Remember how we screwed with the time/space continuum last chapter? Weeeeeeell, we're going to do it one more time. :D
Now we're going to pretend that there was more than a day between Asylum and Scarecrow! WHEE PRETENDING! *yayhands*
(Which is totally possible since John's call sending them off to Burkittsville came in the early hours of the day, but they don't actually specifically say it was the NEXT day after they torched Ellicott's ass. Plus, even if it won't kill you, getting shot in the chest at point-blank range with salt has to hurt like a bitch. Layers of clothing or not there had to be some cutting of skin and bleeding involved. Rock salt is sharp! =O And that's not gonna magically heal overnight. So Dean needed some time to recover. And maybe they had another hunt or two in between. Whatever floats your boat. :D Either way, we're putting some space in there between the episodes.)
Thus, we're going to pretend there was a time jump of . . . ohhh . . . four or five months or so? Which, actually, technically fixes what we did with Asylum and the other episodes before it, because it puts Scarecrow back on a canonical time frame of early April. :D
This really shouldn't make THAT much of a difference in things, storyline wise. In fact, most of you probably have no freaking idea what I'm talking about as far as time references go. (Hell, I didn't until I watched the damn episodes again to refresh my memory. And even then I barely caught them.)
I just wanted any canon nitpickers out there to know why I'm ignoring some of the little calendar hints and such they drop in the show.
TIMELINE MARKER:
Psych: Nope. Not the Pilot yet. Try 'back in California, but not quite in Santa Barbara yet'. He's heading back soon, though, I promise. Almost there. :D
SPN: Right smack dab in the middle of Scarecrow. In fact, the first few lines are pulled right out of the episode. I just extended the scene with Dean to plug Shawn into the equation. :D The second chunk would be somewhere around the end of the episode, perhaps just a bit after the credits roll.
"Sam, you were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life."
Dean could practically hear the disbelieving smile that was no doubt twisting Sam's lips right now. "You serious?"
"You've always known what you want. And you go after it." His own lips twisted in a semblance of a grin. "You stand up to Dad and you always have. Hell, I wish I . . ."
He pressed his lips together, squelching that though before it could finish escaping. It wouldn't bring anything but trouble. Especially right now.
"Anyway. I admire that about you. I'm proud of you, Sammy."
Dean waited for a response, but apparently the declaration took Sam by surprise, momentarily short circuiting his ability to speak.
A little flare of anger burst into life inside Dean at that. Didn't Sam know that already? He doubted that their Dad was proud of him, sure. Dean didn't like it, but he could see where Sam got that notion as bull-headed as he had been in his teens.
But how could Sam not know that Dean was proud as hell of what his baby brother had accomplished in his life? Even if he didn't always agree with it.
"I don't even know what to say," Sam finally admitted.
Well that answered that. For a college boy he sure could be a damn idiot at times. And right now was not the time to tell him that if Dean ever wanted to speak to him again.
"Say you'll take care of yourself," Dean offered instead.
"I will," Sam promised.
Dean sniffed, hoping Sam couldn't hear it and cursing the fact that he was acting like a damn girl. He needed to end this phone call before he broke down like a hormonal pregnant chick and begged for Sam to come back.
He actually would have preferred to keep talking, to keep that connection with his brother, but he knew that right now was not a good time if he wanted to retain any shred of masculinity.
And besides, this was better than last time, right? They were still talking. As long as they were still talking, still in each other's lives, still a family, Dean could handle the rest of it.
"Call me when you find Dad," he said, praying Sam read that for the 'end of conversation' cue that it was.
"Okay. Bye, Dean."
Dean closed his phone and sniffed again, valiantly trying to replace his badass mask over the damn girl hiding in his brain. Fuck, it was like he was on Oprah or something.
He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth for several minutes until the urge to bawl like it was that time of the month passed.
One last sniff and a roll of his head to crack the vertebrae in his neck and he felt better. More like a man in charge of his damn emotions and less like he needed to pop his fly and check that he still had a set of balls down there.
