Chapter 2
Dean wasn't angry. He was mad. Blood boiling, rabid dog, foaming at the mouth mad. Not because Sam was confiding in someone other than him, that was just Sam. Sam always needed to share his feelings, and frankly, Dean didn't have the emotional stability of his own to help Sam right now. He needed to work through his own turmoil before he could deal with anyone else's, especially Sam's. What made Dean so mad was that Sam was doing it behind his back, and with someone Dean really didn't want to talk to again. Not now, not ever. Dean cut that emotional tie a long time ago, and wasn't going to rehash it now, and there was no way in hell that he was telling Sam why. Some things are better left alone. Sam was right about one thing though, there was no doubt in his mind that Lou could be trusted, and would never put them in harms way intentionally. Of that, Dean was sure.
When Dean was satisfied he could look at Sam again without wanting to punch him in the face anymore, he decided it was time to go back. At least they had a hunt, albeit not much of a "hunt" from the sounds of it. It all seemed pretty laid out. Just get in the car, drop the windows, crank the music, and get the hell out of dodge. Trusty GeekBoy can map out the route on the way. Find it, decapitate it, salt it, burn it. Piece of cake, right?
By the time Dean got back, Sam had not only loaded the car, but had mapped the route and checked out of the motel. He was very patiently waiting in the car for his brother to return. Good bye to the Shamrock Motel, and Benton, Ky. Whoever said "it's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there" has never been to backwoods towns in dry counties for even a visit.
"Feel better?" Sam asked, a slight hint of sarcasm in the question, already knowing what the answer would be.
"I'm fine. Let's go." And with that, Dean got in the car, slammed the door, started the engine, and cranked up the radio. "You gonna tell me which way we're going, 'cause I don't think we're gonna get there by clicking our heels Dorothy?"
"Oh all knowing Wizard of Oz, last time I checked, Illinois was north. Try heading in that direction. I don't think you can miss it, you know, big state, middle of the country and all." Sam had no intentions of hiding his irritation with his brother, and if he pissed him off enough, he may just be graced with the silent treatment for most of the ride. And Sam was right. Dean gave him the pinky salute.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"That's for people that don't deserve the best!" Dean retorted, showing him what he meant.
"Hey Dean, you got two of those?" You bet Dean did. He proudly demonstrated both to Sam, along with a scowl.
"Stick them up your ass and walk on your elbows." With that, Dean's face turned blood red, and for one of the very few times in his life, he was speechless. Which effectively guaranteed the silent treatment for at least the next 6 hours. Which is exactly what Sam wanted right now.
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Just as Sam had expected, the majority of the ride was in silence, except for when Dean stopped once for gas after about 3 hours, telling Sam to take care of whatever business he needed to, get a sandwich, and get back in the f'n car. They had been traveling for five hours now, and weren't that far from their destination, thanks to Dean's temper-driven lead foot. Sam knew he was going to have to break the ice sometime, it may as well be now. They couldn't very well hunt something if they weren't speaking to each other, could they.
"Looks like there's nowhere to stay in Poplar Grove, nearest town with a motel is Belvidere, about 10 miles south. Either that or Rockford."
"Rockford! No way we're staying in Rockford. I'd rather eat nails and shit them out whole before I stay in Rockford again."
"OK then, Belvidere it is. We're about another hour and a half away."
"Belvidere better not be in a dry county 'cause the first thing I'm doing when we get there is getting a drink."
"Dean, it'll still be daylight when we get there, don't you think we should check out the farmhouse instead of wasting the rest of the day? It's only 2 in the afternoon now. By the time we get there and get a room, it'll probably only be 4:00, at the latest. We can check out the house and formulate a plan."
"I've already 'formulated' my plan, Sammy. I'm going to drink, get drunk, fall down, and pass out. That's my plan. It's a good one, and I'm sticking to it. Then, tomorrow, we'll have a nice breakfast at some greasy spoon in town, go check out the farmhouse, then kill us some evil son of a bitch. Oops, make that a bitch. It is female, right. Sounds like we have all the intel we need anyway. How much scoping out do we really need to do? Isn't it all in your little e-mail there?"
"Dean, I don't think,,,,"
"I really don't care what you think right now Sam. That's my plan. End of conversation." And it was exactly that, the end of the conversation.
