STD, STN Hour 3
Seize the Day, Suffer the Night
Hour 3: 2:00AM-3:00AM
Winsister AU that covers one full day in the lives of the Winchesters.
No current beta.
PG-13
Copyrights: The Gettysburg Address was written by Abraham Lincoln. Duh. The 'Uncle Wouie' thing comes from a Bugs Bunny cartoon, (c) Warner Brothers. Metallica "Creeping Death," Schoolhouse Rock
Notes: For the record, Def Leppard is one of my favorite bands ever, and I like Motley Crue and Ratt. Doesn't mean the characters aren't going to call a hair band a hair band.
Incase you hadn't noticed, flashbacks are told in present tense, while the rest is told in past tense. Little thing I did for atmosphere.
This fic is all things to all people. So far, it's angst-ridden crack!fic. Let's see how many other genre we can cover before it's over.
Heidi the stripper is named after mooserat. Because she asked for it. *eg*
2:06:12... 2:06:13... 2:06:14... 2:06:15AM...
Brook found herself almost full of soft tacos when she voiced an unpleasant thought. "Why was the empathy demon hanging around that Taco Bell so much?"
Shrugging, Dean guessed, "The employees gave off lots of tasty emotions?"
"Maybe." Brook looked at her half-finished taco suspiciously. "But... those demons also eat hearts."
Upon considering what she'd said, Sam winced and held his burrito away from his mouth. "Damnit, Brook, why'd you have to say that?! Ugh."
Dean just snickered a bit. He furrowed his brow at his own food, shrugged, and went on eating. "Tastes like chicken to me."
Sam made a disgusted sound. "And I'm still hungry."
"Oh, come on, Sammy. I'm supposed to be the girl here," Brook teased.
"Yeah. It's no big deal." Taking a big bite, Dean joked, "You can really taste the ventricle," and kissed his fingertips with a flourish in compliment to the chef. "Mwa!"
"You two miscreants are incorrigible." Sam sniffed the burrito and took a small, tentative bite.
Brook adopted a deep, stupid-sounding voice. "Duuuh, Dean, he's using the big words again to make us feel like maroons. Do yous know what he said?"
Dean played along. "I tink he said we was miscreated and inconstitutional," he said in the same dumb tone. They both laughed slowly and moronically.
"Sam said a cuss word," Brook added.
In response, Sam laughed the same way and replied sarcastically, "Sam's smart. He doesn't have to get naked to count to twenty-one like Dean."
Dean, suddenly growing serious, glanced over at his brother. "What I want to know is why that demon said all that stuff about your blood, Sammy. How your blood, heart, and soul belonged to someone else. What does that mean?" He had a hunch that Sam knew, that he was hiding something.
Sam pretended he didn't know anything about it. He put on an innocent expression, something he was very good at, and shrugged. "I have no idea. Just making up a lie to try and shake me, I guess."
Dean fell silent, but he didn't buy it.
Brook said just about what he was thinking. "Pretty elaborate lie."
In answer, Sam just shrugged once more.
Everyone got quiet and continued eating for a while. After a short time, Brook moaned and announced, "God, I am so full." She handed her taco over to Dean, knowing he would finish it. They already shared close quarters; what was a little spit between siblings?
For his own part, Sam had grown quiet because he was remembering what had happened with the empathy demon. The monster had said something he wished he could make it take back, not only because he didn't want his brother and sister to know what was going on, but because he still hadn't accepted it himself. The whole thing had been so surreal - Dean dying at the foot of the stairs, everyone screaming, a room full of carefully chosen unconscious people, and Megumi coming to him and standing in Dean's blood while offering him an impossible deal. Not a Crossroads Demon, no, something else entirely. A creature Sam had never heard of until that moment.
To tell Dean and Brook about the creature stalking him would be to admit it was all really happening. Today, his time was up.
But maybe they could help him. Maybe they could find a way out of this, and they would need time to do it.
And maybe Dean and Brook would get killed in the process.
Sam couldn't put his family in that kind of danger.
At his feet, in the floorboard, they kept a small cooler full of ice for perishable food they wanted to take on the road. It had a few beers left in it. Sam now took one out and began to drink to take the edge off his anxiety. Instead of confessing to his siblings what was bothering him, he thought about what had happened in the restaurant, and he drank...
Weapons in hand, Sam and Brook burst into the Taco Bell to find the empathy demon standing on a table, beating himself in the head with a napkin dispenser. The employees behind the counter laugh at his antics, but mostly because he currently wears the expression of the Comedy mask. Dean takes a shot at him. The demon jumps out of the way at the last second, and the bullet plows into the booth behind him. Cushion stuffing flies out in a violent puff.
The employees jump and let out a unanimous screech of surprise.
"The drive-through speaker is broken!" the demon cries when he lands on the top of another booth, his feet deep in a potted plant. His face droops into the guise of the Tragedy mask as he looks right at Dean. "You might not get your food. Doesn't that make you sad?"
Dean's tears begin anew; he cannot aim through his blurred vision. "Guys! Do you know what it is?" he sobs to Sam and Brook.
"Empathy demon!" Brook calls. "It can't be killed with bullets!"
"You can only kill it by cutting off its head or depriving it of emotions to feed off of." Sam tries to be stealthy as he moves quickly around the back of the demon to the other side of the restaurant.
"He calls himself Maynard!" one of the employees informs them.
Maynard doesn't like what he hears. He turns on Brook, who levels her handgun at his head, remembering what Sam said about driving the demon toward him. The creature still wears the expression of Tragedy. "Look what a mess your hair is!"
Like Dean's exaggerated reaction to the thought that he might not get any Crunch Wraps, Brook's face crumples and she begins to cry too. "But we had to rush in here to kill you! I can't help it if my hair looks bad."
Dean notices Sam trying to sneak up on the demon with the curved knife. He attempts to distract Maynard by talking, like his sister. "Don't look the demon straight in the eye, Brook. Whatever face you see, that will be your reaction."
She sobs, "No shit, Sherlock." A brief glance over the demon's shoulder and she knows Sam has to get him; he is so close, and Maynard doesn't seem to know he's there.
