SPN Gen Fic: Haiku! (God Bless You) 1/7
Title: Haiku! (God Bless You)
Category: Humor, Casefic
Season/Spoiler: S1, general spoilers
Characters: Sam, Dean, MotW and various incidental OCs
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2910 this chapter
Summary: John sends the boys on a hunt, as cryptic as always, and when Dean and Sam arrive at their destination they run into some complications and struggle to communicate.
Disclaimer: These boys aren't mine. I get that. I do.
Two days earlier
“I don’t suppose he gave us anything besides coordinates,” Sam said, the bitterness in his voice undisguised. “Not that he ever does.”
It had taken longer than Dean thought it would. They’d been on the road a good two hours, with nothing for Sam to do but sit and stew about that age-old battle of his with Dad. He let out a wordless huff, watching the scenery zoom by and listening to the sound of the tires thrum and thump across a patchy stretch of highway.
“He doesn’t need to give us more than that, Sam,” he said, and he knew he sounded bitter himself. “Why do you always have to start in with this? If Dad says we should go, then there’s something there to hunt. Period.”
“Actually, I don’t doubt that, Dean.”
Without even looking, Dean knew Sam was stubbornly jutting out his chin. It was classic Sam and no wonder the kid drove Dad nuts by being himself. But Dean wouldn’t trade this for anything, pain in the ass little brother and all.
“If he wouldn’t be so damned vague all the time…” Sam paused, sighing. “What I’m saying is if he’d give more details and fewer cryptic messages we could do whatever he wants us to do better.”
The so we can get back to finding him and finding the thing that screwed up our lives remained unspoken, but Dean also knew that was there as surely as the sour look on Sam’s face. He didn’t want to agree with Sam on this, his own stubborn streak rearing its head, but he couldn’t disagree, either. He wasn’t sure why Dad insisted on giving them so little to work with, but he chose to read it as trust. He was afraid if he didn’t, he’d start doubting. Like Sam did, except now he wasn’t even sure if doubting was what Sam did. Sam simply wanted to know everything.
“Dad knows we can handle it.”
“Dad knows you can handle it.”
Dean had known it would get like this again with Sam, but he thought with Dad off who-the-hell-knew-where it wouldn’t be as bad. How much of a chump was he that he’d take his brother bitching and moaning constantly over the freedom, the loneliness, of hunting on his own. Especially knowing Sam did not want to be there with him. Dean was a headcase, afraid to be who he was. The more time he spent with Sam the more he started to wonder if he knew who he was, if he was anyone at all.
“Dad has never doubted your abilities, Sam, just your commitment.”
“Well, I’m committed now, aren’t I?” Sam muttered.
Damnit. Sam was talking about involuntary commitment, like he was sitting over there in a straitjacket, only there because his life had been ripped away from him. Dean didn’t know how to even approach that. They stopped talking. After a few minutes, Dean thought he might as well be driving alone anyway. He turned up the music he knew his brother either didn’t get or hated outright. Frankly, he was beyond caring about Sam’s creature comforts. He would do anything for Sam except pussify his taste in music.
The coordinates Dad had texted him were just outside of Moab, Utah. They’d lost wireless connectivity a while back, when they’d ditched any sign of civilization, and so didn’t know what they were getting themselves into yet. There was nothing in the journal. For the millionth time, Dean wondered why so many supernatural events tended to hit small towns more than big ones, though that was based on casual observation. Geek Boy slouched over there would tell him the occurrences were easier to establish a pattern from because of the small population, not that bad things happened more often in the boonies. He really wasn’t interested in heavy debate or lecture, now or ever. Sam was probably right, anyway, but like the supernatural, it would be easier for them to blend in a larger city.
The car alone made them conspicuous in any location. Dean knew the smart move would be to ditch her for a less noticeable vehicle, but he could not give up the Impala. Now that Dad had gone AWOL on him, the car was the only constant in his life. Sam almost was, but not quite yet - he still had that cut-and-run threat look about him half the time. No, keeping the car might increase their chances of being spotted or remembered but it was a risk he was willing to take. In the grand scheme, it was low on the list of concerns.
