THREE

It was dark and damp as the Impala thundered down the road. Sam glanced at Dean, who was still staring out of the side window, befuddled.

Sam cleared his throat quietly. "So what did you find out about this erythrocyte-dependent homo-lupo-form in a bar that I couldn't find out from the internet?" he asked gamely.

Dean shook himself, turning to look at Sam.

"Description, possible direction it left in, possible nesting site, yadda yadda yadda," he allowed, looking back out of the side window. It was silent for a few moments. "She was six, man."

"Dean–"

"Six. Six years old. And now she's dead cos I didn't kill it," he managed.

"Look, we'll find it and kill it."

"Won't bring her back."

"But it'll stop other people getting killed." He pouted at the steering wheel, not wanting to look over at his brother. "Anyway, we got details now." He paused, thinking. "Look… You know there's always one that… gets away or just causes complete carnage before we can get to it. It's not your fault." He cast him a look, then fixed his eyes back on the road. "And at least now we're more prepared to kill it. Properly this time."

Dean's face lost its misery slowly, his lips starting to lift at the corners. Sam noticed and looked at him.

"What?" he asked, undecided as to whether to smile as well. There was something desperate about Dean's smile, as if it were that or collapse. Sam decided not to think about it as Dean launched into a huge grin and reached out, pushing at his brother's arm.

"Sammy! You got a girl's number! We should celebrate!" he cried, almost chuckling.

Sam gave his arm a gentle shake to free it from his brother's touch, shaking his head dismissively. "Dean, just think how much sleep you're going to need to recover from all that booze."

"I've got a lead. And anyway, he needed a few drinks. We both did. Leave me alone," he said a little grumpily, and Sam sighed, recognising the first wave of Dean's particular brand of foul mood when he saw it. He swallowed and hoped his brother had drunk more than he'd paid for, and would soon just pass out before he flipped all the way over into self-loathing territory.

Dean looked back out of his own side window and shifted round in the seat slowly, leaning his forehead against the glass. He watched the dark road whisk by for a while, before Sam heard the unmistakeable sound of a husky hum.

"Deeeean," Sam said warningly. Dean smiled to himself, but his humming only got louder. "Dean," Sam reiterated, this time more firmly. Dean simply pulled in a deep breath, humming more loudly. "Dean! I amnot listening to you for the twenty miles till the motel!"

"The numbers and the names, oh and all these funny games we play to stay clear," Dean sang suddenly, ignoring his brother. "Tell me what you're running from. I know that it's not me!" he crowed, lifting and shaking little jazz hands as he added, "It's not me!"

"Dean!" he protested.

"Cos you're tangled in my thoughts these days. I know if I could make you stay just about a minute more, then you'd coooooooooome around more Alabama! You would coooooooooome around more Alabama!" Dean continued at full husky volume, oblivious.

Sam fumed, leaned across and whipped the glovebox open quickly. He yanked out a wide variety of miscellaneous items before he came across what he was looking for. He tossed it into his brother's face quickly.

"You should coooooooooome around more Alabama – cos it might just­ – oh hey, Doritos!" Dean interrupted himself, grinning. He grappled with the bag, managing to get it open quite quickly considering. He plunged his hand in, lifting out a crisp and shoving it in his mouth. "You're an awesome brother sometimes," he managed, continuing to eat.

"Actually? It's cos you can't sing and eat at the same time, and I know which one you'd rather do," Sam said smugly. His grin faded as he heard Dean suck in a breath. "Dude! Seriously! Just eat!"

Dean chuckled as he ate, sliding down in the seat and getting comfortable. He heard Sam sniggering and looked over at him again. "What now?"

"Nothing, dude. Just… thinking of your hangover tomorrow." He cast a sly glance at Dean before looking back at the dark road. "You have a lead on this creature thing, and we are going to be there first thing in the morning."

"Sure," Dean shrugged. "Easy."

"You say that now," Sam grinned evilly. "I can't wait to put the boot in tomorrow morning."

"Hey, bring it on Mr Lightweight," Dean replied smugly. "I wouldn't drink it if I couldn't take it."

"We'll see," Sam said airily, "we'll see."

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Sam opened his eyes and yawned, looking at the ceiling. He pushed himself to sit up in bed, sniffing and leaning his elbows on his knees.

He looked to his left, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He spotted his brother, face-down on his bed. He had at least managed to get his own boots and t-shirt off, but had been content to pass out in his jeans, it seemed.

Sam grinned evilly, getting out of bed quietly. He went through his usual routine of showering, shaving and dressing before walking back into the main room. Dean was still immobile and he sighed, walking over and opening his brother's duffle. He emptied everything out on his bed, finding the small box of fake IDs. He sorted through them slowly, looking at the clock and then his brother.

He put down the two chosen IDs, crouching down by Dean's face on the bed. He let his expression bend into an almost Satanic show of radiant amusement. He put a hand out and flicked his brother's ear harshly.

Dean didn't so much as flinch. Sam's grin slipped a tad, then he stood slowly. He put his two hands next to his brother's face, pressed them down into the mattress firmly, and took a deep breath.

"Fire! Fire!" he hollered, bouncing as hard as he could against the mattress.