"Just wanted to make sure you could see anything through all that messy-ass hair in your face," Dean teases with a smirk. "The demon's right; backseat bedhair galore!"
Brook flips him off for the second time that night. "Are you sure you can see through those long-ass Tammi Faye eyelashes of yours?"
Dean just laughs in response.
Maynard looks from one sibling to the other. He licks his lips. "These manufactured emotions are nice, but I want some real feelings. They're so much more delicious." His eyes shift just seconds before Sam brings the knife down in an arc, trying to cut off the creature's head. Maynard ducks, and the knife swishes by an inch over his head. Instantly the demon hops up on Sam's shoulder and runs his claws rapidly through Sam's hair, messing it up more than usual. Then he bounds like lightning off the top of Sam's head and hops away from table to table. Sam swipes at him with the knife, but he misses the fast creature a second time.
Maynard turns his Comedy face to the employees in mid-hop. They burst into laughter at the comical look of aggravation on Sam's face.
A couple of the tables topple over as the demon uses them to move to the other side of the restaurant and up to the front counter. He basks in the emotive vibes coming off the employees as they chuckle. "Mmmmm..." Maynard coos.
"Nice try, Sammy," Dean says, starting to snicker himself. "But we've gotta catch this evil Speedy Gonzales!"
"Evil Speedy Gonzales!" Brook guffaws. The Taco Bell employees laugh like it's the funniest joke they've ever heard. "That's a good one, Dean."
The empathy demon's eyelids flutter with pleasure. "Good, good emotions..."
Sam realizes that the thing might be too fast for them - they could try having Dean and Brook shoot the demon enough to incapacitate it so Sam could move in and kill it, but that would risk the lives of the restaurant employees, as they could be hit by a stray bullet. They would have to try a different approach. "Everyone, listen to me! We can kill it by depriving it of emotions! Somehow, we've all got to clear our minds - "
Maynard squints quizzically at Sam as he speaks, and eventually interrupts him. "You must have a strong, delicious heart with such an athletic build, but I can't eat it. It's been claimed by another. Someone I can tell I don't want to piss off."
Although he knows better, Sam still allows the demon's words to get under his skin. "What are you talking about?"
The creature laughs. "I'm just a smalltime demonic being. I'd never survive against the thing that put that mark on your body. Not a claiming mark like that. You're someone else's property, blood, body, and soul."
Dean and Brook look at Sam with perplexed expressions; what is the demon talking about? Dean is especially interested in Sam's reaction, the horrified look on his face.
For his own part, Sam tries not to react to Maynard's words, but he can't hold it in. The creature can see it, he can see the invisible mark of ownership Megumi put on him. It has to be her 'signature' that Maynard sees. Sam made a promise to Megumi in return for Dean's resurrection, and his family couldn't see the mark, but this demon could.
The empathy demon smiles ecstatically and closes his eyes, making satisfied noises. "Mmm, real emotions... most delicious... real fear, anxiety, and panic. Whatever's claimed you will have the pleasure of drinking the blood from your heart, but at least I get some of your delectable feelings before you die..."
Dean removes the sly smile from the demon's face by aiming his gun at Maynard's head and pulling the trigger. The employees scream and jump back at the loud sound. The empathy demon lets out a screech of its own before leaping up on the soda dispenser behind the counter. He rubs at the oozing wound. "That hurt!"
Seething, Dean replies, "Don't talk about my brother like that, or you'll get worse next time."
"You're trying to kill me," the demon reminds him. "What could be worse than that?"
"Try me," says Dean.
"And then me," adds Brook, releasing the safety on her gun.
Maynard looks at each of them and grins joyfully. "Anger... so tasty."
Sam tries to get everyone's attention again. "We have to clear our minds! It can't go without emotions for even a few minutes. Empathy demons must feed constantly. Try not to think about anything upsetting or dramatic - "
"How do you expect us not to think about anything upsetting when we've got this monster roaming around behind the counter?!" one of the employees squeaks.
Dean cuts in, "All of you, get back into a storeroom or something. Get away from the counter. We may have to shoot it."
The employees do as they are told, moving away from the mayhem.
Maynard looks as if he is panicking. He glances from one person to another. "That demon is going to take its time drinking your blood. It will draw out the pain as you die slowly."
With the employees out of harm's way, Dean and Brook both open fire. The demon shoots up into the air with a screech of pain. Maynard lands with a loud plop on the counter, a sloppy landing where his feet slip out from under him because he's been hit with at least three bullets. Breathing hard, he gets up to face them. The soda machine behind him sprays melted ice water out of a bullet hole.
Smirking mischievously, Dean puts a period on their actions. "Shut the fuck up," he commands.
"I've heard enough. Let's finish this thing off," Sam says. He looks at his brother, then his sister. "Clear your minds. Try not to feel anything. We're going to recite the Gettysburg Address."
"Gettysburg Address?" Dean repeats.
"Old trick of mine from college. Whenever I got freaked about exams, I'd just recite the Gettysburg Address to myself. By the time I was done, I'd calmed down. Helped me focus."
Brook begins, "But I - "
Holding up a silencing hand, Sam replies, "Repeat after me. 'Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation...'"
They do as they are told. "'Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation...'" Dean and Brook say together.
"'...conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.'"
"'...conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.'"
"We're going a little faster now. Repeat it just a beat behind me. Don't concentrate on anything but reciting the speech. Don't even think of what the words mean," Sam instructs. "'Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war...'"
Dean and Brook do as Sam tells them, trusting his instincts completely. Dean feels like he's back in school, reciting some stupid thing his teacher made him memorize, and it bores him, just like it did back then. Such things are not important when you could be out hunting with your dad, saving people's lives. Even getting a little tail was more important than some old speech. Brook had always kind of liked memorizing stuff for school, but Sammy told her not to think about what the words mean, so she just repeats what he says without emotion. It's been too many years since Mrs. Rottlinger made the whole class memorize this speech; Brook can't remember it without Sam's prompting.
Maynard starts to pant. He can't read minds like some of the other demons, so what is he supposed to use to shake these jerks up and make them feel something? They're feeling nothing but boredom and calm, like a flat line moving evenly across the horizon. No bumps, no curves, absolutely nothing to feed off of.
"'We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.'"