As they rolled into town, he assessed his surroundings. All in all, Moab looked like every town they’d ever stopped in, the typical façade of normal disguising something deeper, uglier. Whatever it might be. As highway 191 turned gradually into Main Street, Dean could practically feel the dust from the surrounding desert settling into every crack in the car. Sure enough, the rumble of the Impala’s engine drew looks that a frigging Toyota Prius like Sam probably wanted to drive would never get. Still, he noted several early model cars parked in front of storefronts. An ’81 Monte Carlo, white under a thick layer of dust, a red ’79 Cordoba. Not that any old junker could hold a candle to his baby.
“There looks good,” Sam said, pointing. “Sign says Wi-Fi.”
With a mumble of agreement, Dean pulled the car into the parking lot of The Virginian Motel. It was in the center of town but it looked unremarkable enough to suit their needs. It was off-season, and the lot was empty. They’d have their pick of badly decorated rooms. Exciting. He and Sam opened their doors simultaneously, stepping out into the warm, dry air and sunshine. He tried not to be bothered by how much dust had settled on the car.
“You get the room, I’ll get a paper and some maps from the gas station we just passed,” Sam said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” Dean said, knowing Sam wasn’t big on the credit card fraud. The motel lobby would have a map and a paper. “Sure. Hey, get me an Icee.”
“And beef jerky. I got it.”
“You know me so well.” Dean flashed a grin and batted his eyelashes. “And I wouldn’t say no to a Ho-Ho.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Double the ho,” Sam said wryly. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Sam loped away, gait slightly off from being crammed in the car for so long. That was probably another reason the kid wanted to go to the store. Dean had plenty of room, but even pushed back all the way the bench seat didn’t accommodate Sam’s height. Damnit, he said he wasn’t going to care about Sam’s creature comforts for a change. He turned himself toward the motel office, following tattered arrows which needlessly pointed the way. It wasn’t like the wide open spaces were a confusing maze to navigate. He looked the direction Sam had retreated, his brother a block away already.
The lobby was empty when Dean stepped through the door. Seeing no bell to ding, he cleared his throat loudly. That didn’t get any response. He leaned on the counter, peering onto the cluttered desk. Half a cheese sandwich, a coffee-ringed newspaper folded to the crossword and a credit card machine, numbers worn off the keypad, were all he saw. No body sprawled on the floor like he’d half expected. It would be their luck to walk right into the middle of a case or a plain ol’ human crime.
“Can I help you with something?”
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Elbow slipping as he jerked in surprise, all Dean could think was how Dad would ream him for letting a civilian get the jump on him. The thought was fleeting. In case the woman who belonged to the voice was worth it, he made an effort to regain some cool and charm. He shifted, pulling his elbow back onto the counter as he glanced over his shoulder at a short, rail-thin woman with graying, ashy blonde hair and eyes hard as flint. Still, she wasn’t bad looking despite the stern look on her face.
“I need a room,” he said, smiling anyway. Judging from the way the woman’s grouchy expression only deepened, it wasn’t going to work this time. Sam’d probably turn her into a puddle of goo with one look. There was no accountin’ for taste. “Please.”
She granted him a smile in return, all business-like and ice. She skirted around him to get behind the desk, depositing a crumpled paper towel in the trash. A bored expression now on her face, she tapped a few keys and studied the computer screen.
“Smoking or non?” she asked.
“Non. I’ll need two queens.”
“That’s all we have anyway.” She clacked a few more keys, no actual interest behind her words. “Off season rates are $21 a night for one person, $42 a night for two, tax included.”
This woman was a huge barrel of laughs. The case was going to suck ass if the whole town was like this. Dean pulled out his wallet, dispensing with any extraneous charms. Clearly, Ms. Front Desk wasn’t even regular friendly. No amount of wink-wink-nudge-nudge was going to crack that shell.
“That’s great. Thanks,” he said, throwing a fifty on the counter. “We’ll start with one night. We’re just passing through. I’m on a road trip with my brother.”
“Okay, whatever,” she said. “What’s the name?”
“Chester.” Dean extended a hand to shake. “Chester Copperpot. Nice to meet you.”
His hand wasn’t shaken, not that he’d really expected it to be. She did look away from the computer screen, though, with a bare trace of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Dean thought he might be getting somewhere at last. Charming
“I’m Audra. I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit out of sorts today,” she said. She studied him, shaking her head. “And you? Don’t look very much like a Chester.”
