His options were seriously narrowed, the front door was the only entrance/exit there was and the windows seemed too small to accommodate his tall, lanky frame. Once he was satisfied, he took a seat on an old stump facing the front door trying to come up with a good way to draw Kingston out. Glancing down at his watch, he tightened his grasp on his phone in his hand, and prayed silently that Kingston would keep his word and give his brother the needed time.

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Dean was extremely proud of himself for making the 45-minute drive to the cemetery in all of about 20. He had found the grave marker with relative ease and was now roughly five feet down, covered in mud and down to his white undershirt. He was at the moment far from happy as to how he was spending what could be his last hours.

He had wanted to take down Kingston himself, but college boy's logic made sense for the most part, and he wasn't taking any other suggestions, so Dean had to dig. Like he always did. Like the time, Sam got Sorority detail and he got to do the dirty work, literally. And now was the same, Sam had made him leave the girl he so would've scored with and was making him dig, yet again.

Dean took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow, leaving a trace of dirt across his forehead. Upon catching his breath, he pushed the shovel into the hard earth and laughed like a mad man when the clanging sound of metal on wood met his ears.

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Sam's phone vibrated, and he jerked at the pulsating rhythm. He answered quickly and heard Dean tell him he was all set and remind him to call once he finished. Sam uttered a quick ok, hung up, and trekked back to the cabin, taking a deep breath before pushing the creaking door open.

He really had no idea where to begin. He had to draw Kingston out, in order to exorcise the man, but didn't know how he was going to do it. He wasn't the one Kingston wanted anyway. For a second, he berated himself for not letting Dean do this part, but images from his nightmare came quickly after and he shook all doubting thoughts away after he remembered Dean's Latin left much to be desired anyway.

The papers crinkled under his feet as Sam considered his next move. He decided the study was his best bet. If that were Kingston's haven, then maybe, just maybe he would return there before he went for Dean. Sam's pace quickened as he walked through the hallway and he turned sharply into the far corner room, startling back when two red eyes illuminated the darkness.

Sam quickly flipped the worn book to his dog-eared page and started to read, but before he could finish the first sentence the book and his flashlight were flung from his hands, the black veil that encompassed the room, preventing Sam from seeing where they had landed.

"Well, I give you credit for the attempt." Kingston growled, and Sam could hear the shuffling of pages as his enemy searched through them. "Ah, here it is. Dean M. Winchester. January 24th, 1979 to April 10th, 2006. Why, that's today now isn't it?"

Sam's rage willed himself forward, but his feet seemed glued to the ground. His mind raced at the revelation, his state growing frantic, as Kingston drew nearer reading from the old page in his hand—Dean's death creed.

"Son of John and Mary Winchester, deceased." Kingston recited, "I am so sorry about that. Now tell me, how did she die?"

"Go to hell!" Sam shouted angrily.

"Ah, yes, I remember now. Above you. He hates you for that you know." And Sam did know. He knew his brother had lost his mom, his normalcy, the night their mother had died to save him. Tears burned in his eyes and he fought to keep them at bay, he couldn't let the demon win.

"Brother to Samuel Winchester. And what a pathetic excuse for one you are." Kingston scoffed, the heat from his sulfurous breath passing over Sam's face. "Passed away last night in a house fire, cause unknown. Well, the cabin will have to do. Another slight error in the timing. His death will be more of a morning event, but I'm not sure it matters, do you?"

"You're gonna torch the place? With me inside? How is that in Dean's assignment?" Sam questioned accusingly; not fully understanding what Kingston was trying to pull.

"Oh, well, Samuel. It's all here." Kingston cackled. "Two lines down. Saved another in his death. So, Sammy, think big brother will save you now?"

Within the next moment, Sam was tossed across the room, his head colliding hard with the wooden wall. He brought his hand to his head, crying out in pain. Looking over once again to the direction he formerly had stood; a small burst of flame caught his eye as it flickered to the floor igniting the sea of pages below.

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Dean stared down into the pit he'd created, dumping the rest of the salt over the rotting bones. He clenched his jaw, and ran his fingers through his hair upon viewing the time. It had been almost an hour since he'd last talked to Sam and he'd still heard nothing. It was then that Dean decided to call. In fact, he called four times leaving ten minutes in between each one. And upon receiving no answer, he did what every big brother in his situation would do.

He took off in a mad sprint, leaving everything behind--the shovel, his jacket, and the bag of hunting odds and ends. The only things he needed were his keys and the car they belonged to. Hang on Sammy, I'm coming!

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Okay, there you go. Its longer, but i did make you guys wait 5 days and there was a lot to cover so what can you do? If you guys would lemme know what you thought that'd be great and I will try to update again soon--haha notice i didnt put a day! Anyways have a great day/night and thanx for reading!