A whiny scream builds in the demon's throat. Sam is right - he cannot go without feeding for even a short time. He finally yells, "The clock is ticking down on your last day, Sam! You think I can't see how much longer you've got? The creature that put its mark on you is claiming its tribute today! Feel!"
"'But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate - we can not consecrate - we can not hallow - this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world...' oh shit, what comes next...?"
Dean and Brook look at each other. "Somehow, I don't think that last part was something Lincoln wrote," Dean jokes.
Brook can't help it, and giggles.
"Ahhh, yes!" Maynard cries, reveling in the tiny amount of emotion. He practically rolls on the counter in delight.
Not wanting the demon to recover at all, Sam quickly regains his memory. "...'The world will little note'!" he suddenly cries. "'The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.'"
Desperate, Maynard searches for the employees hiding in the back, trying to feel their emotions. For his trouble he gets back only the same dead air, a complete lack of any useful feelings. They must be using a similar technique to clear their minds, like Sam suggested. The demon screams with his fists balled at his sides.
"'It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion...'"
Maynard frantically starts making faces that mimic various emotions at the Winchesters, trying to catch their attention, but not a one looks him in the eye. After ten or so seconds of this, he weakly collapses to a sitting position, then leans over on the counter, panting. "Feel..."
"'...that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom...'"
"Feeeeel..."
"'...and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.'"
Maynard finally falls over, his tongue lolling out, and doesn't move. He utters a final breath that sounds like, "Uhhhh..."
The Winchesters watch him for any movement. Dean comments, "His death was like a freakin' cartoon. 'Say good-bye to Uncle Louie for me. Uhhhhh...'" He holds his chest and sticks out his tongue.
"'Uncle Wouie?'" adds Sam jokingly, imitating the cartoon Dean is talking about.
Dean claps him on the back. "Good idea, Sammy. Worked like a charm."
"You can come out! It's safe!" Brook calls to the hiding employees.
As they walk up to the front, they see the dead demon. "Did you kill it?" one employee asks.
Taking the knife from Sam, Dean nods and moves closer to the counter.
A female employee grabs his sleeve and shakes it to get his attention. "You killed it, you killed the monster! That thing has been terrorizing us for months. How can we ever repay you?" she asks.
With his trademark charming smirk, Dean leans in and requests, "All the food you got in the house. To go," and cuts off the demon's head with a SWISSSSH, FUCHUNK!
2:36:36... 2:36:37... 2:36:38... 2:36:39AM...
Sam is startled out of his thoughts by the sound of Dean and Brook squabbling. Everytime she pushed a particular cassette tape into the stereo, Dean just ejected it again.
"Stop it!" she nearly whined.
Dean pushed the Eject button for the fourth time. "You know the rule, Sixxer." As Dean repeated it, Sam said it with him in a mocking tone, "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."
"But you never let me drive," Brook reminded her older brother. "The only time I get to take the wheel is when you fall asleep and Sammy lets me."
"And this is my problem becaaaause...?"
"Dean, I am sick of Metallica. I haven't heard any Crue in days. Don't be a butthole."
Tape goes in... Eject.
"Dean!"
Dean and Sam both sighed at the same time, but for slightly different reasons. "Why do you like Motley Crue so much anyway? They're a hair band."
"For the same reason you love Metallica and Led Zeppelin and all those other bands you listen to," Brook responded. She pawed through Dean's shoebox of cassettes.
"You can't even put a hair band in the same category with Metallica and Zepp. You and your Nikki Sixx." He adopted a falsetto tone to imitate her. "'Oh, I just love Nikki Sixx; he's soooo cool; what a musical genius.' Guy must be 70 by now."
"Is not," she said, then mumbled, "He's 48."
Dean scoffed. "Pssht. Motley Crue. You shame me."
With an impish grin, Brook held up a tape. "This coming from a guy with a Ratt cassette in his collection. Haaaair band..." She bobbled the tape in front of his face.
"Ratt? How the fuck'd that get in there?" Snatching the cassette from her fingers, Dean tossed it carelessly into the back seat, his eyes shifting guiltily.
She held up another. "Def Leppard?"
"Pyromania was a damn good album."
"Still a hair band. Joe Elliott is the eternal mullet king."
"Can it, Sixxer." A sudden smile dominated Dean's face. "Why shouldn't I get to listen to the music I like best today? You know, today."
Shooting Sam a mischievous look, Brook replied, "Today? Nothing special about today."
"Nope," added Sam, and held back a naughty grin.
Dean hid his reaction to that, although a small pout did cross his face for a brief moment. "Yeah, whatever."
"Hey, I know what we could do," Sam said, grinning anyway. "Winchester Sing-a-long!"
"Yay!" Brook bounced in the seat.
Dean, rolling his eyes, grumbled, "Now I know you've had a couple of those," and glanced at the fresh beer in Sam's hand.
"Aw, Dean, you like to sing in the car." Brook leaned her head over on his shoulder. "Remember when we were kids and we'd be on some long drive, and we'd all sing with Dad?"
"And one person would sing lead while the others were his backup singers?" added Sam gleefully.
"Her backup singers, too. You always enjoyed it, Dean," Brook finished. She knew Dean thought it was a pretty corny activity now, but that was just because he never wanted to be caught doing it. "And everyone knows you're the best singer of the family, next to Dad." Brook looked up at him coyly.
Dean was smiling, sly and arrogant. "It's true," he allowed. "I can carry a tune."
"And you're modest, too," Sam piped in, earning him a dismissive smack on the chest with the back of Brook's hand.
"So, whaddaya say?"
Dean pretended he didn't think it would be really fun. "Okay," he replied with several rapid nods. "I get first choice."
"Woo-hoo!" Sam raised his fists in childlike triumph.
"Yay!" repeated Brook.
"Why are the worst singers always the most excited about the Sing-a-longs?" Dean lamented to himself, shaking his head.
For that, he received the same smack Sam had, but on his arm. "So what are we singing?"
2:42AM...
"'So let it be written, so let it be done, I'm sent here by the chosen one...'" crooned Dean, driving down the highway at 70 miles per hour.
Sam played air-guitar with his hands and his mouth. "Urrrnh, urrrnh, urrrnh..."