“I get that all the time,” he said, smiling. He flashed his fake ID to prove the truth of his lie. “Most people call me Chet, though.”
“Okay, Chet.” She grinned outright this time again, apparently not convinced Chet was much better than Chester. She wasn’t wrong. Audra picked up the cash, pulling out a receipt booklet. “In a sec you’ll be all set.”
“No rush.”
Dean strolled to the small rack holding various brochures from local attractions and sites. A quick perusal gave him insight to the whole area - mining town, rich in Native American history. Those two things alone meant their work was cut out for them. He shuddered, really hoping this wouldn’t involve bugs like the last time they dealt with a Native American curse.
As he poked around, Dean actually found himself wanting to visit the Anasazi cliff dwellings over in Canyonlands National Park for his own enjoyment, nothing case-related. An entire civilization up and vanishing was interesting. He wouldn’t be able to work that in with Sam without giving away his inner geek, since there were, y’know, no Anasazi around to be responsible for whatever might be going on around here. He decided it would be worth it. Sam would probably geek out about it anyway, and be none the wiser about Dean’s interest.
“Chet,” Audra said. “I’m going to need to grab a copy of your ID for our records. We’re not exactly full up, but there are a few guests and we like to have photos on hand so staff will recognize you. I’ll also need one from…”
The lobby door opened, and Sam strolled in with his one hand carrying a bag filled with jerky, Ho-Hos and a map, and a drink, and the other holding another drink. He had a strip of jerky clenched in his teeth while he wrestled with the door with limited hand use. That was Sam, always making a grand entrance.
“Your brother.” Audra stared at Sam like she’d never seen anything like him before. She shook her head, pulling out of her reverie.
“Well, speak of the devil and he will come,” Dean said, deftly snagging his Icee - cherry, mmmm - and the plastic bag. “My brother, Lester.”
Sam winced, having been outvoted in fake name choice once again. He recovered quickly, pulling the jerky out of his mouth and shooting Audra one of his thousand-watt smiles.
“Hey,” he said. “Please don’t call me Lester. My brother just does it to be annoying. I go by my middle name - Sam.”
Middle name. Dean should have thought of that. Now he was stuck being Chet and Sam was just Sam. He scowled at his brother, pretending it was really from brain freeze. Sam turned his smile on him, suddenly Mr. Sunshine because he’d outsmarted Dean’s name sabotage.
“Hello, I’m Audra.” Audra gave Sam a smile much warmer than any she’d shot in Dean’s direction. Goo. In a puddle. “I was just telling Chet I need IDs from both of you, you’ll be good to go. Room 19 is up the stairs to the right.”
“Sure,” Sam said, pulling out his fake ID.
The check-in was finished in a few easy steps, ending with an invite for them (Sam) to come back if they needed anything at all, which only made Sam look disconcerted. As far as Dean was concerned, his brother could keep the come-ons from the older ladies. His pride wasn’t wounded in the least. Not a bit. He tore into a strip of jerky as they hauled their stuff up to the godawful mauve-colored room.
“So,” Sam said as they entered, heading for the bed furthest from the door. “Turns out there have been an increased number of animal attacks in the area recently. They’re blaming coyotes. The last one was only a couple of days ago.”
“Coyotes, right.” Dean tossed the keys on the nightstand next to his bed. He pulled the goods out of the plastic bag. Tearing open a pack of Ho-Hos, he shoved an entire cake in his mouth, putting the remaining preservative-packed treat next to the keys. He unlaced his boots, kicking them off before he lay on the bed, resting his head on one hand. He talked and chewed at the same time. “Could be a werewolf, maybe.”
“Dude. Gross.” Sam wrinkled his nose at Dean’s eating habits. He booted up the laptop, shaking his head. “Moon cycle’s wrong for werewolf.”
“Some other kind of shapeshifter. A skinwalker, maybe.”
“Yeah, that’s a place to start, anyway. The problem’s going to be sifting through a ton of mythology. There’s a lot of history here. I know there was Anasazi in this area, but some Pueblo, Fremont and Ute, too.”
“I don’t know how you ended up such a geek, Sammy,” Dean said, rolling to his side. “You always had such a hard-on for the books. You do your thing. I’m going to take a nap.”
