(no subject)

[hopeitsworthit]

Sam's been moping for days, not that Dean's surprised.

It's kinda like his reaction immediately post-burning girlfriend, but a lot less blank.

Dean's not sure that's an improvement, really.

Which explains why his next plan, after tormenting Sammy until he snaps and then waiting to see if he gets over his funk on his own, involves a bar, lots of alcohol, and some really hot chicks.

Hey, if drunk and laid can't cheer Sam up, nothing can.

God, Sam is such an emo wuss, sometimes.

And that's not even thinking about the case--some guy disappearing, last in a long line, blah blah same old same old.

They can get to that after the drunk and laid.

There's time.

Comments

[gavemea_45]

"Okay, so the local cops have ruled out foul play."

Sam's focusing very intently on their dad's journal, ignoring their surroundings as best he can.

It beats anything else he could be thinking about, and he's well aware of that. Research has been a good escape route for him before, after all.

"Evidently there are supposed to be more signs of a struggle.

[hopeitsworthit]

Yeah, yeah, whatever, Sammy.

This is supposed to be drinkin' time.

But Dean'll play along, at least for a little.

Kinda ease the boy into it, right?

"Eh, they could be right--could just be a kidnapping. Maybe this isn't our kinda gig."

[gavemea_45]

"Yeah, except--"

Sam turns the journal around so his brother can see it.

"Dad marked this place, Dean. Possible hunting grounds for a phantom attacker."

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean takes a determined swallow of beer, then leans over to look at whatever his little brother is so vehement about.

"Now why'd he do a thing like that?"

Someone's phoning it in over here, a little bit.

Maybe.

[gavemea_45]

In contrast, Sam's pouring all his attention into the inkstained page.

"Look here, see? Dad found a lot of local folklore about a dark figure that comes out at night. The thing grabs people, then vanishes. Also--"

He flips pages, pointing at a note low down in one corner.

"Turns out this county has more missing persons per capita than anywhere else in the state."

[hopeitsworthit]

"Huh. That is weird."

He puts down his beer, leaning forward a little more intently.

"Don't phantom attackers usually take people from their beds? Jenkins was nabbed in a parking lot."

[gavemea_45]

"There are all kinds, you know? Springheel Jacks, phantom gassers, all that sort of thing. They take people anywhere, anytime."

Sam sighs, looking around the bar, then begins to pack the notes and papers back into the journal.

"Look, Dean, I don't know if this is our kind of gig either. We'll just have to see."

[hopeitsworthit]

Whoa, there.

"Yeah, you're right. We should ask around more tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Yes. Because tonight is for drunken hookups.

Or just drunkenness.

Or just hookups. Dean isn't picky.

[gavemea_45]

He shuts the journal.

"Right."

Sam starts digging out his wallet as he adds,

"I saw a motel about five miles back."

[hopeitsworthit]

"Whoa there. Let's have another round."

He smirks a little, not quite toasting Sam with his beer.

"You look like you could use one. Been overdosing on the coffee a little, lately."

[gavemea_45]

Sam just looks at him.

"We should get an early start, Dean."

[hopeitsworthit]

"Yeah, you really know how to have fun, don't you Grandma?"

If he can get Sam to crack a smile, that's a foot in the door.

"Come on, dude. You know how long it takes both of us to get through one lousy beer. You think another half hour's gonna kill us?"

Beat.

"Or anyone else?"

[gavemea_45]

It's not much of a smile, but it's visible, at least.

If briefly.

"Nah, probably not-- but I'm just not really up for it, man."

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean's mouth twists, and he tightens his lips.

"You gonna go back to the motel and mope? 'Cause let me tell you, that is a really great evening you've got planned, there."

[gavemea_45]

"Don't start," Sam warns. "Just don't even start, Dean."

[hopeitsworthit]

Doesn't look like you've got better things to do, Sammy."

Except mope.

And maybe draw Sam luvs Jess in the margins of Dad's journal.





Nah.

[gavemea_45]

"Look, just because I'm not -- "

He bites off his words and gives Dean a hard look.

[hopeitsworthit]

"You think this's just because you're not chipper?"

Dean's eyebrow goes way up.

"Dude, you've gotta be kidding me."