"'So let it be written, so let it be done, to kill the first born pharaoh's son. I'm creeping death...'"
"Metallica. I should have known," mumbled Brook. There wasn't much for her to do as a 'backup singer' on this one.
Sam suddenly went into a different guitar riff. He eventually nudged Brook very hard.
"Ow! Huh? Oh!" She sat up from her bored, slumped position. "'Die! Die! Die! Die!'"
Sam began to chant with her. "'Die! Die! Die! Die!'"
Dean came in with, "'DIE, die, by my hand! I creep across the land, killing firstborn man!'" He looked over at Sammy. Sam had always enjoyed singing in the car with the whole family more than any of them. Dean supposed that it was because it made him feel together with them; it was something a 'normal' family would do on a long roadtrip. Anything that brought such a delighted smile to Sammy's face was okay with Dean. He'd sing all the way to the job if it would make Sam continue to loosen up like this.
That sentiment would probably seem strange to anyone else who heard them chanting, "Die! Die! Die!" but not to Dean.
2:45AM...
"I am not singing Schoolhouse Rock songs!" argued Dean.
"No one's going to hear you, Dean," Sam said. "Just us."
"You like Schoolhouse Rock," Brook reminded him. "Besides, it's my turn to choose." She leaned over on Sam. "And Sammy wants to sing them too."
Obviously giving it some thought, Dean finally said, "But it's so silly..."
2:45AM...
"'We were sufferin' until suffrage!'" sang Brook.
"'Oh!'" added her brothers, backing her up. They sang in falsetto, like female backup singers, in imitation of the song.
"'Not a woman here could vote no matter what age.'"
"'No!'"
"'But the nineteenth amendment struck down that restrictive rule!'"
Dean and Sam crooned, "'Oh YEEEEEEEAH!'" with gusto.
2:49AM...
For all his protesting, Dean sang a mean version of "Verb: That's What's Happening," probably his favorite Schoolhouse Rock song ever.
"'I can question, like: What is it?'"
Sammy and Brook gleefully sang backup. "'Verb, you're so demanding!'"
"'I can order, like: Go get it!'"
"'Verb, you're so commanding...'" The 'backup singers' began swaying back and forth, pointing their fingers in time with the rhythm of the song.
They were enjoying themselves so much that they hardly noticed they had entered Hollywood city limits. The Hollywood sign loomed over them, the late night sky forming an inky black backdrop.
"'I get my thing in action!'" Dean sang, really getting into the ending.
Sam and Brook got into it too. "'VERB! That's what's happening!'"
"'To work...'"
"'Verb!'"
"'To play...'"
"'Verb!'"
"'To live...'"
"'VERB!'"
Everyone joined in on the last line. The car was filled with enthusiastic crooning, some of it whiny and cracking, some of it in tune. "'To LOOOOoooooOOOOoooooVE!!'"
Sam and Brook bounced in their seats and beat on the roof of the car, giving the song a drumbeat ending. Then they both shared a hearty laugh. "I love that one," Sam chuckled.
Dean was growling, "Hey, hey, HEY!" at them for beating on the car's roof. Then he sarcastically added, "Could you guys possibly bounce around the car some more? I'm not having nearly enough trouble driving."
His brother and sister bounced up and down in their seats even harder. Recalling an old joke from their childhood, they declared themselves, "Mexican jumping beans!" and giggled.
2:57AM...
Sammy's turn. He was singing "Interjections" when Dean pulled into the parking lot of the most unexpected place...
"'So when you're happy...'" sang Sam.
"'Hurray!'" cried his sister and brother.
"'Or sad...'"
"'Awwww!'"
"'Or frightened...'"
Brook held her mouth open on the sides with her fingers, making the kind of face a child might find scary. She looked at Dean, and he cried, "'Eeek!'" in mock fear.
"'Or mad...'" Sam continued.
"'Rats!'" replied his siblings.
The tone of Brook's backup singing revealed she was perplexed when she saw the lights and the sign hanging over the place to which Dean was taking them. Sam did not look; he just went right on singing. "'...An interjection starts the sentence riiiight!'"
While he sang the next stanza, Brook glared at the sign, then at Dean. "I thought we were doing a case in Hollywood," she said accusingly.
"We are," Dean said back.
"'They're generally set apart from a sentence by an exclamation point, or by a comma when the feeling's not as strong.'"
Brook opened her mouth to say more, but Dean cut her off by loudly backing Sam up on the last chorus of the song. "'Interjections show excitement or emotion, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah YEEEEEA!'"
He stopped the car in front of what was obviously... a strip club. The sign out front declared it was The Club Luscious and that there were Live Nude Girls! inside. A brunette with big hair, an intensely full face of make-up, and impossibly high heels on stood out front, wearing a silk robe that hugged all her curves. Dean pulled up right next to her.
Sam finally took notice of where they were. He stared at the woman's ample chest and, after a moment of stunned silence, squeaked, "'Darn, that's the end.'"
She leaned over to the open driver's side window. "Are you Dean?"
"I am," he responded with a charming smile.
The stripper looked over the others in the car. A girl who seemed a little miffed and a sort of doofy, big guy with his mouth hanging open like a dying fish. They seemed quite mystified to be here. "Are you the guys who are going to help us with our problem?"
"Problem?" Sam said, his voice cracking.
"The thing where customers spontaneously combust while being given lapdances," the stripper finished.
Brook burst out laughing. When no one else joined her, she said, "Oh, you're serious."
His mouth still hanging open, Sam looked at Dean in shock. "Are we?"
"We are," Dean assured him, and the stripper.
She seemed doubtful. "If you say so."
Dean put a hand on her arm. "We're your guys. Trust me. We'll make it stop."
"I sure hope so. I lost some hair the last time it happened."
Sam and Brook looked downward.
The stripper rolled her eyes. "On my head," she said, and held out a chunk of her hair.
They looked at each other. "Oh."
"Don't worry. We have a lot of experience rooting out the source of this kind of trouble." Dean glanced around for a parking space. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Heidi," the stripper replied.
Pausing, Dean looked confused for a moment before he asked, "You know a guy named Rick?"