He tried to think about what his game plan for when he got to town was, but even with the Lifetime moment over he wasn't quite able to stop worrying about Sammy.
"Dammit," he cursed, pulling off the road and gripping the steering wheel. "Come on, Winchester. He's twenty-two years old. You trained him and Dad trained him. He survived two years by himself." His brows popped up as his logical side reared its handsome but annoying head. "Two years where he wasn't hunting anything more dangerous than a co-ed, granted, but still. He can handle this." He scowled. "Get your head in the damn game."
He listened to the rumble of his baby's engine, briefly noted the mileage and scribbled a mental post-it that he needed to check her oil when he got a chance, then sighed.
He picked up his phone, intending to call his father, when he paused and let the hand fall again.
Dad was gonna be fucking pissed. In the way that a hurricane was kinda windy and the ocean was sorta wet.
The question was, would he be more pissed if Dean called him and gave him a head's up or if Dean didn't call him to warn him Sam was headed his way?
Dean snorted. Hell, he was going to be pissed either way. The only real difference was that if Dean called, he'd get his ass chewing before Sam did. If he didn't call he'd still get the ass chewing, but only after Sam had been thoroughly reamed out.
Assuming, of course, Sam that could actually find their dad in Sacramento.
Which Dean seriously doubted.
Sam was an expert at research—thus the affectionate if somewhat derogatory nickname of 'geek boy' Dean had bestowed upon him. But John Winchester had taught Sam how to research.
He'd taught Dean too, but books and microfiche just didn't get his blood pumping like it did Sam's.
Either way, John knew all of Sam's tricks. Well, most of them anyway. Sam had, no doubt, learned a few new ones at Stanford. Just not anything good enough to help him find a former Marine who had spent twenty-two years learning the fine art of evasion under the pressure of local and federal law enforcement.
No, the odds of Sam actually finding Dad were about as high as Dean spontaneously developing his own Shining.
Which meant that Sam would be all alone out there. Alone and pissed.
Oh yeah, Dean thought with a wry snort, that was a recipe for good things to happen all right.
All of this left Dean with a conundrum.
He had to stay and finish the job. No way around that. It was a time sensitive thing and he wasn't going to let another couple die just because he had a headstrong little brother and Houdini for a father.
Dean could always head out to California when the job was done, but it was probably going to take at least another day or two to hunt this son of a bitch down and figure out a way to toast its ass.
And it would take a day or two for Sam to get to Sacramento, sure, but they were both traveling by land-bound vehicle and even if he pushed the speed limits, there was no way he could beat Sam to the west coast unless he left now.
Which left his brother's lanky ass roaming around for a day, maybe two, by himself.
Sam could probably handle that, really. And it might do him some good, flying solo for a little while. Testing his wings and all that shit.
But there was supposed to be a demon—the demon—running around town and Sam just might get so caught up in his research that he forgot to watch his ass and got himself possessed. Or worse.
Yeah, Dean wasn't getting any happy feelings about that whole idea.
What he needed was a babysitter for his wayward sibling. Someone who could just . . . keep an eye out for trouble so when Sam got lost in the stacks he wouldn't literally get lost in the stacks and never come out again.
Unfortunately, Dean didn't know anyone in California that he trusted with the life of his-
He frowned in thought.
Hold on.
He picked up his phone and scrolled down his contact list, past Sam's, then stopped.
Shawn was not a hunter. Not in any sense of the word.
But he knew his way around a gun. And he knew there were things that went bump in the night. And he had a sharp eye.
Dean thought of the way Shawn had picked up on his fear of flying back in Indianapolis based on wet cuffs and barely shaking hands. Sam had lived in his back pocket for the better part of two decades and had never picked up on that.
A damn sharp eye.
It was only a day or two. Surely Shawn could handle acting as lookout for an over-sized geek for a day or two. Especially if he got a crash course in hunting.
Making up his mind, Dean pressed the send button and lifted the phone to his ear.
Now the only question was, was he anywhere near California?
