I've never had such an awesome amount of alerts as I've had with this story! Well, I hope you'll like this little chappie!
A VERY special thanks to snseriesfan, Rosetta Brunestud, Tacpebs, Elizabeth, Sesshomaru-gal, LeighAnnWallace, Athle, Cipher Nine and Ariana-tan who all reviewed my fic so far! Thank you all so much! I really appreciate it! :DD
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Dean's not a nerd
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"Dean, DEAN!" Sam's not sure if he should be freaking out when Dean doesn't respond, "DEAN!"
The twitching of his limbs and face twisted in pain still told Sam that Dean was dreaming. It had to be one heck of a nightmare, "WAKE UP!"
Suddenly, Dean's batting at his hand, frowning, "wh- The hell is wrong with you?" he growls, flips over and starts snoring.
Sam stares at him for a minute, unsure whether he's relieved or pissed. He opts to finally just walk back to his bed and try to sleep.
Not that that ever happened. At two am, Sam was still awake and Dean was still chain-snoring and making him a bit jealous 'cause he actually could sleep. With a grunt he shuffles out of bed and grabs his laptop form its bag, setting it up.
Somewhere between plugging in his laptop and switching it on, Dean woke up with a start.
"H-hey… wh're you doin'?" Dean asks, yawning loudly.
"Just getting most of the research out the way…"
"Can' sleep, huh?"
Sam shrugs and starts manoeuvring his mouse across the screen and randomly starts typing on his keyboard, a trick he learnt from Dean to bring an end to an uncomfortable conversation.
Dean grumbles sleepily as he shuffles off the bed towards head. When he's inside though with the door closed, he grabs the sink.
The nausea hadn't completely receded yet. He forcibly swallows and focuses on relaxing. Yes. FHM. Fashion TV. Jennifer Love Hewitt…
He runs the tap and splashes some of the water on the back of his neck and on his forehead, wincing at the temperature difference. Either this is a fever, or this water is running straight from the Rocky River.
Internally he's pretty grateful, for once, for his sense of …well… messiness. His jacket on the bathroom counter held his little life-savers. His cure from torture. Oh hell yeah.
But, it was these damned beige oval pills that dull the pain, that give him the worst fucking night terrors he's had in years. The first-half of the night he didn't mind. Killing zombies in your dreams was actually pretty fun. But, let's face it, between staying awake all night because of pain and staying awake all night because of night terror after night terror… it becomes a toss-up.
Another problem…. Sam. He knows. Dean knows he knows. Maybe not what he thinks he knows… but he just knows….and it's getting harder to pretend to be asleep whenever Sam 'randomly' decides to 'take a break' from researching during the night. Let's face it, people, there had to be a reason the kid went so far in college. He's not a dumbass either.
So, they both stay awake the whole night. One keeping an eye on the one pretending to sleep.
By five-thirty, Dean sits up and 'wakes up' for the first time since he 'fell asleep'. He looks over and feigns a sleepy-shocked look when he spots that Sam's still awake. "Mmhey…. W'tre you doin' up?"
Sam, being the little brother and constitutionally rightfully innocent-looking, smiles, "Been awake for a while…"
"Yeah?" Me too, bitch."
"Yeah."
It's just two years, er…two hours later, when Dean uses his Big Brother status to get Sam to take the interviews for once, saying, "You're growing up, Sammy-boy. You need to know how to handle this on your own!"
Sam's not too thrilled about this idea. Not because he doesn't like interviewing, oh no, it's because Dean will now be the Research Manager, the information wranger, the keyboard jockey, the conductor of Sam's computer. Let's face it: getting your laptop frozen on Busty Asian Beauties dot com is only funny the first four times.
But, no matter how Dean's prowess as a hunter, his Nerd-anian needs some work.
At least it's not Busty Asian Beauties this time…
He found out from the front desk from Mrs. Hall that her cat of eight years is pregnant with its fifth litter…. That and donde esta la biblioteca. The library was five blocks away, next to the liquor store and surgery. Liquor and surgery. Yeah. Two things you never want to see next to each other, at least not when the surgeon was part of that little equation. Although… pretty inspired.
The Impala's out on a date with Sam, so Dean's left with about two k's worth of strutting. Then again, Dean's not even out the gate of the Inn before he starts shaking. He's sure it's just the cold outside, but the fact that practically everyone else was dressed in muscle tees and sun hats.