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When they arrived at the motel, Dean was overjoyed at the sight of a bar right across the street. Thank God he wouldn't have very far to go. He wanted to check in fast and be on his way, preferably without Sam. Dean rambled up to the counter. The old man behind it eyed him curiously, then Sam.
"We'll take a room with a view please," Dean snorted.
"Well, what view would that be Tinkerbelle? On the left, you have the building next door, on the right, you have the other building next door, in the back you have the spectacular view of the building behind us, and in front, the street. What'll it be for you then?" Obviously the old timer wasn't amused.
"Hey Hey now, don't get personal. Two beds please, one for my brother, one for me. If all the parking is in the street, guess I'll take the view of the street. And maybe some extra towels, my brother there has 'accidents' every now and then."
"Shut up Dean, that isn't funny!"
"Room 3, up the stairs, third door on the right. Thirty-five a night. And an extra ten for the towels. How many you want?"
"I'm thinking two nights, yeah, two is good for now."
"Guess you'll be skipping the extra towels then, eh. I'm doubting you really need them anyway. That'll be seventy then."
"Pay the man Sammy." By the time Sam could say anything, Dean was half-way up the stairs.
"Bet he's a fun guy. That his general nature?" The clerk asked as he tossed Sam the key, rolling his eyes.
"You have no idea," Sam retorted. He paid the man, grabbed his bag, and headed up the stairs, Dean already long gone.
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The room was refreshingly clean, and pretty darn big by Winchester standards. It had two double beds, one very large nightstand between them, an even larger dresser, a lazy-boy parked in front of a TV, a mini-fridge, microwave, and coffeepot. All the comforts of home.
Dean made a bee-line for the bathroom, taking his bag with him, slamming the door and locking it behind him. It took all of five seconds for the shower to start running, and another ten minutes for Dean to emerge from the bathroom, fully dressed and smelling pretty damn good. 'Great, he's going hunting for something tonight, and it isn't what were here for' Sam thought.
"Don't wait up." That was all Dean said before he walked out the door.
"Why does he have to be such an asshole sometimes?" Sam asked himself this question, already knowing the answer this one too. It was always the same answer. It was just Dean.
Dean stopped at the front desk on his way out the door, one very important piece of information he needed the answer to.
"Hey gramps, that bar across the street serve grub and spirits?"
"Young man, grubs don't eat in restaurants, and neither do spirits. If you're looking for food and drink, yeah, they got it."
"Your funny, I like you gramps. Come on over later, I'll buy you a drink." And out the door Dean went.
"The feeling ain't mutual smart-ass." the old guy replied.
"Sorry, he has that effect on people. He's not usually like that." Sam felt the need to apologize for his brother. He was gracing everyone with Dickhead Dean at the moment. "Can you point me in the direction of somewhere to eat, other than where he went. Don't think he'd be very good company right now anyway."
"If you turn left out the door, three doors down is pizza. Turn right, four doors down is Chinese. Both are edible. Anything else, you gotta drive, and I can't guarantee that parking place will still be there when you get back."
"Thanks." And Sam left too. It was a little after 5:00 pm, and Sam was starving. It had been hours since he had anything to eat, considering Dean only stopped once on the way here, for all of ten minutes. He opted for Chinese, and headed to the right. It was going to be a long night.
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Dean stepped into the bar. It was small, and just about empty. It was Tuesday in a small town, after all. The two guys shooting darts glanced at him briefly, found him to be of no interest, and went back to their game. Two more people sat at the bar, one at each end like sentinels on guard duty. Dean shuffled his way up to the counter and plopped down on a stool. His presence did not go unnoticed by the hot little number behind the bar, nor did her presence go unnoticed by him.
"What can I getcha mister?" The bartender asked him, cute little southern twang in her voice, slight upturn to the corner of her lips. It didn't take Dean long to see the way she was looking at him. H's seen that look plenty of times before. It was the ' I'll take you home with me right now if I could just figure a way to get outta here' look. It was the 'Dean's gonna score' look. Guess this night might just end on a positive note after all.
"I'd like a double Jack, a Bud, and a menu, uhhh, Trish."
