"Yes! Breathe nuclear fire on that sucker. Booyah!" Dean bounced up and down on the bed. Nothing like watching a fifty-story tall mutant lizard stomp all over the Japanese countryside to perk up one's spirits. Yeah!
Godzilla won once again, upholding the honor of all nuclear fire breathers everywhere. Dean found himself whistling the familiar Godzilla theme as the credits rolled by. The Americanized version didn't hold a candle to the old Japanese classics. Godzilla vs. Mothra was one of his all time favorite. Those hot Mothra singing twins, they could come soothe his beast anytime they liked.
He reached to take a sip of his drink only to find it empty. Damn. He grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, swinging to his feet. Glancing at the clock, he realized Sammy had been gone for almost an hour. He'd said he only wanted to get some air. His brother should have been back by now. But then again, Sammy didn't have the same camaraderie with the old monster flicks that he did.
Dean grabbed his leather jacket off the back of the chair, in case the heat had backed off without the sun to goad it on, and scraped some change off the end table for a new can.
The evening was quiet, except for some heavy porn music booming out of a momentarily open door of a second story unit across the lot.
Dean let his gaze roam about the place as he made his way over to the vending machines. The buzzing of insects as they rammed themselves against the motel's few lit outside lights echoed in and out like a receding tide. He noticed the moon was still shining above, resembling an open eye gazing down, a silent observer of all going on below.
He bet she had a bunch of stories she could tell. He laughed, wondering when in the world he started thinking of the moon as a woman. Maybe it was some weird subconscious connection to werewolves, the full moon, and Madison. Someday he hoped he'd be able to mention it to Sammy without dredging up all his pent up pain, and see what he made of it. Someday…
Dean stared at the vending choices for a minute not really seeing them. Sammy… Snap out of it, dude. You won't be doing him any good this way. He shoved the coins into the machine, deciding then and there that he wanted to find his brother and see his goofy face, and tease the shit out of him until he either cracked a smile or he drove him bouncing nuts – both very optimal results in his opinion.
The clunk as his prize reached the end had him bending over to open the flap. The moment his hand moved it though, a whiff of something rotten rose up around him making him gag. "What the hell?" He stared inside but the only thing there was his Pepsi. Yet he knew that smell. What was it doing here?
Dean jerked up and stared all around. This was wrong. This was very, very wrong. Where was his brother? "Sammy! Are you here?" A pressure in his chest, his gut, told him he wasn't.
He turned back toward the machine, wanting to check the dispenser again, when his foot kicked something under it. Scrunching down, he glanced beneath there then pulled what his foot had hit.
It was Sam's cell phone.
For a moment he forgot to breathe. Then a flush of anger lit him up from top to bottom. His hand curled about the phone until his knuckles turned white. Why Sammy? Why always Sammy! Kidnapped by hillbilly lunatics, stolen by Meg, now this. Why couldn't people just leave his friggin' little brother alone!
Someone was going to pay, and pay big.