2:59:57... 2:59:58... 2:59:59... 3:00:00AM...
tbc
Hour 3: 2:00AM-3:00AM
Winsister AU that covers one full day in the lives of the Winchesters.
No current beta.
PG-13
Copyrights: The Gettysburg Address was written by Abraham Lincoln. Duh. The 'Uncle Wouie' thing comes from a Bugs Bunny cartoon, (c) Warner Brothers. Metallica "Creeping Death," Schoolhouse Rock
Notes: For the record, Def Leppard is one of my favorite bands ever, and I like Motley Crue and Ratt. Doesn't mean the characters aren't going to call a hair band a hair band.
Incase you hadn't noticed, flashbacks are told in present tense, while the rest is told in past tense. Little thing I did for atmosphere.
This fic is all things to all people. So far, it's angst-ridden crack!fic. Let's see how many other genre we can cover before it's over.
Heidi the stripper is named after mooserat. Because she asked for it. *eg*
2:06:12... 2:06:13... 2:06:14... 2:06:15AM...
Brook found herself almost full of soft tacos when she voiced an unpleasant thought. "Why was the empathy demon hanging around that Taco Bell so much?"
Shrugging, Dean guessed, "The employees gave off lots of tasty emotions?"
"Maybe." Brook looked at her half-finished taco suspiciously. "But... those demons also eat hearts."
Upon considering what she'd said, Sam winced and held his burrito away from his mouth. "Damnit, Brook, why'd you have to say that?! Ugh."
Dean just snickered a bit. He furrowed his brow at his own food, shrugged, and went on eating. "Tastes like chicken to me."
Sam made a disgusted sound. "And I'm still hungry."
"Oh, come on, Sammy. I'm supposed to be the girl here," Brook teased.
"Yeah. It's no big deal." Taking a big bite, Dean joked, "You can really taste the ventricle," and kissed his fingertips with a flourish in compliment to the chef. "Mwa!"
"You two miscreants are incorrigible." Sam sniffed the burrito and took a small, tentative bite.
Brook adopted a deep, stupid-sounding voice. "Duuuh, Dean, he's using the big words again to make us feel like maroons. Do yous know what he said?"
Dean played along. "I tink he said we was miscreated and inconstitutional," he said in the same dumb tone. They both laughed slowly and moronically.
"Sam said a cuss word," Brook added.
In response, Sam laughed the same way and replied sarcastically, "Sam's smart. He doesn't have to get naked to count to twenty-one like Dean."
Dean, suddenly growing serious, glanced over at his brother. "What I want to know is why that demon said all that stuff about your blood, Sammy. How your blood, heart, and soul belonged to someone else. What does that mean?" He had a hunch that Sam knew, that he was hiding something.
Sam pretended he didn't know anything about it. He put on an innocent expression, something he was very good at, and shrugged. "I have no idea. Just making up a lie to try and shake me, I guess."
Dean fell silent, but he didn't buy it.
Brook said just about what he was thinking. "Pretty elaborate lie."
In answer, Sam just shrugged once more.
Everyone got quiet and continued eating for a while. After a short time, Brook moaned and announced, "God, I am so full." She handed her taco over to Dean, knowing he would finish it. They already shared close quarters; what was a little spit between siblings?
For his own part, Sam had grown quiet because he was remembering what had happened with the empathy demon. The monster had said something he wished he could make it take back, not only because he didn't want his brother and sister to know what was going on, but because he still hadn't accepted it himself. The whole thing had been so surreal - Dean dying at the foot of the stairs, everyone screaming, a room full of carefully chosen unconscious people, and Megumi coming to him and standing in Dean's blood while offering him an impossible deal. Not a Crossroads Demon, no, something else entirely. A creature Sam had never heard of until that moment.
To tell Dean and Brook about the creature stalking him would be to admit it was all really happening. Today, his time was up.
But maybe they could help him. Maybe they could find a way out of this, and they would need time to do it.
And maybe Dean and Brook would get killed in the process.
Sam couldn't put his family in that kind of danger.
At his feet, in the floorboard, they kept a small cooler full of ice for perishable food they wanted to take on the road. It had a few beers left in it. Sam now took one out and began to drink to take the edge off his anxiety. Instead of confessing to his siblings what was bothering him, he thought about what had happened in the restaurant, and he drank...
Weapons in hand, Sam and Brook burst into the Taco Bell to find the empathy demon standing on a table, beating himself in the head with a napkin dispenser. The employees behind the counter laugh at his antics, but mostly because he currently wears the expression of the Comedy mask. Dean takes a shot at him. The demon jumps out of the way at the last second, and the bullet plows into the booth behind him. Cushion stuffing flies out in a violent puff.
The employees jump and let out a unanimous screech of surprise.
"The drive-through speaker is broken!" the demon cries when he lands on the top of another booth, his feet deep in a potted plant. His face droops into the guise of the Tragedy mask as he looks right at Dean. "You might not get your food. Doesn't that make you sad?"
Dean's tears begin anew; he cannot aim through his blurred vision. "Guys! Do you know what it is?" he sobs to Sam and Brook.
"Empathy demon!" Brook calls. "It can't be killed with bullets!"
"You can only kill it by cutting off its head or depriving it of emotions to feed off of." Sam tries to be stealthy as he moves quickly around the back of the demon to the other side of the restaurant.
"He calls himself Maynard!" one of the employees informs them.
Maynard doesn't like what he hears. He turns on Brook, who levels her handgun at his head, remembering what Sam said about driving the demon toward him. The creature still wears the expression of Tragedy. "Look what a mess your hair is!"
Like Dean's exaggerated reaction to the thought that he might not get any Crunch Wraps, Brook's face crumples and she begins to cry too. "But we had to rush in here to kill you! I can't help it if my hair looks bad."
Dean notices Sam trying to sneak up on the demon with the curved knife. He attempts to distract Maynard by talking, like his sister. "Don't look the demon straight in the eye, Brook. Whatever face you see, that will be your reaction."
She sobs, "No shit, Sherlock." A brief glance over the demon's shoulder and she knows Sam has to get him; he is so close, and Maynard doesn't seem to know he's there.
"Just wanted to make sure you could see anything through all that messy-ass hair in your face," Dean teases with a smirk. "The demon's right; backseat bedhair galore!"