Three rings and Dean started tapping the steering wheel with his free hand, hoping that Shawn wasn't still in Thailand or Australia or friggin' Europe for that matter.
It flipped to voice mail and Dean sighed and started to punch the phone off when he got the beep of an incoming on his call waiting. Pulling back, he saw it was Shawn.
"'Bout damn time," he muttered and punched the button to accept. "Dude, where are you?"
"And a good morning to you too, De-an," a sleepy voice responded, breaking his name on a yawn.
Dean glanced at the clock. "It's not morning where I'm at, princess. What timezone are you in?"
"Uhhh, Pacific Standard Time?"
Good, back in the US. Or . . . possibly parts of Canada. Did PST include any parts of South America? Dean really hoped it was the US.
"Yeah, well, newsflash, it ain't morning there either."
"Says you," Shawn muttered. Then he sighed as if resigned to the fact that he was awake. "So," he said in a voice that was only slightly forced cheerfulness, "what's new in the world of the Winchesters?"
"All kinds of excitement going on here. I'm in Indiana, hunting a pagan god right now."
"A pagan . . . god?" Shawn asked, sounding just a bit more awake than he did even a few moments ago. "Can you kill those?"
"Dunno," Dean said honestly. "But most pagan gods and goddesses aren't from around these parts, if you know what I mean. Oughta be able to at least send it home to wherever the hell its nature-loving ass came from. Then it's not my problem anymore. My hunting grounds don't include other continents. That requires a plane. Or a boat. I don't really do boats either. Not to mention there's customs and I don't exactly have a passport." Or a supposedly-dead serial killer's face that wouldn't throw up all kinds of red flags if he were seen traversing the country's borders.
"Uh huh. Good to know." Then Shawn seemed to pick up on Dean's usage of the singular pronouns and his distinct lack of mentioning Sam. "Is Sam there?"
Dean grimaced. "Not exactly. We got a call from our Dad pointing us this way. Sam, uh . . ." How to explain the relationship between the youngest and oldest of the Winchesters in less than a year's worth of talking non-stop?
But Shawn seemed to know already. "Yeah, I bet that went over well. But he ditched you? Dude, is he still upset over that asylum thing when he shot you?"
Oh joy, Dean thought sourly. More happy memories. Maybe calling Shawn wasn't the best idea.
Although, he had a point. Was Sam still moping over that whole mess? Had that somehow contributed to this whole emo bitchfest of his? Or was it that the things he said under Ellicott's influence were more true than he had been willing to admit at the time?
There were some definite similarities in the whole 'you always follow Dad's orders like an idiot, but I have a brain in my own skull that I can use' kind of thing he'd spouted now and then.
Gahhh.
Dean stifled a sigh and pushed that mess of doubts away for later contemplation. Or, you know, never.
"I think this is more about the fact that I understand the concept of an 'order' and Sam has never been what you'd call 'soldier material'. Like most little brothers, he's not so fond of doing what he's told, you know?"
"Not everybody is cut out to be a follower, Dean. Some people just gotta find their own way in life," Shawn pointed out.
Yeah, definitely rethinking the wisdom of calling Shawn. He might be able to watch Sam's ass for two days and he might also put more ideas in that kid's head about pursuing his own dreams in that time.
And even though Dean was proud as hell that his little brother knew what he wanted and fought for it . . . this life just wasn't something you could easily escape. The sooner Sam learned that the better. They at least had to find the demon and send its ass back to hell before Sam could ever hope to start looking for that white picket fence.
If it was even out there to be found by someone with the last name of Winchester.
"Yeah, well, whatever. Anyway, I'm staying here and finishing this hunt and Sam is headed out to Sacramento to see if he can find our dad. Unlikely, but the kid's always had high ambitions."
"Sacramento? Dude, I'm in Roseville, like, half an hour away."
"Really?" Good news. Now to see if he wanted a part-time job for the weekend . . .
"Yeah!" There was a pause then, "Would you like me to, uh, check on him?" Shawn asked tentatively.