[gavemea_45]

"Then what's it about, Dean?"

Sam glares stubbornly at his brother.

[hopeitsworthit]

"Jess."

His gaze is harsh and uncompromising.

"And your little performance in the bar."

He pauses for a second, gulping down another swallow of beer.

"Hers, too."

[gavemea_45]

"We are not talking about this."

Sam snatches the journal up from the table and turns to leave.

[hopeitsworthit]

"Figures."

Dean slams down the rest of his beer, then tilts his head up, raising his voice.

"Your nightmares gettin' any better, Sam?"

[gavemea_45]

He stops in his tracks, but doesn't look around.

Tension is visible in the set of his shoulders.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean's position doesn't change, thumb scratching at the label on his beer bottle.

"Yeah. Thought not."

[gavemea_45]

This time Sam turns back to look at him.

"What's your point?"

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean just gives him a Look--a very pointed look.

"You're the genius, Sammyboy, you figure it out."

Dean's betting he knows already, just doesn't want to admit it.

Hell, with a pretty (dead) girl like Jess hanging around, Dean might not want to admit it, either.

Though that dead thing, it's a real killer.

[gavemea_45]

"I don't feel like playing guessing games with you right now, Dean."

It comes out flatly.

[hopeitsworthit]

"And I don't feel like watchin' you wake up screaming a couple times a night."

He shoves the beer bottle away from him, hands flat on the table.

"So what I'm sayin' is--you dealing with this, or playing let's pretend?"

[gavemea_45]

His grip tightens on the journal.

"I'm fine. I'm not the one who's dead, remember?"

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean's face clears of all expression.

"What? Now you wish you were? You thinking that'd let you two live a cozy, safe, normal life together at the end of the universe? That the dream you went lookin' for, Sammy?"

[gavemea_45]

"Is that what you think?"

Sam stares at him in disbelief.

"Is that what this is about?"

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean shrugs, leaning farther back in his chair.

He really wants another beer right now.

Fuck.

"You tellin' me it's about something else? 'Cause if it is, I'm all ears."

[gavemea_45]

"You think I'd go back there to stay? Just ignore that Dad's still missing-- that the demon, that thing that killed Jess and Mom both-- that it's still out there?"

Sam's temper is rising, and his voice with it.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean raises both hands in an almost dismissive gesture.

Or maybe it's defensive.

With Dean it's sometimes hard to tell.

"Not like you've ever done that before, right?"

[gavemea_45]

"Whatever, man. Believe what you want."

Sam turns his back on Dean and stalks off, out of the bar.

The door slams behind him.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean's mouth quirks in an entirely humorless smile.

"Yep. Just like last time."

He buys another beer, draining it in six quick gulps, before he heads back to piss.

Better to give Sammy a minute or two to cool down when he's like this.

Better to give himself a minute, too, just to breathe.

[gavemea_45]

He's fuming, lost in his own thoughts as he walks across the gravel lot toward the Impala.

I can't-- it's

not

-- what the hell does he think he knows about it, anyway?

But as Sam reaches the car, an odd noise gets his attention.

He turns quickly, setting the journal down on the hood and reaching into his jacket pocket for a flashlight. He turns it on and crouches down, looking under the car.

Hiss!

"Whoa!" Sam laughs and straightens, grinning as he watches the offended cat streak away-- and as he does, he doesn't notice the shadowy figure that moves up behind him.

CRACK.



Everything goes dark.

[hopeitsworthit]

Eventually Dean decides enough time has definitely passed and, after washing his hands, he shoves them in his pockets and saunters outside.

There's the Impala, and Sam is obviously . . .

Well, Dad's journal is an obvious sign of Sam's latest mood, which is to say mopey and distracting himself.

Dean picks it up, leafing through it casually as he takes a quick look around.

Huh.

No Sam.

He bends over, looking to see if maybe his brother fell aslee--

Shit.

He's not there either.

Dean feels the first stirrings of panic in his gut, and he stands, whirling around to scan the parking lot.

No Sam.

Maybe he went back inside?

It's not that Dean runs to check, to make sure Sam isn't over by the bar slamming down shots, but--

He actually kinda does.

"Sam!"