Sam checks in with him a few minutes later, giving his twenty to Dean. The second interview. The first was a bust, the woman actually threatened him with a Glock. Loaded.
Which was probably a good thing. Either the lady's gun crazy, or, she's scared out of her mind. Based on the short –and dangerous- conversation he had with her, some big-ass wolf hunted her and her husband down. Literally. From their campsite out of town, right into their own house. Even opened the door. Not the woman, oh no, the wolf.
"She ended up barricading herself in the basement… stayed there till the scratching died down," Sam says and sighs over the phone, "Took four days."
"The hell-?" Dean asks.
"No, it took her four days to calm down enough to actually check outside," Sam says, shuffling through some papers, "by that time her husband was long dead."
"That sucks," Dean says and sighs. He slows down his walk, suddenly very aware of how hard he was breathing, "Head to the mo-"
"-The morgue, I know. Dude, I have actually been at this for a couple of years too," Sam growls and gets a reply of an end-of-call tone.
It's not that Dean gets a kick out of randomly hanging up on Sam, but he can just see Sam's screwed up angry face… and that just slaps a smile on his face.
He strips off his jacket and drapes it over his arm, making sure to adjust his shirt at the back – just in case it rode up and his Taurus 1911 was now visible.
When he finally does reach the library, it's not nearly as packed as he thought it might be. He checks the date. Sunday. Doesn't feel like a Sunday.
Six newspapers in the town. Six. Not too shabby. Barring, four of those are graduate-run papers. But… the best news comes in unedited. The deaths were actually added into the obituaries of all six papers, but only those little grad-school papers had more details in them.
Where the attacks happened. What the police and officials say. Details of the attacks. The attacks themselves looked like animal attacks, only, in all of them the hearts were missing... But still, the only weird thing for the average joe was the location. Maybe further north in Minnesota, like Duluth.
He checks out the latest gardening mags, they usually have the moon phases in their prints. Armed with that, a year calendar and a marker; he finally matches up the dates. Check, check and… well this sucks.
Werewolf hunting in summer. And it rains here often. Shit. Nothing worse than the smell of wet dog. Even the thought had him gagging. A bit more than gaggin, actually.
When he finally stops retching over the trashcan outside the library, he waits out the final wave of nausea to pass. The cold wave that runs down his back has him swallowing hard, but it passes a few minutes later. The stomach cramps suck, but he manages to keep it together.
"Heat-wave getting to you, son?"
What heat-wave? It's freezing. He looks up, spots the librarian next to him.
The old lady's got some good style though, dressed like Audrey Hepburn. "You feeling sick?"
No shit, Sherlock. He swallows hard again and clears his throat, "I'm f-fine."
"I can see," the lady smiles, "Come inside, there's an A/C and I've got some lemonade in the fridge."
"I thought this was a library."
"I thought this was the twenty-first century," she quips and pats him on the back, "Come back inside."
Reluctantly he does finally follow her in, although very aware of a cramp in his right leg… of course. That damn drive from that Athol really just drains a guy. So, that's why not enjoying the air-conditioning as much as the librarian thinks he should. She pulls up a chair for him to her by the counter and helps him sit –although, not without a very grumpy lemonade bottle is stuck in a bar-fridge under the library check-out counter.
"Here you go," she pours the pair of them a glass, finally pouring one more once a Mr. Evans joins them at the check-out, "Here, Ed."
"Who's this, Kate?" Ed asks, setting his books down on the counter as he takes the glass –Ed didn't look so surprised to see the librarian bartending. In fact, he seemed pretty at home.
It actually tastes better than he expected. Lemony and sweet, just like it should.
"I saw you browsing through the papers, you investigating those attacks?" Kate asks, taking her time to check the books Ed's borrowing, "You a PI, or something?"
"Something like that," Dean says with a tired smile and takes another slurp. He works his legs up and down, trying to get the scathing cramp out of his leg. Need more salt in my diet… hahah… 'diet'…
"Sounds suspicious," Ed says with a frown.
Bone tired, but still not willing to let some towny alert the fuzz of him, just yet… "What is it with people and badges…" Dean digs out the ID in his left inner jacket pocket. County ID.
