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What we need... is a Kansas City Shuffle...jyotsanaJuly 8 2007, 20:56:37 UTC
I'm warning you, it's been ages since I've written anything, and it's a fragment really, but you kind of inspired me. (It ain't even my fandom, for Chrissakes.) Whatever, right? ;)
It was a cul-de-sack.
They'd been sitting at the same greasy table in a bar somewhere in The Middle of Nowhere, California, named Joe's or Buddy's or something equally predictable, blue prints covering the table where the space was not taken up by Dean's fourth beer or Sam's plate of already cold fries.
„There's really no chance at all,“ Sam muttered, tracing the lines with his index finger, then returning to the point he'd started from and tracing another line. He frowned, his lower lip slowly shifting to stick out in an annoyed pout. When he noticed, he quickly looked up at Dean to make sure his brother hadn't seen and had no reason to make fun of him.
Dean, however, wasn't even looking at him. His right hand playing with the condensation on the already half empty glass, he wasn't paying any attention to Sam at all, his eyes fixed on something behind his little brother's head, most likely some leggy blonde.
Sam cleared his throat, then looked back at the blue prints.
„There's only one way in, the other is a window in the back. There are no windows on the ground level, no fireladders - not even an elevator.“
He paused and sipped his coke, despite the fact that the ice cubes had long since melted and it was what Dean would call warm like a morning piss. He continued, „There's really no way for us to get in and get the amulet out.“
They had been trying to get their hands on that amulet for four weeks now; had followed leads from Iowa to Alabama to New Mexico to California. It surfaced now and again, on the lists for antique auctions, in stores. It had been stolen or inherited more often than Sam wanted to remember. The only constancy seemed to be that it wouldn't stay with one owner for long.
„if we're right and they are using zombie... -esque workers, then the power grounding devices are in these five corners,“ Sam pointed out on the map. All five were marked with red dots already - they had been over this a few times already.
„It's a pentagram,“ Dean said, not taking his eyes off whatever it was at the far end of the bar.
„Right,“ Sam nodded, picking up a fry. „And if we manage to destry all five of them-“
„-the staff will experience a sudden plunge in work morale. And undeadness.“
Sam bitt into the fry, grimaced and dropped the rest back on the plate.
Dean took a deep gulp of his beer, looked at his glass, then put it down, looking at Sam for the first time since ordering his second beer.
„What we need,“ he began and Sam thought he'd forgotten what he was going to say, because that happened to him occasionally. When he was just about to speak, Dean continued.
„A Kansas City Shuffle.“
Sam waited for him to elaborate, but he just looked at him, obviously expecting him to know what he was talking about.
„A what?“ he asked, the bridge of his nose wrinkled in confusion.
„Dude. You don't know what a Kansas City Shuffle is? I'm seriously doubting any blood relation right now.“ Downing the rest of his beer, he shook his head. „C'mon, pack up. We gotta catch some sleep. We've got a bit of a journey ahead of us tomorrow.“
Sam dropped some money on the table and folded the blue prints, asking Dean's reatreating back, „Why, where're we going?“
Dean turned around and shot him one of his brightest smiles, promising trouble. „Vegas, Baby.“
They didn't go to Vegas as much as to a warehouse vaguely situated in the direction they would have taken had they gone to Vegas.
On the way, Sam had asked about the Kansas City Shuffle again, and Dean had laughed and explained.
„Lemme quote Bennie Moten, lil brother. It's a they-think, you-think, you don't know...“
It was a cul-de-sack.
They'd been sitting at the same greasy table in a bar somewhere in The Middle of Nowhere, California, named Joe's or Buddy's or something equally predictable, blue prints covering the table where the space was not taken up by Dean's fourth beer or Sam's plate of already cold fries.
„There's really no chance at all,“ Sam muttered, tracing the lines with his index finger, then returning to the point he'd started from and tracing another line. He frowned, his lower lip slowly shifting to stick out in an annoyed pout. When he noticed, he quickly looked up at Dean to make sure his brother hadn't seen and had no reason to make fun of him.
Dean, however, wasn't even looking at him. His right hand playing with the condensation on the already half empty glass, he wasn't paying any attention to Sam at all, his eyes fixed on something behind his little brother's head, most likely some leggy blonde.
Sam cleared his throat, then looked back at the blue prints.
„There's only one way in, the other is a window in the back. There are no windows on the ground level, no fireladders - not even an elevator.“
He paused and sipped his coke, despite the fact that the ice cubes had long since melted and it was what Dean would call warm like a morning piss. He continued, „There's really no way for us to get in and get the amulet out.“
They had been trying to get their hands on that amulet for four weeks now; had followed leads from Iowa to Alabama to New Mexico to California. It surfaced now and again, on the lists for antique auctions, in stores. It had been stolen or inherited more often than Sam wanted to remember. The only constancy seemed to be that it wouldn't stay with one owner for long.
„if we're right and they are using zombie... -esque workers, then the power grounding devices are in these five corners,“ Sam pointed out on the map. All five were marked with red dots already - they had been over this a few times already.
„It's a pentagram,“ Dean said, not taking his eyes off whatever it was at the far end of the bar.
„Right,“ Sam nodded, picking up a fry. „And if we manage to destry all five of them-“
„-the staff will experience a sudden plunge in work morale. And undeadness.“
Sam bitt into the fry, grimaced and dropped the rest back on the plate.
Dean took a deep gulp of his beer, looked at his glass, then put it down, looking at Sam for the first time since ordering his second beer.
„What we need,“ he began and Sam thought he'd forgotten what he was going to say, because that happened to him occasionally. When he was just about to speak, Dean continued.
„A Kansas City Shuffle.“
Sam waited for him to elaborate, but he just looked at him, obviously expecting him to know what he was talking about.
„A what?“ he asked, the bridge of his nose wrinkled in confusion.
„Dude. You don't know what a Kansas City Shuffle is? I'm seriously doubting any blood relation right now.“ Downing the rest of his beer, he shook his head. „C'mon, pack up. We gotta catch some sleep. We've got a bit of a journey ahead of us tomorrow.“
Sam dropped some money on the table and folded the blue prints, asking Dean's reatreating back, „Why, where're we going?“
Dean turned around and shot him one of his brightest smiles, promising trouble. „Vegas, Baby.“
They didn't go to Vegas as much as to a warehouse vaguely situated in the direction they would have taken had they gone to Vegas.
On the way, Sam had asked about the Kansas City Shuffle again, and Dean had laughed and explained.
„Lemme quote Bennie Moten, lil brother. It's a they-think, you-think, you don't know...“
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