Chapter 9: Why can't we be friends?

"So that's why he was always so weird about the salt," Jess chortled, her head thrown back with great amusement. An occasional snort would interrupt her laughter when she was having a particular fit. Her hand would wave through the air with the crystal wine glass occupying her elegant hands, only half full, though she could refill given the ornate decanter that sat on the table rimming with a glistening riesling. The alcohol left a rosy blush high on the cheekbones on her face, thus giving her liveliness an unneeded booster.

Dean couldn't help but find that the longer he spent with Jess, the longer he could see her with Sam. Hell, in any other situation, Dean would have been hitting on her. But there was something (probably that she was his soon to be sister) that made it seem like it would be more like hitting on your cousin. As in creepy and awkward. It probably helped that she was taking the whole "your soon to be hubby used to hunt monsters" pretty damn well. No vomiting, no big denial, just open ears and understanding. Dean was almost positive that Sam's ears would be ringing a bit by the end of the night after a long, private conversation.

"H-he used to say that it was some 'Winchester family tradition', kind of like praying before dinner," she choked out, her laughter once again putting an end to her words. "No wonder I couldn't find any weird religious things relating to it besides demons," she bellowed, only stopping to whisper the word 'demons', the tipsiness from the wine coating her words.

Dean laughed, actually laughed, for the first time that he could remember in a while. It ripped its way from his lungs, an unfamiliar feeling that his body had to process. His shoulders shook from the sheer force of it, and deep in his belly ached from the intensity. His head was tossed back, his mouth wide open with the music of laughter erupting. It was a refreshing feeling, like your first jump of the year into a crisply cool lake. It was the way that it should have been able to these past ten years. But the past ten years hadn't been like this. It hadn't been full of gorgeous country club outings and bring-a-dish family dinners. The years had been packed with lonely dimly lit bar nights for one and off-brand hot pocket dinners. The constant vibration of the phone in his pocket an endless reminder as he went about trying to find some bit of happiness in the day.

The laughter seemed to melt off of him then like hot wax, bearing whatever lay hidden beneath. He raised the glass of rich bourbon to his lips, swallowing the remaining contents. Hopefully it would be enough to get him through the day for now. Clearing his throat several times, Dean carefully eased himself into what he'd say next.

"Listen Jess, I'm in a little over my head with the job I'm on and I've gotta kick it outta here. Didn't realize how late it'd gotten," he said, waving his watch covered wrist. With a bitter smile, Dean tried to remain composed, "I'm, um, I'm really happy I was able to make it out this way to see you guys, getting to meet you and all," Dean choked out around the stupid damn lump sitting heavily in his throat. "You're real good for Sammy, I can see that, and it's good to know there's still someone around to take care of him. I wish, I mean I really fucking wish, I could be a part of this family like I should be. This is the most normal kind of day I've had in a while. But the shitty end of this deal is that it's too late for that," he chuckled humorlessly. "Not that it's really what they'd have been looking for," Dean muttered to himself, realizing too late how much he'd given away- too much that he'd given away.

Tipsy and edging on drunk, Jess continued to nod her head, not understanding quite the full meaning of his words and demeanor. Too hazy to clearly figure out every emotion that founded the change in conversation. Before her head could even begin to wrap itself around the turn in conversation, or before she could get a word out edgewise, Dean had risen up from his seat. Giving her a peck on the cheek and a tender squeeze to the shoulder, he walked out of the banquet hall with his suit jacket thrown over his should. Most people there would barely be able to tell that he was lacking the usual swagger he held in his strut.

By the time he made it out to the car Dean quickly opened the rear door to toss his jacket into the backseat before sliding in behind the wheel. He scrubbed his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose trying to remain cool. It wasn't five seconds after he had gotten into the car that his phone began ringing.

"Shit," he grumbled, scrambling halfway into the back to grab his suit coat. With fumbling hands, he began digging in. "Stupid fucking suit with all of your fucking hidden pockets," he growled, his half decent mood shot straight out of the window. Finally locating the correct pocket he pulled the phone from the opening, looked at the number, and answered the phone.

"I'm on my damn way so why don't you cool it," Dean yelled into the phone, immediately hitting the 'end' button and throwing it into the glove box. Throwing his head back, he gave a grunt of frustration to the roof of the car before shifting her gears to hit the road.