"Don't give him a hard time, he's sick, Ed!" Kate snaps, rapping the guy on the arm.
"County, eh?" Ed continues on, his frown deepening, "Aren't you a little young to be a County? My brother's a County… he got his badge only five years ago. He's thirty-six. I doubt you're even twenty-five."
"Woa, what's the age-gap between you two then? Twenty years?" Dean quips, earning a chuckle from the elderly Kate.
"Good one," Ed says with a hearty laugh, apparently completely forgetting his previous reservations, and pats his books into a relatively neat pile, "Gotta run, England's playing Australia tonight."
"Football?"
"Rugby," Ed says and nods towards Kate, "See you at Roy's."
"See you!" Kate calls as Ed exits the library. It was quiet again.
With one last sip, the glass is empty and he actually does feel better. "Thanks, sweetheart," he says and licks his lips, "That hit the spot."
"No problem… you feeling a bit better now?" she asks unsurely.
"Yeah…"
The grey-haired woman opens a notepad and starts scribbling on it, "Look, you won't get far in this town if you don't know anyone, we're a tight-knit town unfortunately. Your best bet would be to give David a call, he works at the station… if you want information about these attacks, he'll be the best place to start at," she says and hands the paper to him, "David's my nephew… he's pretty knowledgeable about the land, if it is an animal attack, he'll know for sure."
"He's a cop?"
"Police Officer, my boy, but yes," she says after a moment's unimpressed frown.
"Thanks, sweetheart," Dean says and grabs the paper, staring at it for a moment, "I'll give him a call later today." … those words never sound right when they come from my mouth… ugh….
He thanks her and sets back to the task of trudging back to the Inn. No, diner first. Wait… Sam first.
On the sixth ring Sam finally answers, "Hey"
"Do you ever answer your phone, or is it just for decoration and for checking the time?" Dean growls irritably, leaning on the railing of the stairs leading out of the library.
"I'm not even going to ask," Sam says.
Over the phone Dean can hear the sound of a car door closing, followed closely by the end-of-call tone.
"Son-nuv-a-bitch!" Dean curses out loudly. That bastard just hung up on me!
"HEY!" it's Sam's voice… and it's not coming from a phone.
Dean looks up and spots the Impala a few yards away, parked in front of the library. He spots Sam, leaning on the hood of the Impala with a grin on his face. Wise-ass. But that's not really what's bothering him, he knows. The fact is, the Impala isn't exactly a stealthy motor. It's meant to make a statement. The roar of that engine can purr Stairway to Heaven from about half-a-mile away… and he didn't notice it. At all.
He knows for sure there's something wrong with him now.
That, or Sam messed up Metallicar's engine again… doubtful, the kid only had the car for an hour or so…. Then again…
"Ready for some lunch?" Sam says and loosens his tie.
"Lunch?" Dean checks his watch, almost passing out when he sees it's past noon. Apparently time flies when you're at the library too.
"Yeah, and..." Sam pauses for effect, "They've got pie…"
Dean forces a smile and heads over to the Impala, still aware of that damned cramp in his leg, but he's trying to walk it off anyway. It hurts like a mother, but Dean's pretty sure it'll pass once he gets a double cheese burger in his gut, topped with some cherry pie and a good portion of beer. Yes. Sweet, numbing beer.
As the older brother, it's his prerogative to drive. It's also his prerogative to let Sam drive. But, he keeps track though. Can't let the kid behind the wheel too many times, he'll get used to it.
"Pie?" Dean asks when he reaches the Chevy.
Sam knows he's just stalling to catch his breath, but carries on anyway, "Apple, Blueberry, Banana, Cherry… you name it…"
"Sounds good," the elder Winchester says and finally climbs in.
For once, Sam drives slow, not that he ever drives fast… but this time it's noticeably slow. Like a friggin' snail in peanut butter.
"Dude, any slower and Miss. Daisy might overtake us," Dean says and sighs, rolling down the window down. He sticks his head out the window, fully aware of how hot it was outside. He doesn't particularly like leaning over unto his sore side, so he shifts himself so his body's almost facing Sam. He sighs contently as the angry stitch starts letting up. Much better.