"Coming right up, darlin'." Dean studied her as she turned around as much as she studied him when he walked in the door. Blonde hair, blue eyes, about a size 2, and definitely a 36C. 'She should be a Hooter's girl' Dean thought.
She plunked the Jack and beer down on the bar and handed Dean the menu, holding on to it long after he tried to take it. "You just holler when you're ready to order."
"Oh, I'm ready to order. Burger, fries, and the Jack bottle in front of me."
"You got it babe. Be right back."
"Hey Trish, what time you close tonight?"
"Midnight, but I'm really a night owl. How about you?"
"Oh, I do my best work at night." Dean had to smile, he knew where this was going.
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The sound of his phone startled Sam out of the light sleep he had fallen into, computer on his lap. He let out a soft groan when he saw the caller ID. He also saw it was a little after 11:00 pm.
"What do you want Dean?"
"Um, hello. Is this Sam?" It was the soft voice of a young woman, not the gruff sound of his probably drunk ass brother like he was expecting.
"Yeah, this is Sam. Who wants to know, and where is Dean?" There was a slight hint of concern in his voice.
"Dean is praying to our porcelain god right now and looks like he's going to need some help getting home. Think you can come and get him. I can't seem to get him off the floor, let alone get him to leave. Our bathroom is not the most sanitary place to be face down in."
"Yeah, ok, I'll be right there. How much has he had to drink this time?"
"Downed almost a full bottle of Jack and five beers. Haven't seen anyone put away that much in a long time. He's gonna be hurtin' tomorrow."
"You don't know the half of it. I'll be right there." Sam slapped his phone shut and started putting on his shoes, wondering to himself 'what did I do to deserve this?'
Crossing the street, Sam took a long, deep breath before entering the bar. He would need all the strength he could get if he had to confront Drunk Son-of-a-Bitch Dean. God, he hoped it would be Pathetic-Chick-Flick-Moment-When-Drunk Dean. It didn't take long to find out which one it would be. One step through the door, and Dean's big mouth could be heard all the way to hell itself.
"Hey, look there. It's my baby brother Sammy. Sasqautch Sammy. Come here and give me a big hug."
"Let's go Dean. We've got work to do tomorrow, and you need to sleep this off."
"Oh, come on Sammy, sit down and have a drink with me. I haven't had an opportunity to say a proper good-bye to the lovely, and, oh, so talented Trish yet." The bartender's face immediately turned seven different shades of red, and she scurried into the kitchen as fast as her legs would carry her.
"No Dean, you've had enough. Let's go. NOW."
"Oh Sam, you're such a kill-joy, you know that."
"Yeah Dean, so you've told me before. Come on, let's go now. And I mean NOW!" Sam grabbed Dean by the arm, just about holding him up and walked him out the door.
"OK, OK, I'm coming. You don't have to push me Sam, I can walk myself."
"You think so?" Sam decided to let go of Dean, to show him just how wrong he was.
"Owwww, whatcha do that for?" Dean whined, more than asked, his ass firmly planted on the pavement.
"Do what Dean? Thought you said you could walk by yourself."
"Sure can, been doing it for over 25 years now. You just watch me." Dean slowly got on his hands and knees, his head lolling low like he was kissing the cement. "Sam, can you ask the world to stop spinning for a minute, it's making me ….."
Sam knew where that comment was going and heeded the warning. Gracefully moving sideways, he just missed the reappearance of the last few remaining items in Dean's stomach. After a few minutes of retching, Dean finally flopped over onto the cold concrete like a dead zombie. Sam was beginning to wonder if he'd even be able to get Dean back to the motel. 'Maybe I should just leave you here, it'd serve you right', he thought. He wasn't looking forward to nursing the stupid idiot all night.
"OK Dean, let's get you up and into bed."
"Make up your mind Sam, do you want me to get up, or get into bed. You can't have it both ways. You should think before you speak Sam. Hey, that's an oxy-moron, isn't it? Haa Haa, good one."
"Yeah, someone's a moron." The comment was lost on Dean, he had already passed out on the sidewalk.
"Great, now I have to carry your sorry ass!" Sam bent over, dragged Dean into a sitting position, and hauled him up over his shoulder. He thanked whatever gods there were that he only had to go across the street, the reek of liquor and Dean's dead weight almost too much for him. "I'm sooo gonna get you back for this."