Shawn was either psychic or he already knew Dean too well. Dean really hoped it was the latter. He didn't need any more freaky spoon-benders in his life.
But back to the point at hand. Dean wanted to shrug off the suggestion, pretend like it was no big deal. But it was a pretty big deal to ask someone to watch out for demons. Especially powerful ones like this son of a bitch had to be.
"Actually, uh, I was wondering if you would mind playing babysitter for a few days. I'm heading out there as soon as I'm done here, but Sam couldn't wait and this hunt sort of has to happen now and-"
"No problem, dude."
Dean grimaced. "You might want to hold on a second before you go agreeing so quickly."
"Why?" Shawn asked warily.
"Well," Dean said, scratching his head, "there's a very specific reason he's going to Sacramento. See, my dad's been hunting the thing that killed our mom, and he's got a lead on it."
"And it's in Sacramento? What is it?"
"I don't know if it's in Sacramento actually. I just know that's where Dad was when he called. He could be halfway to Poughkeepsie, New York, for all I know. He doesn't exactly linger unnecessarily in places, ya know?"
"But he might be here. Hunting the . . . whatever it is."
"Demon," Dean finally clarified. "It's a demon."
"Like in Indianapolis?"
"Uhh, sort of. Only, not really."
"Dude, spit it out. What aren't you telling me?"
Dean sighed. "Look, we don't know much about this thing. At least I don't. Hell, I didn't even know it was a demon until, like, yesterday. But whatever it is, it's been running around for twenty-two years and dad's had one helluva time tracking it down—and my dad's one of the best damn hunters I've ever met, so, whatever it is, it's not something you want to mess with unless you know what you're doing."
"And you're afraid Sam might try to take it on himself if he finds a lead?"
"Well it did kill Jessica and that's about the only reason he got back into hunting. He's damn determined to kill this thing or go down fighting. Or it might come after his ass on its own if it finds out he's in town. I don't know. All I know is that the odds are not in his favor if he's left unsupervised."
Dean left out the part about Sam's special nature and how it made him a target for anything and everything supernatural. The only thing Dean as worried about right now was the demon and his vengeance-blinded little brother.
"But I don't want either of you getting killed before I can get there. So, while I'd appreciate it if you could keep an eye on Sammy and make sure he eats his vegetables and washes behind his ears until I can stop this pagan bastard and get out there to collect him, I will totally understand if you want to take this as a warning and get the hell out of Dodge."
Long seconds passed while Shawn considered what he'd been told and Dean bit his tongue and let him do so in peace. He couldn't push this. Not on Shawn.
"Do you think it's likely this demon or whatever will come after Sam?"
Damn. Dean had to give Shawn credit for not hanging up and heading for Canada as fast as his bike could take him there. Not that he'd agreed to stay, but he hadn't cut and run yet. That earned him points in Dean's book.
And it earned him an honest answer.
"I don't know, man. Like I said, I don't know a whole helluva lot about this thing."
A slow exhale of breath followed, which, ironically, had Dean holding his breath in.
"How do you fight a demon?"
Dean exhaled, a grin spreading across his face. Hell, yes. Shawn had a set of brass ones on him. If not tempered-freaking-steel.
"You don't," he said out loud. "You do your best not to be noticed and if that fails you hide in a motel room and wait for me to show up."
"And what's to stop the demon from coming into said motel room? Salt, right?"
"That's a start. Add some protective sigils on the doors and windows and keep holy water handy and you should be good to go. Well, for a little while. Long enough for the cavalry to show up anyway." He really hoped this didn't end up with him on another plane.
"Okay, how do you recognize a demon? And where do I find what these sigil thingies look like?"
"You got access to a computer?"
"I'm sure I can find one at the library or an Internet café."
"How about an e-mail address?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Give it to me."
He dug out a scrap of paper and a pen from the glove compartment, then scribbled down what Shawn said.
"Seriously? That's your email address?"