Sam, courteous dude he is, doesn't tell Dean it's because of him that he's making kayaking down the Hudson river might be the better option of transport at the moment, "Possible…" he says and decides to change the subject before things get out of hand, "Look… I visited the morgue as well… all the hearts-".
"-were missing?"
"Yeah… how-"
"Newspapers…."
"Damn… so, when does our window end?"
"Tomorrow night is the last night of the full moon… if we don't get it by then, we'll have to wait for another cycle," Dean says and pulls out a copied map he worked on at the library, "The attacks were basically limited to this area…Ramer field… so, we can scope that out this afternoon..."
Dean shows Sam some of the notes and photocopies he made of the files at the library. Seemed like a solid research job.
When they do finally reach the diner, Dean finally realises what's been bugging him the whole time. He pats his pocket, relived that he remembered to drop them in his jacket pocket.
The get a booth right in front of the counter, Dean orders them a pair of cheeseburgers –although Sam just HAD to change his to a chicken and veg taco at the last second- along with a couple of beers.
"Shit, forgot my cell, Sam…" Dean looks pointedly at Sam, waiting until Sam rolls his eyes and left before finally getting down to business. With a good swig of beer –and a healthy dose of ignoring his cellphone's ringing- Dean finally downs two of those little beige angels at once. Sweet mama don't fail me now. Just as he drops the bottle into his jacket pocket, does Sam finally emerges from the parking lot.
"It's not there…" Sam almost moans, taking out his own cell. He re-dials the number, frowning when it rings in Dean's jacket pocket.
Dean just nods towards Sam, winks and drags his phone out of his pocket. He holds up the 'one-minute' sign and answers it, "Hello?". Just as if anyone else could be calling.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Get off the phone," Sam scoffs, hangs up and drops the phone back into his pocket. He walks back to the booth and sits down with a huff, "So... you found it?"
"Hours ago," Dean finally answers when the cheeseburgers arrive.
Their waitress checks up on them a few minutes later, Dean's face stuffed with cheeseburgers… Sam just munching on his fries. She winks at Dean, gets a semi-blank stare as a reply. When she finally does fizzle away, Sam leans over.
"What was that?" Sam asks with a surprised chuckle.
"Wfff vsss wphhht?" Dean mumbles past his half-masticated beef bonanza.
"You didn't even ask for her number," Sam says and starts on his burger.
"Whose?"
Sam blinks.
"Oh, yeah… I forgot… I did get his number!" Dean says and holds out the piece of paper Kate had given him. Damn that lady had a pair of legs on her. "He's like Dr. Dolittle or something… wait… more like Due South or something… you know, that show with the guy and the husky…"
"His number?" Sam repeats dumbly, not sure if he's hallucinating or something, he eyes the paper and cringes at the note: Fuzz. Great. All they need is a blue-blood on their tail too.
"Totally… I'm sure they'll bring that show back if I call them…" the elder Winchester continues blissfully on.
Sam wasn't even listening.
"We should totally hit Coney Island after this…" Dean suddenly says, a goofy smile on his face.
Sam, used to Dean's usual spontaneity, nods with a smile and takes a good slurp of beer.
"I'm so serious," Dean grins and blinks a couple of times, seemingly not focusing, "We can totally hit the Ferris wheel… no, that's not a good idea, you might throw up again".
Sometimes being the younger brother means you have to take over when the big brother is messed up: "Uh… you okay, man?" Sam asks, frowning.
"Mmm…. Peachy…." Dean says, looking a lot like he does when he's plastered. Only, he's had one beer… not even an entire beer yet…. And he's looking really drunk.
"Dean, you don't look okay…"
"Well, I would be okay if you'd stop listening to Green Day for two minutes…"
"Green Day?"
"You kidding me? I can hear 'Wake me up in September' literally buzzing from your phone…"
"I'm not playing music, Dean. There's not even diner music playing!"
"Oh! Sorry about that!" the waitress yells from the back of the diner, and suddenly some punk music playing from the thousand year-old speakers.
When Dean starts fanning his shirt, Sam's starting to really get worried. It's not that Sam's worried that Dean's feeling hot, considering the temperature outside. Nope. It's because Dean's taken off his jacket and he's got goosebumps.
"Heheh… it's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes…" Dean starts chuckling to himself, holding the ice cold beer to his forehead.
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Thanks for reading!