The lonely diner on the side of the road was exactly Dean's type of place. Quiet, empty, free from any gossiping pre-teens and prying old ladies. Yes, even the elderly women seemed to have some sort of attraction to the eldest Winchester brother. Though he admitted it was slightly creepy, it was still some sort of proof of his indelible irrestistibility to women of all ages. Sam seemed to think the whole Veronica thing was a joke, but Dean was determined to prove to his younger brother that he was still the dominant male. That was one thing about empty diners, he knew. Less customers, more attention from the hot waitresses.
"Are we stopping here?" yawned Sam without interest. He was all too used to their familiar lifestyle.
"Yeah, I need fuel," replied the young hunter, rubbing his stomach. "Bacon. Eggs."
"Bacon? Eggs? I thought you said you didn't have any cash, dude," said Sam with a laugh. "That's gonna cost you some dough."
Dean raised his eyesbrows at Sam. "I didn't say I didn't have ANY cash, I said I didn't have enough for a sadistic $45 two-hour tour."
"Oh yeah, man, guided tours of a famous mansion are sadistic," replied Sam sarcastically, laughing. "You know, I heard that they take you out back and beat you when it's over."
"Well, I think it's wrong," said Dean, ignoring his brother's wise-ass comment. "Come on, dude, they CHARGE you to show you a house they didn't even build? And keep you there for two hours, walking through hallways and possibly putting you in danger of being pushed out of a window to your doom? We should charge to take people into some of those places we've been, Sammy, we could make a fortune. How 'bout we start with the field with the muderous scarecrow and continue on to the asylum? Serious business, man, serious business."
Sam looked at his brother with incredulity. No matter how many weird things Dean said, he never failed to amaze him. He could find humor in anything. "Uh, first of all, bro, I'm pretty sure the employees aren't aware that there are murderous ghosts haunting the mansion that want to push people out of windows. And second of all, those tours would never work...they go across like 5 states, man."
"Again, Sammy, it's the principle of the thing. You're so literal, brain-boy. I'll leave you with one word on the subject of guided tours: Gilligan."
"What?"
"Just think about it, dude. Just think about it," said Dean assuredly, pulling the 67' black Impala into the parking place directly in front of the main window of the diner. It was evident, even from the outside, that the diner was deserted. The only cars in the other spaces of the lot were a rusted Buick and a navy blue Ford with the front bumper falling off.
"Ah," said Dean, "perfect." He his his disappointment that none of the cars likely belonged to a hot, twenty-something blonde waitress. Oh well, he could deal. And besides, you never knew. In a town like this, with houses close by, employees could walk...
The two brothers stepped out of the classic car, shutting the side doors behind them and walking together into the diner. The bell chimed as they opened the door, causing the few customers to raise their heads in interest. An old man with a long gray beard and a red flannel shirt was sitting at the counter, clutching a coffee mug in his hands and apparently muttering something to himself under his breath. A heavyset woman wearing an extremely tight pink spandex dress with bleach-blonde hair was sitting at one of the booths, cozying up next to a very timid looking, tiny man with dark spectacles and wearing what Dean was sure was a pocket protector on his white collared shirt. The last customer was a man wearing tight jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat, listening to very loud country music on his walkman and shoveling pancakes into his mouth.
Dean let out a low whistle upon observing the crowd. He put his hand over his mouth, leaning in to Sam's ear. "Jeez, man," he whispered, "these dudes make us look completely normal."
Sam smirked, just as a waiter walked out from the back room and up to the brothers. Already amused by Dean's comment, Sam found it extremely difficult not to just start laughing on the spot at the appearance of the employee. His hair was greasy, and fell into his eyes, and there were strange brown stains on his shirt. His eyes were bloodshot, and it wasn't hard to deduce the cause--there was a faint whiff of smoke as he came nearer. It wasn't the man's appearance that made Sam want to laugh (as it was more sad than amusing), but rather the fact that they were going to order FOOD from him. Just as with the motel, they couldn't afford more expensive food in the area. Suddenly, Sam understood why Dean wasn't exactly worried about having enough money to order breakfast--knowing his brother, he had scoped the place out beforehand.
"Ya guys wanna booth or counter seat?"
Dean shrugged, glancing at Sam as if to gather his opinion on the matter.
The waiter sighed. "It's not like it matters anyway," he said, looking around the dreary restaurant. "Just sit wherever." With that, he walked away.
"Oooh-kay..." said Dean, "I guess...yeah, there looks good," he said, pointing to the booth nearest to the door. The waiter nodded at them from across the room as they chose their seat, holding up one finger to alert them that he'd be there in "one minute."
"Why the hell is he leaving?" asked Sam, frustrated. It looks like he's the only one working here, and we just came in." As an answer, Dean simply put two fingers to his lips and blew, pretending to smoke.
"The dude's definately toking, bro," he said, laughing. "I'd probably be too, if I worked in a hell hole like this."
"Oh," said Sam, "so getting attacked on a regular basis by demons and poltergeists doesn't do it, but working here would?"
"Yeah, man," he said (as if it was the most obvious thing in the world), "at least life is interesting."
"So..." asked Sam, opening the torn menu, "you still want to order bacon and eggs, Dean? Because I think you might be safer with toast or cereal, unless you want to die an early death."