"Well, apparently 'the_eighties_is_the_best_decade_of_all_time_and_pineapple_is_the_only_food_worth_eating' is too long for Hotmail and Yahoo, and I don't believe in selling my soul, so I don't know if it would work for AOL. Everything else was taken. This was my sole surviving runner-up."
Dean cleared his throat and gave a shake of his head. "Yeah, uh, okay. I'll, uh, send you links to some sites that have pictures of the sigils you'll need. Find an art store and get a grease pencil. It'll write on anything and it doesn't come off easily. And they don't have to be works of art, but try to get 'em as close as you can. The little squiggles and stuff can be important some times."
"Little squiggles are important. Got it."
"You can get salt at any grocery store, but check the health food stores. Sometimes it's cheaper there. Don't go to a pet store. They sell it in bulk for the fish tanks, but it's expensive as hell. You don't need any special kind, table salt will work just fine. And make sure you get a lot of it. Line the doors, windows—any entry into the room. Make sure it's unbroken, wall to wall. Sammy'll know most of this, I'm just telling you so you can make sure he doesn't miss anything." Or purposely leave it out.
Dean thought about asking if Shawn could get a hold of a gun, but unless he could also get his hands on consecrated iron bullets that wouldn't do him much good. Hell, even then it wasn't all that effective against a demon. And hopefully things wouldn't get to the point where he'd actually need any weapons.
But a little holy water never went amiss when dealing with hellspawn.
"Find a church, something Catholic or Anglican. Lot of times there's a font or stoup just inside the doors where you can fill up a bottle or two to take home. Get lots of it. Never can have too much holy water. Go to a couple of churches if you have to."
"Grease pencil, lots of salt, case of holy water, extra underwear, got it."
Dean grinned. Shawn could maintain a sense of humor. That was good. People who could keep a sense of humor were less likely to freak out and end up dead.
"Those are the easy parts. The real problem is going to be keeping Sam from ditching you. You may not want to tell him I sent you. He probably wouldn't take that very well."
Shawn snorted. "Dude, I'm not an idiot. He may be your little brother, but he's still a freakin' giant. And I don't feel like being bench-pressed like some gym bunny. He won't even know you called. Trust me."
"I do," Dean said, then winced at the sincere admission. Well if that wasn't girly as hell . . .
He coughed to break the silence that had fallen. "I don't expect you to stop him or distract him from his search or anything like that. He'll probably spend most of the time at the library buried in geek boy heaven. Just don't let him go after anything he may find. Stall him until I can get there."
"Now that I can definitely handle. How's he getting here?"
"Bus. Coming from Indiana. He leaves sometime tonight but it may be a day or two before he gets to you."
"Okay. You said it might come after him . . . What's a demon look like? I'm assuming Angel and Buffy are bad sources for examples."
Dean laughed. "Yeah. They're a little more subtle than Hollywood's best makeup artists. A lot more subtle, actually, since they don't have their own bodies. They just possess humans."
"So it could be anyone? Fun."
"Yeah, well, if they made it easy for us, my job would be boring. But there are ways to tell. They'll react to the name of God in Latin. That's 'Christo' by the way. They can't cross salt lines. They steam when you hit them with Holy Water. And they can't enter sacred ground like churches."
"And if I don't have any salt handy to draw a line and block them out and I'm not near any churches?"
"First, always carry salt and holy water. Forget your Mastercard, but don't leave home without those. And if you do spot a demon? No matter what you have on you run like hell to the nearest steeple and get your ass inside. Don't be a hero. Just be alive when I get there."
"Okay!" Shawn said. "I think I got it." He waited a beat then added, "Is it too late to change my mind?"
Dean was pretty sure he was joking so he said, "Yup."
"Huh. Well all right. I'm always up for new experiences. But dude, if a demon comes after my ass you better believe you're buying the drinks this time."
Dean laughed. "Hey man, whether or not a demon comes after your ass, if you can keep Sam out of trouble I'll buy you all the pineapple you can eat, dude."
Silence followed.
"That's a lot of pineapple," Shawn finally said. "I hope your credit cards are good."