Which he did. Driving long distances wasn’t a picnic, and he found himself pretty wiped out. He dozed off to the sound of Sam’s fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard.
An hour later, he woke due to two things - a pang of hunger and a pillow tossed at his head. In those first moments of awareness, Dean couldn’t tell which had come first. He swung his legs off the bed. He was getting too complacent, too comfortable having Sam around and not on guard twenty-four/seven like Dad had taught him. Even when there wasn’t a clear and present danger, he should be more alert.
“You’re lucky I’m not armed,” he growled.
“Right, because waking you up is worse that you sticking me with all the work. I’m the one who should be armed.” Sam stood at the end of his bed, a bitchy, low-blood-sugar look on his face. “And you were snoring.”
“I don’t snore.”
“Yeah.” Sam’s pinched look got even tighter as he tilted his head for emphasis. “You do.”
Fine, maybe he snored sometimes. It wasn’t worth an argument with a crabby little brother. Dean stretched his arms out. His stomach rumbled.
“I’m hungry,” he said. “You hungry?”
“That’s why I woke you. I figured if I was hungry that your bottomless pit of a stomach would be empty by now,” Sam said. “Plus, jerky and Ho-Hos will only get you so far, you know? Eventually you’re going to need the real thing.”
“Dude, I don’t want details about your personal habits or how you spend your money,” he said. “Keep your jerky to yourself.”
“Hilarious.” Sam huffed out an unamused snort. “You should give up hunting to be a full-time comedian.”
“Like I can’t do both.” He pulled his boots on, lacing them carelessly. “What’re you hungry for?”
“I saw a teriyaki place up the street,” Sam said, giving him a hopeful look.
Ugh. Dean’s palate said no to teriyaki, but his big brother instincts said yes to Sam and that damned expression, just like they always did. He was such a predictable bastard.
“Dude, you know I hate Chinese,” he said halfheartedly. “I’m always hungry again in an hour.”
“Teriyaki’s not Chinese, Dean.” Sam shook his head with a small smile. “And you’re always hungry again in an hour.”
Sam wasn’t wrong.
“Whatever. They’d better have fortune cookies.”
&-&-&
To Chapter Two
Category: Humor, Casefic
Season/Spoiler: S1, general spoilers
Characters: Sam, Dean, MotW and various incidental OCs
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2910 this chapter
Summary: John sends the boys on a hunt, as cryptic as always, and when Dean and Sam arrive at their destination they run into some complications and struggle to communicate.
Disclaimer: These boys aren't mine. I get that. I do.
Two days earlier
“I don’t suppose he gave us anything besides coordinates,” Sam said, the bitterness in his voice undisguised. “Not that he ever does.”
It had taken longer than Dean thought it would. They’d been on the road a good two hours, with nothing for Sam to do but sit and stew about that age-old battle of his with Dad. He let out a wordless huff, watching the scenery zoom by and listening to the sound of the tires thrum and thump across a patchy stretch of highway.
“He doesn’t need to give us more than that, Sam,” he said, and he knew he sounded bitter himself. “Why do you always have to start in with this? If Dad says we should go, then there’s something there to hunt. Period.”
“Actually, I don’t doubt that, Dean.”
Without even looking, Dean knew Sam was stubbornly jutting out his chin. It was classic Sam and no wonder the kid drove Dad nuts by being himself. But Dean wouldn’t trade this for anything, pain in the ass little brother and all.
“If he wouldn’t be so damned vague all the time…” Sam paused, sighing. “What I’m saying is if he’d give more details and fewer cryptic messages we could do whatever he wants us to do better.”
The so we can get back to finding him and finding the thing that screwed up our lives remained unspoken, but Dean also knew that was there as surely as the sour look on Sam’s face. He didn’t want to agree with Sam on this, his own stubborn streak rearing its head, but he couldn’t disagree, either. He wasn’t sure why Dad insisted on giving them so little to work with, but he chose to read it as trust. He was afraid if he didn’t, he’d start doubting. Like Sam did, except now he wasn’t even sure if doubting was what Sam did. Sam simply wanted to know everything.
“Dad knows we can handle it.”
“Dad knows you can handle it.”