"You really think I'm worried about dying an early death from breakfast food, Sammy? I mean, this man's not going down from a rancid piece of bacon. I say bring it on!"
Sam simply shook his head, looking down to read the menu. Unsurprisingly, the items seemed to have been hastily scribled in pen, and almost all were spelled wrong. "Cereal" was spelled S-E-R-I-A-L, "Bacon" was spelled B-A-C-I-N, and "Toast" was spelled T-O-S-T-E. He sighed, deciding to order "toste" and jam. He wasn't all that hungry anyway.
Dean, however, was licking his lips, looking around anxiously for the waiter. He was obviously starving. Upon seeing him, he waved him over. "We're ready to order."
"Okay," replied the young man (his eyes even more red than before), "What'll it be?"
"I'll have two eggs over easy with bacon, with a side of homefries and a cup of coffee--no sugar or creamer," said Dean quickly. He glanced at Sam expectantly.
"Uh...I'll just have some toast and jam, thanks."
"That's it?"
"Yeah," said Sam. Suddenly, he was struck with a question. "Do you, um, cook the food yourself?"
"Sure do," said the man with pride. "Why?"
"No reason," answered Sam hastily. "Just wondering."
As the waiter ("Larry", according to his nametag) walked away, Dean kicked Sam under the table.
"God, Dean! That hurt!" moaned the younger brother.
"Well it should!" said Dean. "'Do you cook the food yourself?' That was rude, bro."
"You're worried about me being rude? What that woman is doing over there is rude, Dean," he insisted, nodding his head forward to the booth down from them.
Dean turned his head to look over his shoulder, only to be greeted with the sight of the large woman in the spandex dress running her hand over her body seductively and pursing her lipsticked lips at Dean. When she saw he was looking at her, she gave a little wave and blushed. Her "boyfriend" had apparently gone to the bathroom. Dean turned back immediately, a look of repulsion on his face. Sam just laughed.
"You always said you could attract anyone, Dean. And besides, she is blonde--you're favorite type! She may even be wearing stilletos. I swear, you always get the good ones."
"Shut your cakehole, Sam."
"Ah, great comeback," grinned Sam. His spirits had greatly improved since meeting Veronica. "Oh, and I have a question, Dean," he said, his expression more serious. "What was with you ordering more coffee? What happened to the Starbucks?"
"Uhhh...I DRANK it?"
"Seriously, Dean. I think you have a problem."
"No," he said, "I have a healthy addiction. There's a difference, college-boy."
A half an hour had passed, and the food still hadn't come. Not that it mattered much, anyway--the Winchester brothers had time to spare for once, and used the long stretch of dullness to talk about their plans for that night. They were going to jump the gate, hoping there was limited security, pick the lock, and come in equipped with guns packed with rock salt, Dean's EMF meter, and flashlights. There was no solid plan except for to shoot any and every spirit who came near. The burning-of the-bones in the graveyard idea was pretty much shot to hell, considering that they could never dig up the hundreds of people who haunted the mansion. Sam had vehemently argued with Dean's idea of being a bike helmet and a pillow, for protection if he was pushed out a window. The scary thing was that Dean was being half-serious with the suggestion. He would go to any length to protect his brother, even if it called for dressing him up like a pansy.
The eldest Winchester dealt with the many inappropriate looks from the polyester-clad woman in silence, simply giving her strained smiles and a thumbs-up whenever she glanced in his direction. The nerd who was evidentally her boyfried had caught on after a while, shooting Dean dark looks from across the room and placing his arm possesively around her broad middle. The constant exchange highly amused Sam.
"Ah, it looks like he's threatened by you, Dean! You wanna go over there, you know, assert your dominance and claim your woman?"
"SHUT UP, Sammy!" he hissed for the upteenth time. When he glanced up, however, a smile immediately replaced his previous scowl. Their food had come.
Larry placed the plated down without comment, and walked away. To Sam's surprise, the food seemed almost acceptable. Sure, it had taken a half an hour for the man to toast bread, but it appeared to be edible enough. There was blueberry jam spread invitingly on top, and the bread was wheat with sunflower seeds stuck in it. He began to eat without hesitation, pleasantly surprised that a good meal came out of all of the waiting. Dean immediately dug into his eggs and bacon, shoveling bites into his mouth at heigh speed.
The food was gone in no time. Dean laid back with his hands on his stomach and sighed, indicating he was full. Sam was about to look at the bill when he was struck by an intense, severe pain in his head.
He screamed, clutching his forehead and falling onto the floor. The room had cleared out by now, and Larry was out doing God knew what, which left the two brothers temporarily alone.
Knives were being pressed into his skull, he could feel it. Flashes of moments opened up before his eyes, but there wasn't much detail...FLASH he and Dean were walking through a hallway, much like in his previous vision...FLASH their faces appeared nervous, tense...FLASH the window was opened,
Dean was thrown against a wall and knocked out...FLASH the figure of a man with a gunshot wound appeared, laughing...FLASH he was falling, falling again like he had before, into the never-ending blackness of night...FLASH he saw himself, lying on the dewy grass in the moonlight in a pool of a dark liquid, his eyes staring blankly into the sky...he could hear Dean's screams...FLASH there was complete blackness.
TBC
Oooh...this is my first cliffie! I'm evil, hehehe! Please Review!
