Worth Living For
by Swanseajill
Part Three
Sam drove wearily down the main street of Four Pines. It seemed to be a typical small Colorado town: one main street with broad avenues branching off. White-capped mountains stood starkly at attention in the distance, and pine forests surrounded the town to the east and west.
He pulled up outside a brightly painted sign proclaiming, "Norma's Diner – best value in town" and killed the engine. He'd been driving for over six hours with only one break, and he was tired and stiff. He glanced across at Dean, slumped in the seat beside him. It was hard to tell under the shades if his brother was awake or asleep, but as the engine rumbled into silence Dean grunted and asked, "Are we there?"
"Yeah. Welcome to the metropolis of Four Pines. I thought we could grab a bite to eat first, maybe ask a few questions."
"Okay."
Sam winced in sympathy as Dean gingerly pulled himself upright, not quite able to hide a grimace of pain, and fished about in the glove compartment. "So, Sammy, who'd you like to be today?"
Sam shrugged. He hated the need for subterfuge when checking out a case, but there was no way they could just come out with the truth. "How about PI's, investigating one of the deaths?"
Dean seemed to consider, then shook his head. "Too risky. This is a small town — for all we know the whole town knew all the victims like family. How about we're freelance journalists, writing an article on unsolved mysteries of small-town America?"
"Think the relatives of the dead will want to talk to journalists?" Sam asked doubtfully.
Dean grinned. "I'll charm the young ladies; you can turn the puppy-dog eyes on the old biddies. We'll knock 'em dead, Sammy."
Sam tried to glare, but failed miserably and had to smile instead. It was good to see a glimpse of the old, cocky Dean. If Dean kept this up he'd be back to his obnoxious self in no time.
Until then, though, Sam couldn't help but feel protective of his brother. He had to force himself not to comment or offer help as Dean slowly, painfully got out of the car, instead contenting himself by walking ahead to the diner and holding the door open.
The diner was typically small town, lines of red Formica-topped tables lining one side of the room and the counter running the length of the other. It was still early, and there were only four other customers, two of them seated casually at the counter, looking like part of the furniture.
Dean and Sam took a table near the door and after a moment, a tall, gaunt-featured woman in her fifties ambled across with a pad in her hand and a pen above her ear.
"Evening, boys."
Dean whipped off his shades and smiled. "Evening," he glanced at her name badge, "Norma. Nice place you have here. Any specials tonight?"
"We always have specials," she said briskly. "They're on the board over there. Homemade meatloaf with fries or rock salmon fresh from the river."
"I'll take the meatloaf," Dean replied predictably, while Sam ordered the salmon.
Norma called in the order, and then returned to their table with a coffee pot in her hand. "Coffee?"
"Thanks," Sam said, and Dean nodded.
"You boys just passing through?"
"Actually," Dean said, "we might be staying for a few days."
Norma nodded. "Tourist Information two blocks down can tell you everything you need to know."
Sam said, "Thanks, but we're here on business, not pleasure. We're journalists. I — "
"Dean Kent," Dean interrupted smoothly. "And this is my partner, Lo — "
"Logan," Sam said quickly. "Uhh… Jimmy Logan." He scowled at his brother, who smirked while keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Norma.
"We're here about that story in the Gazette – the one about the Killer Cottage?" Dean said.
Norma snorted. "You've wasted your time, then. Load a' crap. That Buck Weadle's a load a' crap. Buck Weasel, more like. Weasel by looks, weasel by nature and more full of crap than a truckful of buffalo."
Sam blinked at the colorful image, exchanging a quick glance with Dean, whose lips were twitching. He cleared his throat. "You don't think there's anything to his theory, then?"
"About the serial killer? Load a' crap, like I said. Not that I ain't sorry those folks are dead, but it was their choice to do what they did. I reckon they all chose Rose Cottage 'cause of some 'romantic' notion."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Romantic?"
"In my experience, them as chooses to take their own lives are the arty-farty types, like young Jamie Warrington. Always mooning about, that kid, writing poetry and that kind of crap."
"Uhh… so you believe all the deaths were suicides?" Sam clarified.
Norma shrugged. "Maybe not the first one, young Brad. But the others, I reckon so, yes. Just 'cause no one could prove it one hundred percent, don't mean they didn't off themselves, does it?."
"I guess not," Sam said. "So, do you know where we can find Mr. Weas… Weadle? We'd like to talk to him about his theory — even though it's probably a load a' crap," he added hastily, seeing Norma about to launch forth again.
She gave a cackle of laughter. "Only one place to find Buck these days. Charlie's Bar, a block up. He's there most nights, drinking himself into an early grave."
They were saved from commenting on this by the arrival of a new group of customers.
"Your food'll be with you in a few minutes," Norma said, and left them to welcome the new party.
"Colorful characters they have in Four Pines," Sam commented, once Norma was out of earshot.
"Yeah. She's something else." Dean grinned suddenly. "Jimmy Logan? Good recovery there, Sammy."
Sam felt himself coloring. "Don't start with me. I know where you were heading…"
"What?" Dean spread his hands, radiating innocence. "I was going for Lonny, but I like Logan much better." He leaned back and his face contorted in pain.
"Dean?"
"I'm fine," Dean said quickly – too quickly. "Moved too fast, that's all. Back's a bit stiff from all that time in the car."
"Did you bring your painkillers?"
"Nope. Left them in the car."
Sam fished in his pocket. "Good job I brought them, then... What?"
Dean was looking at him with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "Thanks, Mom."
Sam grinned. "You're welcome."