Dean had known it would get like this again with Sam, but he thought with Dad off who-the-hell-knew-where it wouldn’t be as bad. How much of a chump was he that he’d take his brother bitching and moaning constantly over the freedom, the loneliness, of hunting on his own. Especially knowing Sam did not want to be there with him. Dean was a headcase, afraid to be who he was. The more time he spent with Sam the more he started to wonder if he knew who he was, if he was anyone at all.
“Dad has never doubted your abilities, Sam, just your commitment.”
“Well, I’m committed now, aren’t I?” Sam muttered.
Damnit. Sam was talking about involuntary commitment, like he was sitting over there in a straitjacket, only there because his life had been ripped away from him. Dean didn’t know how to even approach that. They stopped talking. After a few minutes, Dean thought he might as well be driving alone anyway. He turned up the music he knew his brother either didn’t get or hated outright. Frankly, he was beyond caring about Sam’s creature comforts. He would do anything for Sam except pussify his taste in music.
The coordinates Dad had texted him were just outside of Moab, Utah. They’d lost wireless connectivity a while back, when they’d ditched any sign of civilization, and so didn’t know what they were getting themselves into yet. There was nothing in the journal. For the millionth time, Dean wondered why so many supernatural events tended to hit small towns more than big ones, though that was based on casual observation. Geek Boy slouched over there would tell him the occurrences were easier to establish a pattern from because of the small population, not that bad things happened more often in the boonies. He really wasn’t interested in heavy debate or lecture, now or ever. Sam was probably right, anyway, but like the supernatural, it would be easier for them to blend in a larger city.
The car alone made them conspicuous in any location. Dean knew the smart move would be to ditch her for a less noticeable vehicle, but he could not give up the Impala. Now that Dad had gone AWOL on him, the car was the only constant in his life. Sam almost was, but not quite yet - he still had that cut-and-run threat look about him half the time. No, keeping the car might increase their chances of being spotted or remembered but it was a risk he was willing to take. In the grand scheme, it was low on the list of concerns.
As they rolled into town, he assessed his surroundings. All in all, Moab looked like every town they’d ever stopped in, the typical façade of normal disguising something deeper, uglier. Whatever it might be. As highway 191 turned gradually into Main Street, Dean could practically feel the dust from the surrounding desert settling into every crack in the car. Sure enough, the rumble of the Impala’s engine drew looks that a frigging Toyota Prius like Sam probably wanted to drive would never get. Still, he noted several early model cars parked in front of storefronts. An ’81 Monte Carlo, white under a thick layer of dust, a red ’79 Cordoba. Not that any old junker could hold a candle to his baby.
“There looks good,” Sam said, pointing. “Sign says Wi-Fi.”
With a mumble of agreement, Dean pulled the car into the parking lot of The Virginian Motel. It was in the center of town but it looked unremarkable enough to suit their needs. It was off-season, and the lot was empty. They’d have their pick of badly decorated rooms. Exciting. He and Sam opened their doors simultaneously, stepping out into the warm, dry air and sunshine. He tried not to be bothered by how much dust had settled on the car.
“You get the room, I’ll get a paper and some maps from the gas station we just passed,” Sam said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” Dean said, knowing Sam wasn’t big on the credit card fraud. The motel lobby would have a map and a paper. “Sure. Hey, get me an Icee.”
“And beef jerky. I got it.”
“You know me so well.” Dean flashed a grin and batted his eyelashes. “And I wouldn’t say no to a Ho-Ho.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Double the ho,” Sam said wryly. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Sam loped away, gait slightly off from being crammed in the car for so long. That was probably another reason the kid wanted to go to the store. Dean had plenty of room, but even pushed back all the way the bench seat didn’t accommodate Sam’s height. Damnit, he said he wasn’t going to care about Sam’s creature comforts for a change. He turned himself toward the motel office, following tattered arrows which needlessly pointed the way. It wasn’t like the wide open spaces were a confusing maze to navigate. He looked the direction Sam had retreated, his brother a block away already.
The lobby was empty when Dean stepped through the door. Seeing no bell to ding, he cleared his throat loudly. That didn’t get any response. He leaned on the counter, peering onto the cluttered desk. Half a cheese sandwich, a coffee-ringed newspaper folded to the crossword and a credit card machine, numbers worn off the keypad, were all he saw. No body sprawled on the floor like he’d half expected. It would be their luck to walk right into the middle of a case or a plain ol’ human crime.