"Just you and me for a couple of hours, Baby," Dean said, the corners of his mouth forcing themselves upwards as his hand rubbed the wheel affectionately. Reaching his other hand towards the radio, he turned the music up and settled in for the ride.

I'm on the highway to hell

On the highway to hell

Highway to hell

I'm on the highway to hell

It took a grand total of nine and a half hours for Dean to make it to the dry heat of Las Vegas. That time of course included filling up the gas tank, grabbing a cup of coffee and a donut, and taking a piss in a germ infested bathroom in the back of a creepy gas station. The sky was illuminated by the twinkling stars that hung so carefully in the sky, the canyons in the distance making it feel like you were in a giant dome.

Bleary eyed and exhausted Dean spun the wheel of the Impala to the right and pulled into the parking lot of the El Rancho Motel. The motel was the typical Winchester style. As in, it was dirt cheap and probably as old as the ground it sat on. The Spanish styled exterior was chipped and faded from a lack of care to the place. The cactuses that were supposed to be used as landscaping were overgrown and frightening, their sharp needles pointing out like vicious spikes on top of a barbed wire fence. And what might have been flowers now were fried to a crisp from the intense sun and heat, deteriorating quickly. To add to the lovely appeal that Dean was forced to 'admire', the ground was littered with a vast majority of shattered beer bottles, pornographic calling cards, and cigarette butts. He gave a shudder and didn't even want to think about what was inside of the motel rooms. He might not be the cleanest fella, but even Dean Winchester had some standard of living.

"Paradise," he sighed with the driest damn sarcasm in the world- or at least Vegas for that matter. This REALLY reminded him of the country club he'd been sitting in less than twelve hours ago, ornate decor, trimmed bushes and all. Pulling into an empty parking spot- which he had a lot to choose from- Dean threw Baby into park, grabbed his phone from the glove box, and began to get out of the car.

With a symphony of groans, cracking joints, and aching muscles, Dean pulled himself from the car into the dry heat of the night. The lights from the city shone spectacularly in the not too far distance.

"I am getting too damn old for this," he rasped, putting both hands to the middle of his back and arching it in an attempt to stretch. Twisting his body from side to side, he made his way around to the trunk, lifting the hatch and snatching his old duffel bag before slamming the lid.

Finally feeling marginally (marginally) better, Dean pulled out his phone and scrolled through his texts before he came to the one he'd been looking for.

El Rancho Motel, Las Vegas, Room 6.

Squinting at the doors in the heavy darkness, Dean walked from door ten backwards, until he finally stopped before the sixth door. The number 6 was an old rusted out chrome finish on a peeling and scraped brick red door. Beside the room number he found a sticky note attached. Confused, he pulled his phone back from his pocket and shone the light on the note. An additional two sixes were scrawled on it in pen to make the new room number '666'. Rolling his eyes in what most would call a dramatic fashion, Dean gave six (ha ha, very funny) heavy knocks to the door.

A moment later, the poor excuse for a door creaked open, the room pitch black. Glowing maybe two or three feet in front of his face were a large set of gleaming red eyes. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could begin to make out the whiteness of her sharp canine teeth. With a sigh, Dean stepped into the room, the hairs on his neck standing on edge. The set of eyes and teeth backed slightly away from him to admit him into the room.

"We've got work to do," she growled, a salacious grin stretched across her face.

A/N:

Because when I say I'm going to update soon you guys are all supposed to know that it means waiting another month or two, of course- NOT. I know, I know, I'm terrible at the whole 'time' aspect of writing regularly for you guys. It didn't help that I had no clue where this story was going, because I wasn't in for some really cheesy apple pie spinoff that everyone is happy in. Because that's absolute bullshit and we all sadly know it (whether we want to admit it or not). The good news is, I have an actual idea of where this is going for once (not like the rest of my life). I wish I could promise quicker updates, but no, things are about to get busy for me. I'm still in awe of the support y'all give me on a regular basis, because Lord knows I don't deserve it. You know I love a good review from any of you & send all of my love plus more than usual for extreme lack of updates. I know this is a kind of fishy weird chapter, but there is more to come, I promise! Hope you are all enjoying the Olympics as much as I am (which is quite a bit ;))

Regards,

Indigo :)