Dean jerked up and attempted to struggle off the bed, panicked. He only succeeded in missing one edge of the mattress.

Sam jumped back out of the way and watched his brother tumble to the floor. He grabbed at the bed quickly and held himself upright, slumped against the side of the bed. Sam simply stood back, folding his arms and watching with a big grin on his face.

Dean looked around, then blinked blearily and crawled back onto the bed, grumbling something.

"Dean, you said we could go interview your lead this morning," he said loudly. Dean mumbled something into his pillow, and Sam walked closer. "So get up," he added. Dean mumbled something else. "Get up, or I'll pour water over your head."

Dean rolled his head to one side with all the enthusiasm of a listing ship.

"You ain't Dad," he managed by way of protest, and Sam huffed. He walked back into the bathroom, filled the tooth-mug with cold water, and walked back over to his brother. He looked at the mug, then his brother, then grinned. He flung the freezing water in the approximate direction of his brother's head.

Dean growled something and shoved his hands under him. He pushed himself up, whipping round and rising to his feet faster than Sam had ever seen a human move. He advanced on his younger brother quickly, raising a hand to point at him.

"You – you bast–!" he began.

Then he pushed past Sam and all but ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Sam heard the eminently discernible sounds of his brother abruptly rejecting most of the alcohol he had swallowed the night before, and simply grinned in satisfaction.

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"So," Sam said loudly, pulling the Impala to a stop at the kerb. "This is Park Hospital. According to your notes – which I could only just read – three nightshift workers have spotted a strange thing on the grounds, not long after each attack. And you can't spell 'coffee break'. That's like car brakes, not taking a–. Anyway, an 'animal man thing resembling a wolf' has been shot at twice by a night-watchman, a Bill Sakosc, the guy you were trying to drink under the table last night – Dean, are you listening?"

His older brother's head had slumped to his arm, currently on the windowsill, hanging out of it. A slight snore had begun to emanate from him and Sam huffed to himself.

"Fine, I'll do it myself," he sighed, opening the door and climbing out. He slammed the door hard, hearing Dean snort and grumble something. He ducked down and looked in the window.

"This the place?" Dean managed, but Sam just looked at him. He watched him scrub at his face with both hands before licking dry lips and squinting at his younger brother with extremely red-rimmed eyes.

"Tell you what, you stay here and sleep off the rest of that alcohol like a lazy-ass, and I'll do the important work here," he said snidely, hoping to anger him.

"Cool. Thanks," Dean said immediately, letting his head back to the seat and closing his eyes. He shifted, grunting and getting comfortable, while Sam just watched, his mouth open slightly.

He straightened up and walked through the cark park and up to the main doors of the hospital, trying to push his annoyance at his brother from his mind.

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Sam walked down the path and to the car, sniffing to himself as he opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. He got comfortable, then pulled the door closed with a squeak and a thunk, turning to hand his notebook to Dean.

The passenger seat was empty. Sam simply looked at the seat, wondering, until he heard a quiet snort and a grumble from behind him. He twisted round to see Dean stretched out on the rear seat, apparently asleep on his back.

He hesitated for a long moment, then looked at his watch and thought for a second. He pouted, put his notebook down in the passenger seat, then sniffed and looked back at his brother.

"Uh… Dean?" he called. Dean grunted in reply. "Look man, you alright? You want anything?" he asked him, but Dean simply grunted again, making Sam frown. "It's nearly three in the afternoon. Are you seriously still ganked from all that booze?"

Dean simply twitched a thumb upwards and mumbled something. Sam raised his eyebrows, surprised.

"Well alright. Mr Patrick Chow, head night-watchman, has been very forthcoming about his own run-in with the animal. We should definitely come back here and check out the watch tonight."

Dean simply grunted again and waved his index finger in the general direction of the steering wheel. Sam shrugged and turned, starting the car and pulling away from the kerb slowly.

He drove for about thirty minutes, casting quick looks over his shoulder every now again to check on his brother. He finally pulled over at a modestly priced steak house, killing the engine and turning in the seat to look at Dean.

"Dude," he said brightly. Dean had squirmed onto his left side and looked extremely comfortable, having melted into the rear seat like warm butter into a waffle. He didn't move and Sam leaned over, pushing at his knee forcefully. "Hey!"

"Hmm," Dean managed.

"Food! Come on, food!" he said enthusiastically. Dean didn't move. "Alright. But I'm going in and eating. You can sleep in the back seat like a wino," he added tartly. He peered more closely at him and realised that nothing and no-one was going to be able to incite Dean to move. His heavy, regular breathing appeared to indicate complete and utter relaxation.

Sam huffed, turning and getting out of the car abruptly. He was about to slam the door but paused, instead pushing it closed gently and shaking his head. He walked away, up a couple of steps and in through the automatic doors.

Presently Dean stirred. He pushed himself upright and steadied himself against the seats in front, moving about as fast as an ant stuck in honey. He blinked suffering eyes, pushing his way between the seats and picking up Sam's notebook from the passenger seat with almost-controlled fingers. Then he tossed it to one side and picked up what he actually wanted.

He smiled to himself as he pulled the barmaid's piece of paper from his pocket, then concentrated on his thumb as he pressed her number into Sam's phone slowly. He pressed the 'call' button and waited.