Brook flips him off for the second time that night. "Are you sure you can see through those long-ass Tammi Faye eyelashes of yours?"
Dean just laughs in response.
Maynard looks from one sibling to the other. He licks his lips. "These manufactured emotions are nice, but I want some real feelings. They're so much more delicious." His eyes shift just seconds before Sam brings the knife down in an arc, trying to cut off the creature's head. Maynard ducks, and the knife swishes by an inch over his head. Instantly the demon hops up on Sam's shoulder and runs his claws rapidly through Sam's hair, messing it up more than usual. Then he bounds like lightning off the top of Sam's head and hops away from table to table. Sam swipes at him with the knife, but he misses the fast creature a second time.
Maynard turns his Comedy face to the employees in mid-hop. They burst into laughter at the comical look of aggravation on Sam's face.
A couple of the tables topple over as the demon uses them to move to the other side of the restaurant and up to the front counter. He basks in the emotive vibes coming off the employees as they chuckle. "Mmmmm..." Maynard coos.
"Nice try, Sammy," Dean says, starting to snicker himself. "But we've gotta catch this evil Speedy Gonzales!"
"Evil Speedy Gonzales!" Brook guffaws. The Taco Bell employees laugh like it's the funniest joke they've ever heard. "That's a good one, Dean."
The empathy demon's eyelids flutter with pleasure. "Good, good emotions..."
Sam realizes that the thing might be too fast for them - they could try having Dean and Brook shoot the demon enough to incapacitate it so Sam could move in and kill it, but that would risk the lives of the restaurant employees, as they could be hit by a stray bullet. They would have to try a different approach. "Everyone, listen to me! We can kill it by depriving it of emotions! Somehow, we've all got to clear our minds - "
Maynard squints quizzically at Sam as he speaks, and eventually interrupts him. "You must have a strong, delicious heart with such an athletic build, but I can't eat it. It's been claimed by another. Someone I can tell I don't want to piss off."
Although he knows better, Sam still allows the demon's words to get under his skin. "What are you talking about?"
The creature laughs. "I'm just a smalltime demonic being. I'd never survive against the thing that put that mark on your body. Not a claiming mark like that. You're someone else's property, blood, body, and soul."
Dean and Brook look at Sam with perplexed expressions; what is the demon talking about? Dean is especially interested in Sam's reaction, the horrified look on his face.
For his own part, Sam tries not to react to Maynard's words, but he can't hold it in. The creature can see it, he can see the invisible mark of ownership Megumi put on him. It has to be her 'signature' that Maynard sees. Sam made a promise to Megumi in return for Dean's resurrection, and his family couldn't see the mark, but this demon could.
The empathy demon smiles ecstatically and closes his eyes, making satisfied noises. "Mmm, real emotions... most delicious... real fear, anxiety, and panic. Whatever's claimed you will have the pleasure of drinking the blood from your heart, but at least I get some of your delectable feelings before you die..."
Dean removes the sly smile from the demon's face by aiming his gun at Maynard's head and pulling the trigger. The employees scream and jump back at the loud sound. The empathy demon lets out a screech of its own before leaping up on the soda dispenser behind the counter. He rubs at the oozing wound. "That hurt!"
Seething, Dean replies, "Don't talk about my brother like that, or you'll get worse next time."
"You're trying to kill me," the demon reminds him. "What could be worse than that?"
"Try me," says Dean.
"And then me," adds Brook, releasing the safety on her gun.
Maynard looks at each of them and grins joyfully. "Anger... so tasty."
Sam tries to get everyone's attention again. "We have to clear our minds! It can't go without emotions for even a few minutes. Empathy demons must feed constantly. Try not to think about anything upsetting or dramatic - "
"How do you expect us not to think about anything upsetting when we've got this monster roaming around behind the counter?!" one of the employees squeaks.
Dean cuts in, "All of you, get back into a storeroom or something. Get away from the counter. We may have to shoot it."
The employees do as they are told, moving away from the mayhem.
Maynard looks as if he is panicking. He glances from one person to another. "That demon is going to take its time drinking your blood. It will draw out the pain as you die slowly."
With the employees out of harm's way, Dean and Brook both open fire. The demon shoots up into the air with a screech of pain. Maynard lands with a loud plop on the counter, a sloppy landing where his feet slip out from under him because he's been hit with at least three bullets. Breathing hard, he gets up to face them. The soda machine behind him sprays melted ice water out of a bullet hole.
Smirking mischievously, Dean puts a period on their actions. "Shut the fuck up," he commands.
"I've heard enough. Let's finish this thing off," Sam says. He looks at his brother, then his sister. "Clear your minds. Try not to feel anything. We're going to recite the Gettysburg Address."
"Gettysburg Address?" Dean repeats.
"Old trick of mine from college. Whenever I got freaked about exams, I'd just recite the Gettysburg Address to myself. By the time I was done, I'd calmed down. Helped me focus."
Brook begins, "But I - "
Holding up a silencing hand, Sam replies, "Repeat after me. 'Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation...'"
They do as they are told. "'Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation...'" Dean and Brook say together.
"'...conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.'"
"'...conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.'"
"We're going a little faster now. Repeat it just a beat behind me. Don't concentrate on anything but reciting the speech. Don't even think of what the words mean," Sam instructs. "'Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war...'"
Dean and Brook do as Sam tells them, trusting his instincts completely. Dean feels like he's back in school, reciting some stupid thing his teacher made him memorize, and it bores him, just like it did back then. Such things are not important when you could be out hunting with your dad, saving people's lives. Even getting a little tail was more important than some old speech. Brook had always kind of liked memorizing stuff for school, but Sammy told her not to think about what the words mean, so she just repeats what he says without emotion. It's been too many years since Mrs. Rottlinger made the whole class memorize this speech; Brook can't remember it without Sam's prompting.
Maynard starts to pant. He can't read minds like some of the other demons, so what is he supposed to use to shake these jerks up and make them feel something? They're feeling nothing but boredom and calm, like a flat line moving evenly across the horizon. No bumps, no curves, absolutely nothing to feed off of.
"'We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.'"