"They are." Good, if not his anyway. "Hey, thanks for doing this, man. And if you need anything, don't hesitate to call. I'll wrap this up as fast as I can and head out your way soon as it's over."
"No problem, dude. You want a call when he gets in safely?"
Dean hesitated, not wanting to seem like too much of a worry wart. But what the hell. As if Shawn didn't already know.
"Yeah, give me a call. Or a text. Either one is fine."
"Will do. See you in a few days. Good luck with the, uh, pagan god thing."
"Yeah. Thanks. Later, dude."
He snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the seat, turning on his signal and checking his mirrors. Not that there had been a lot of traffic on this road, but he wasn't going to risk his baby needlessly.
Pulling out he continued on his way to the college, hoping this job was an easy one and that he could be on his way to California before the day was over.
He snorted. Yeah. Like any job was every easy for a Winchester.
o.o
When Sam excused himself to go to the bathroom at lunch, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Shawn's number. He didn't want Sam to know that he'd arranged a babysitter, but he needed to let Shawn know not to expect company.
"Dean, what's up, dude? I was just heading out to the store for provisions."
"Save your money, man. He changed his mind. He's still here with me."
"Oh. Any particular reason?"
Dean snorted. "Does the fact that he's a total girl and just as illogical count?"
Shawn laughed. "There's a logic to girls, Dean. It's just not a secret any man on this planet knows."
"Aw man. And here I thought you were going to say you knew what it was and could share with me."
"Nope. Sorry. Hey, how did the thing with the pagan god go?"
"It was the Nordic god of apple trees or some shit like that. Creepy little pagan-worshiping townsfolk. We burned the tree that came over from the Old Country and poofed his ass back to Norway or wherever the hell. He'll stop taking sacrifices in Indiana though, that's for sure."
"Awesome. More fire for Pyro Boy. Bet you had fun."
Dean thought back to being ambushed by a local Smokey, locked in the cellar, explaining to Emily that her aunt and uncle were crazy people who sacrificed unsuspecting couples to a Nordic god, and then being tied to a tree waiting for an evil scarecrow to rip his face off, only to watch it grab said crazy aunt and uncle and drag them off screaming into the trees.
Not anything he liked to have happen in a day, but being able to burn something had kind of made up for the bad.
"Yeah, I do love me a good bonfire," he said.
"So now what? Got another job lined up?"
"Not at the moment, why?"
"Dude, come to California. It's April. You'd love it here in April."
"Oh yeah? Why's that?"
"Two words, Dean: Spring. Break. It's not Lauderdale, but, man, it's warm and we have beaches. That's all the excuse they need to flock here. Wearing very little if anything."
Dean paused his perusal of the newspaper he'd picked up to give the offer some serious consideration. It would be nice to take some time off. A day or two of R&R to enjoy some female company and maybe play a few games of pool and poker. Where beautiful college girls went, dumb college boys followed and if they were spending their time in California, odds were they had money.
And since Dean knew Sam would never actually party or have fun, heaven forbid, he could look around Sacramento and see if he could pick up Dad's trail or find any clues as to what Dad was hunting.
All around it sounded like a good plan.
Unless of course it was going to resurrect bad memories for his own former college boy brother, Dean thought as Sam came back his way.
"Yeah, maybe we will. Let me check with Sam. One sec."
"Sure thing," Shawn said.
"Who's that?" Sam asked as he sat down.
Dean swiveled the phone down away from his mouth.
"Dude, it's Shawn. He invited us out to California. We could check out Sacramento. Maybe pick up Dad's trail."
Sam's eyebrows arched. "You want to go chase down Dad? Even though he told us not to?"
Dean tilted his head to the side. "Maybe I think there's something to your theory of not always doing exactly what he says."
Sam's expression grew even more incredulous, a grin stretching across his face. "Yeah, right. You? The perfect soldier developing a sudden desire to be insubordinate? Not likely. Why do you really want to go to California, Dean?"