“Can I help you with something?”
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Elbow slipping as he jerked in surprise, all Dean could think was how Dad would ream him for letting a civilian get the jump on him. The thought was fleeting. In case the woman who belonged to the voice was worth it, he made an effort to regain some cool and charm. He shifted, pulling his elbow back onto the counter as he glanced over his shoulder at a short, rail-thin woman with graying, ashy blonde hair and eyes hard as flint. Still, she wasn’t bad looking despite the stern look on her face.
“I need a room,” he said, smiling anyway. Judging from the way the woman’s grouchy expression only deepened, it wasn’t going to work this time. Sam’d probably turn her into a puddle of goo with one look. There was no accountin’ for taste. “Please.”
She granted him a smile in return, all business-like and ice. She skirted around him to get behind the desk, depositing a crumpled paper towel in the trash. A bored expression now on her face, she tapped a few keys and studied the computer screen.
“Smoking or non?” she asked.
“Non. I’ll need two queens.”
“That’s all we have anyway.” She clacked a few more keys, no actual interest behind her words. “Off season rates are $21 a night for one person, $42 a night for two, tax included.”
This woman was a huge barrel of laughs. The case was going to suck ass if the whole town was like this. Dean pulled out his wallet, dispensing with any extraneous charms. Clearly, Ms. Front Desk wasn’t even regular friendly. No amount of wink-wink-nudge-nudge was going to crack that shell.
“That’s great. Thanks,” he said, throwing a fifty on the counter. “We’ll start with one night. We’re just passing through. I’m on a road trip with my brother.”
“Okay, whatever,” she said. “What’s the name?”
“Chester.” Dean extended a hand to shake. “Chester Copperpot. Nice to meet you.”
His hand wasn’t shaken, not that he’d really expected it to be. She did look away from the computer screen, though, with a bare trace of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Dean thought he might be getting somewhere at last. Charming
“I’m Audra. I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit out of sorts today,” she said. She studied him, shaking her head. “And you? Don’t look very much like a Chester.”
“I get that all the time,” he said, smiling. He flashed his fake ID to prove the truth of his lie. “Most people call me Chet, though.”
“Okay, Chet.” She grinned outright this time again, apparently not convinced Chet was much better than Chester. She wasn’t wrong. Audra picked up the cash, pulling out a receipt booklet. “In a sec you’ll be all set.”
“No rush.”
Dean strolled to the small rack holding various brochures from local attractions and sites. A quick perusal gave him insight to the whole area - mining town, rich in Native American history. Those two things alone meant their work was cut out for them. He shuddered, really hoping this wouldn’t involve bugs like the last time they dealt with a Native American curse.
As he poked around, Dean actually found himself wanting to visit the Anasazi cliff dwellings over in Canyonlands National Park for his own enjoyment, nothing case-related. An entire civilization up and vanishing was interesting. He wouldn’t be able to work that in with Sam without giving away his inner geek, since there were, y’know, no Anasazi around to be responsible for whatever might be going on around here. He decided it would be worth it. Sam would probably geek out about it anyway, and be none the wiser about Dean’s interest.
“Chet,” Audra said. “I’m going to need to grab a copy of your ID for our records. We’re not exactly full up, but there are a few guests and we like to have photos on hand so staff will recognize you. I’ll also need one from…”
The lobby door opened, and Sam strolled in with his one hand carrying a bag filled with jerky, Ho-Hos and a map, and a drink, and the other holding another drink. He had a strip of jerky clenched in his teeth while he wrestled with the door with limited hand use. That was Sam, always making a grand entrance.
“Your brother.” Audra stared at Sam like she’d never seen anything like him before. She shook her head, pulling out of her reverie.
“Well, speak of the devil and he will come,” Dean said, deftly snagging his Icee - cherry, mmmm - and the plastic bag. “My brother, Lester.”
Sam winced, having been outvoted in fake name choice once again. He recovered quickly, pulling the jerky out of his mouth and shooting Audra one of his thousand-watt smiles.
“Hey,” he said. “Please don’t call me Lester. My brother just does it to be annoying. I go by my middle name - Sam.”