A whiny scream builds in the demon's throat. Sam is right - he cannot go without feeding for even a short time. He finally yells, "The clock is ticking down on your last day, Sam! You think I can't see how much longer you've got? The creature that put its mark on you is claiming its tribute today! Feel!"
"'But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate - we can not consecrate - we can not hallow - this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world...' oh shit, what comes next...?"
Dean and Brook look at each other. "Somehow, I don't think that last part was something Lincoln wrote," Dean jokes.
Brook can't help it, and giggles.
"Ahhh, yes!" Maynard cries, reveling in the tiny amount of emotion. He practically rolls on the counter in delight.
Not wanting the demon to recover at all, Sam quickly regains his memory. "...'The world will little note'!" he suddenly cries. "'The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.'"
Desperate, Maynard searches for the employees hiding in the back, trying to feel their emotions. For his trouble he gets back only the same dead air, a complete lack of any useful feelings. They must be using a similar technique to clear their minds, like Sam suggested. The demon screams with his fists balled at his sides.
"'It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion...'"
Maynard frantically starts making faces that mimic various emotions at the Winchesters, trying to catch their attention, but not a one looks him in the eye. After ten or so seconds of this, he weakly collapses to a sitting position, then leans over on the counter, panting. "Feel..."
"'...that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom...'"
"Feeeeel..."
"'...and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.'"
Maynard finally falls over, his tongue lolling out, and doesn't move. He utters a final breath that sounds like, "Uhhhh..."
The Winchesters watch him for any movement. Dean comments, "His death was like a freakin' cartoon. 'Say good-bye to Uncle Louie for me. Uhhhhh...'" He holds his chest and sticks out his tongue.
"'Uncle Wouie?'" adds Sam jokingly, imitating the cartoon Dean is talking about.
Dean claps him on the back. "Good idea, Sammy. Worked like a charm."
"You can come out! It's safe!" Brook calls to the hiding employees.
As they walk up to the front, they see the dead demon. "Did you kill it?" one employee asks.
Taking the knife from Sam, Dean nods and moves closer to the counter.
A female employee grabs his sleeve and shakes it to get his attention. "You killed it, you killed the monster! That thing has been terrorizing us for months. How can we ever repay you?" she asks.
With his trademark charming smirk, Dean leans in and requests, "All the food you got in the house. To go," and cuts off the demon's head with a SWISSSSH, FUCHUNK!
2:36:36... 2:36:37... 2:36:38... 2:36:39AM...
Sam is startled out of his thoughts by the sound of Dean and Brook squabbling. Everytime she pushed a particular cassette tape into the stereo, Dean just ejected it again.
"Stop it!" she nearly whined.
Dean pushed the Eject button for the fourth time. "You know the rule, Sixxer." As Dean repeated it, Sam said it with him in a mocking tone, "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."
"But you never let me drive," Brook reminded her older brother. "The only time I get to take the wheel is when you fall asleep and Sammy lets me."
"And this is my problem becaaaause...?"
"Dean, I am sick of Metallica. I haven't heard any Crue in days. Don't be a butthole."
Tape goes in... Eject.
"Dean!"
Dean and Sam both sighed at the same time, but for slightly different reasons. "Why do you like Motley Crue so much anyway? They're a hair band."
"For the same reason you love Metallica and Led Zeppelin and all those other bands you listen to," Brook responded. She pawed through Dean's shoebox of cassettes.
"You can't even put a hair band in the same category with Metallica and Zepp. You and your Nikki Sixx." He adopted a falsetto tone to imitate her. "'Oh, I just love Nikki Sixx; he's soooo cool; what a musical genius.' Guy must be 70 by now."
"Is not," she said, then mumbled, "He's 48."
Dean scoffed. "Pssht. Motley Crue. You shame me."
With an impish grin, Brook held up a tape. "This coming from a guy with a Ratt cassette in his collection. Haaaair band..." She bobbled the tape in front of his face.
"Ratt? How the fuck'd that get in there?" Snatching the cassette from her fingers, Dean tossed it carelessly into the back seat, his eyes shifting guiltily.
She held up another. "Def Leppard?"
"Pyromania was a damn good album."
"Still a hair band. Joe Elliott is the eternal mullet king."
"Can it, Sixxer." A sudden smile dominated Dean's face. "Why shouldn't I get to listen to the music I like best today? You know, today."
Shooting Sam a mischievous look, Brook replied, "Today? Nothing special about today."
"Nope," added Sam, and held back a naughty grin.
Dean hid his reaction to that, although a small pout did cross his face for a brief moment. "Yeah, whatever."
"Hey, I know what we could do," Sam said, grinning anyway. "Winchester Sing-a-long!"
"Yay!" Brook bounced in the seat.
Dean, rolling his eyes, grumbled, "Now I know you've had a couple of those," and glanced at the fresh beer in Sam's hand.
"Aw, Dean, you like to sing in the car." Brook leaned her head over on his shoulder. "Remember when we were kids and we'd be on some long drive, and we'd all sing with Dad?"
"And one person would sing lead while the others were his backup singers?" added Sam gleefully.
"Her backup singers, too. You always enjoyed it, Dean," Brook finished. She knew Dean thought it was a pretty corny activity now, but that was just because he never wanted to be caught doing it. "And everyone knows you're the best singer of the family, next to Dad." Brook looked up at him coyly.
Dean was smiling, sly and arrogant. "It's true," he allowed. "I can carry a tune."
"And you're modest, too," Sam piped in, earning him a dismissive smack on the chest with the back of Brook's hand.
"So, whaddaya say?"
Dean pretended he didn't think it would be really fun. "Okay," he replied with several rapid nods. "I get first choice."
"Woo-hoo!" Sam raised his fists in childlike triumph.
"Yay!" repeated Brook.
"Why are the worst singers always the most excited about the Sing-a-longs?" Dean lamented to himself, shaking his head.
For that, he received the same smack Sam had, but on his arm. "So what are we singing?"
2:42AM...
"'So let it be written, so let it be done, I'm sent here by the chosen one...'" crooned Dean, driving down the highway at 70 miles per hour.
Sam played air-guitar with his hands and his mouth. "Urrrnh, urrrnh, urrrnh..."