He shrugged. Contrary to what Sam thought, Dean didn't always believe in following his father's orders to the letter. He was just more selective than his brother when it came to choosing which ones to disobey. But he didn't have a deep-seated need to shatter all of his brother's misconceptions in one week so he let it go.
"Shawn says it's Spring Break season and the bikinis are out in full force."
Sam blinked and checked the date. "Really? Huh. It is that time of year, isn't it?"
"Yeah! Dude, what do you think the odds are we can find a hotel where they're filming some Girls Gone Wild action?" Dean's grin widened, his eyebrows waggling suggestively. "Huh? Huh? Yeah? We might even be able to find you a girl or six!"
Sam rolled his eyes. "As outrageously fun as that sounds," he said dryly, "how about we head east to North Carolina?"
Dean's brow furrowed. "Dude if we're heading east, why not Florida? Isn't North Carolina kinda, well, north of where we want to be for spring break?"
"Not if we're looking for a rawhead."
"I wasn't aware we were looking for a rawhead. And, dude, I do not want to see a rawhead in a bikini. Ugh." He shuddered with exaggerated effect.
"Cute, Dean. Thanks. And we are now," Sam said. He swiveled the computer around so Dean could see what he'd been searching while he ate. "Five kids have already gone missing and it's been two days since the last one. It's going to strike again and soon."
Dean rubbed at his eyes, feeling his enthusiasm for the coeds of California die a swift death. He hated cases with kids as the victims.
Lifting the phone back up he said, "You still there?"
"Yeah, dude, what's up?"
"Sorry, Shawn. Looks like we're going to have to take a rain check on the bikini-fest. We got a rawhead in the Carolinas that's just asking for a taser to fry its ass."
"A rawhead? Dude, what the hell is that? A rogue hamburger zombie?"
Dean chuckled. "Rogue hamburger zombie. Ah, that's good. No, it's, uh, an Irish boogeyman. Likes to snack on kids and that makes it a high priority for killin'."
"Ugh. Yeah. Okay. Maybe another time. Go save the kids, you heroes you."
"Maybe we'll head your way after we're done here. Rawheads aren't known for being real smart. Shouldn't take very long to fry this one."
"Awesome. Still a couple of weeks left before the last of them head back to finish up the semester wherever. You got some time."
"All right, well, I'll call when we're headed west."
"Sweet. Talk to you later, dude."
"Later." Dean ended the call and started cleaning up the remains of his fries, his burger long since dispatched to the depths of the bottomless pit known as his stomach.
"It's about a ten-hour drive to our destination," Sam said.
"Awesome," Dean said before slurping down the last of his Coke. "Then let's shag ass. We can make it there tonight if we drive straight through. We can find it, fry it, and be on our way to California and a whole state full of wild beach bunnies in their natural habitat by tomorrow night."
Sam just shook his head, though he was smiling.
"Nice to see your priorities are in order, Dean."
"Hey!" Dean said, affronted. "We're saving the kids and killing the bad guys first. And I'd think you'd want to make good time to California before Dad's trail goes cold."
Sam snorted and packed up his laptop while Dean polished off the rest of his fries. Good thing he wasn't really hungry anymore anyway. "Dude, it's Dad. The trail probably went cold right about the time I traced the phone booth there."
"So you don't want to go?" Dean asked, opening his door and sliding behind the wheel.
"No," Sam countered, tossing his stuff in the back and then taking shotgun. "I want to go. But I'm not holding out much hope that we'll find anything there."
Dean grunted and braced an arm on the seat back to look out the rear window as he backed up. "Won't hurt to go look."
Sam shrugged. "Nope. After we take care of the rawhead."
Dean nodded and shifted into drive. "One rawhead, extra crispy, coming up."
I know I've been skipping a lot of episodes but NO WORRIES. I WILL BE COVERING FAITH. DUDE, HOW COULD I NOT? Srsly, I think it's like an unwritten rule that if you write SPN fic you have to do a Faith tag.
Anyway, review, please and thanks. See you next time! :D