Middle name. Dean should have thought of that. Now he was stuck being Chet and Sam was just Sam. He scowled at his brother, pretending it was really from brain freeze. Sam turned his smile on him, suddenly Mr. Sunshine because he’d outsmarted Dean’s name sabotage.
“Hello, I’m Audra.” Audra gave Sam a smile much warmer than any she’d shot in Dean’s direction. Goo. In a puddle. “I was just telling Chet I need IDs from both of you, you’ll be good to go. Room 19 is up the stairs to the right.”
“Sure,” Sam said, pulling out his fake ID.
The check-in was finished in a few easy steps, ending with an invite for them (Sam) to come back if they needed anything at all, which only made Sam look disconcerted. As far as Dean was concerned, his brother could keep the come-ons from the older ladies. His pride wasn’t wounded in the least. Not a bit. He tore into a strip of jerky as they hauled their stuff up to the godawful mauve-colored room.
“So,” Sam said as they entered, heading for the bed furthest from the door. “Turns out there have been an increased number of animal attacks in the area recently. They’re blaming coyotes. The last one was only a couple of days ago.”
“Coyotes, right.” Dean tossed the keys on the nightstand next to his bed. He pulled the goods out of the plastic bag. Tearing open a pack of Ho-Hos, he shoved an entire cake in his mouth, putting the remaining preservative-packed treat next to the keys. He unlaced his boots, kicking them off before he lay on the bed, resting his head on one hand. He talked and chewed at the same time. “Could be a werewolf, maybe.”
“Dude. Gross.” Sam wrinkled his nose at Dean’s eating habits. He booted up the laptop, shaking his head. “Moon cycle’s wrong for werewolf.”
“Some other kind of shapeshifter. A skinwalker, maybe.”
“Yeah, that’s a place to start, anyway. The problem’s going to be sifting through a ton of mythology. There’s a lot of history here. I know there was Anasazi in this area, but some Pueblo, Fremont and Ute, too.”
“I don’t know how you ended up such a geek, Sammy,” Dean said, rolling to his side. “You always had such a hard-on for the books. You do your thing. I’m going to take a nap.”
Which he did. Driving long distances wasn’t a picnic, and he found himself pretty wiped out. He dozed off to the sound of Sam’s fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard.
An hour later, he woke due to two things - a pang of hunger and a pillow tossed at his head. In those first moments of awareness, Dean couldn’t tell which had come first. He swung his legs off the bed. He was getting too complacent, too comfortable having Sam around and not on guard twenty-four/seven like Dad had taught him. Even when there wasn’t a clear and present danger, he should be more alert.
“You’re lucky I’m not armed,” he growled.
“Right, because waking you up is worse that you sticking me with all the work. I’m the one who should be armed.” Sam stood at the end of his bed, a bitchy, low-blood-sugar look on his face. “And you were snoring.”
“I don’t snore.”
“Yeah.” Sam’s pinched look got even tighter as he tilted his head for emphasis. “You do.”
Fine, maybe he snored sometimes. It wasn’t worth an argument with a crabby little brother. Dean stretched his arms out. His stomach rumbled.
“I’m hungry,” he said. “You hungry?”
“That’s why I woke you. I figured if I was hungry that your bottomless pit of a stomach would be empty by now,” Sam said. “Plus, jerky and Ho-Hos will only get you so far, you know? Eventually you’re going to need the real thing.”
“Dude, I don’t want details about your personal habits or how you spend your money,” he said. “Keep your jerky to yourself.”
“Hilarious.” Sam huffed out an unamused snort. “You should give up hunting to be a full-time comedian.”
“Like I can’t do both.” He pulled his boots on, lacing them carelessly. “What’re you hungry for?”
“I saw a teriyaki place up the street,” Sam said, giving him a hopeful look.
Ugh. Dean’s palate said no to teriyaki, but his big brother instincts said yes to Sam and that damned expression, just like they always did. He was such a predictable bastard.
“Dude, you know I hate Chinese,” he said halfheartedly. “I’m always hungry again in an hour.”
“Teriyaki’s not Chinese, Dean.” Sam shook his head with a small smile. “And you’re always hungry again in an hour.”
Sam wasn’t wrong.
“Whatever. They’d better have fortune cookies.”
&-&-&
To Chapter Two