"'So let it be written, so let it be done, to kill the first born pharaoh's son. I'm creeping death...'"
"Metallica. I should have known," mumbled Brook. There wasn't much for her to do as a 'backup singer' on this one.
Sam suddenly went into a different guitar riff. He eventually nudged Brook very hard.
"Ow! Huh? Oh!" She sat up from her bored, slumped position. "'Die! Die! Die! Die!'"
Sam began to chant with her. "'Die! Die! Die! Die!'"
Dean came in with, "'DIE, die, by my hand! I creep across the land, killing firstborn man!'" He looked over at Sammy. Sam had always enjoyed singing in the car with the whole family more than any of them. Dean supposed that it was because it made him feel together with them; it was something a 'normal' family would do on a long roadtrip. Anything that brought such a delighted smile to Sammy's face was okay with Dean. He'd sing all the way to the job if it would make Sam continue to loosen up like this.
That sentiment would probably seem strange to anyone else who heard them chanting, "Die! Die! Die!" but not to Dean.
2:45AM...
"I am not singing Schoolhouse Rock songs!" argued Dean.
"No one's going to hear you, Dean," Sam said. "Just us."
"You like Schoolhouse Rock," Brook reminded him. "Besides, it's my turn to choose." She leaned over on Sam. "And Sammy wants to sing them too."
Obviously giving it some thought, Dean finally said, "But it's so silly..."
2:45AM...
"'We were sufferin' until suffrage!'" sang Brook.
"'Oh!'" added her brothers, backing her up. They sang in falsetto, like female backup singers, in imitation of the song.
"'Not a woman here could vote no matter what age.'"
"'No!'"
"'But the nineteenth amendment struck down that restrictive rule!'"
Dean and Sam crooned, "'Oh YEEEEEEEAH!'" with gusto.
2:49AM...
For all his protesting, Dean sang a mean version of "Verb: That's What's Happening," probably his favorite Schoolhouse Rock song ever.
"'I can question, like: What is it?'"
Sammy and Brook gleefully sang backup. "'Verb, you're so demanding!'"
"'I can order, like: Go get it!'"
"'Verb, you're so commanding...'" The 'backup singers' began swaying back and forth, pointing their fingers in time with the rhythm of the song.
They were enjoying themselves so much that they hardly noticed they had entered Hollywood city limits. The Hollywood sign loomed over them, the late night sky forming an inky black backdrop.
"'I get my thing in action!'" Dean sang, really getting into the ending.
Sam and Brook got into it too. "'VERB! That's what's happening!'"
"'To work...'"
"'Verb!'"
"'To play...'"
"'Verb!'"
"'To live...'"
"'VERB!'"
Everyone joined in on the last line. The car was filled with enthusiastic crooning, some of it whiny and cracking, some of it in tune. "'To LOOOOoooooOOOOoooooVE!!'"
Sam and Brook bounced in their seats and beat on the roof of the car, giving the song a drumbeat ending. Then they both shared a hearty laugh. "I love that one," Sam chuckled.
Dean was growling, "Hey, hey, HEY!" at them for beating on the car's roof. Then he sarcastically added, "Could you guys possibly bounce around the car some more? I'm not having nearly enough trouble driving."
His brother and sister bounced up and down in their seats even harder. Recalling an old joke from their childhood, they declared themselves, "Mexican jumping beans!" and giggled.
2:57AM...
Sammy's turn. He was singing "Interjections" when Dean pulled into the parking lot of the most unexpected place...
"'So when you're happy...'" sang Sam.
"'Hurray!'" cried his sister and brother.
"'Or sad...'"
"'Awwww!'"
"'Or frightened...'"
Brook held her mouth open on the sides with her fingers, making the kind of face a child might find scary. She looked at Dean, and he cried, "'Eeek!'" in mock fear.
"'Or mad...'" Sam continued.
"'Rats!'" replied his siblings.
The tone of Brook's backup singing revealed she was perplexed when she saw the lights and the sign hanging over the place to which Dean was taking them. Sam did not look; he just went right on singing. "'...An interjection starts the sentence riiiight!'"
While he sang the next stanza, Brook glared at the sign, then at Dean. "I thought we were doing a case in Hollywood," she said accusingly.
"We are," Dean said back.
"'They're generally set apart from a sentence by an exclamation point, or by a comma when the feeling's not as strong.'"
Brook opened her mouth to say more, but Dean cut her off by loudly backing Sam up on the last chorus of the song. "'Interjections show excitement or emotion, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah YEEEEEA!'"
He stopped the car in front of what was obviously... a strip club. The sign out front declared it was The Club Luscious and that there were Live Nude Girls! inside. A brunette with big hair, an intensely full face of make-up, and impossibly high heels on stood out front, wearing a silk robe that hugged all her curves. Dean pulled up right next to her.
Sam finally took notice of where they were. He stared at the woman's ample chest and, after a moment of stunned silence, squeaked, "'Darn, that's the end.'"
She leaned over to the open driver's side window. "Are you Dean?"
"I am," he responded with a charming smile.
The stripper looked over the others in the car. A girl who seemed a little miffed and a sort of doofy, big guy with his mouth hanging open like a dying fish. They seemed quite mystified to be here. "Are you the guys who are going to help us with our problem?"
"Problem?" Sam said, his voice cracking.
"The thing where customers spontaneously combust while being given lapdances," the stripper finished.
Brook burst out laughing. When no one else joined her, she said, "Oh, you're serious."
His mouth still hanging open, Sam looked at Dean in shock. "Are we?"
"We are," Dean assured him, and the stripper.
She seemed doubtful. "If you say so."
Dean put a hand on her arm. "We're your guys. Trust me. We'll make it stop."
"I sure hope so. I lost some hair the last time it happened."
Sam and Brook looked downward.
The stripper rolled her eyes. "On my head," she said, and held out a chunk of her hair.
They looked at each other. "Oh."
"Don't worry. We have a lot of experience rooting out the source of this kind of trouble." Dean glanced around for a parking space. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Heidi," the stripper replied.
Pausing, Dean looked confused for a moment before he asked, "You know a guy named Rick?"
2:59:57... 2:59:58... 2:59:59... 3:00:00AM...
tbc