Fic: Five times Sam didn't catch a clue (and the time they finally out and told him)
Title: Five times Sam didn't catch a clue (and the time they finally out and told him)
Author: twfftw
Rating: R
Genre: Humour
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 5,111
Warnings: Succubus venom (ie. sex pollen), but in the context of an established relationship.
Summary: Sam has no idea Dean and Cas are in a relationship. Dean has no idea that Sam has no idea - has Sam not been paying attention?
Notes: OMG, posting! \o/ This one just about killed me, for real. Originally written early-mid S5 (between 5.07 and 5.09), motivated by the fact that Sam's... perspicacity... and attunement to his brother's emotional states are, um, sometimes not the greatest. (But by no means anti-Sam, any more than The Revelatory Power of Pie was anti-Dean).
Extra-special thanks to my lovely beta noneeca, who checked and re-checked the last tweaks uncomplainingly, despite this one not being her favourite. If the timeline is at all clear, that's thanks to her; any remaining mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: Not mine. But you knew that.
Five times Sam didn't catch a clue (and the time they finally out and told him)
Oregon
now
The succubus is a relatively easy kill. She darts and hisses and spits, but there are three of them and she never stands a chance. Sam and Dean duck and dodge and she misses them by a mile.
She gets Cas, though. Just before they gank her, she opens wide and spits a mouthful of venom full into his face.
This is the problem with Cas. He fights well, but there are so few things that can hurt him that unless someone’s drawing sigils or holding an angel-killing knife, it sometimes doesn’t occur to him to duck. (Dean apparently tried to hit him once. He says it was like punching concrete, only worse.)
Sam stares at the rapidly cooling corpse and really, really hopes that succubus venom isn’t one of the few things that can hurt an angel. He takes a deep breath and turns around - and one look at Cas tells him that, as usual, it’s not their lucky day. Cas is flushed and breathing hard, like he never is after a fight, and as Sam watches he lifts a hand and tugs at his collar like it’s suddenly too tight, and crap. Seriously, if one of them had to get hit with the “fuck within an hour or die” venom, why did it have to be the virgin angel?
“Dean,” he says softly, nudging his brother’s shoulder, and jerks his head at Cas when Dean turns to look at him. Dean looks over at Cas, studies him for a moment.
“Oh,” Dean says, sounding way too ridiculously calm. “Guess we better get back to the motel.” And he starts to just kind of wander back to the Impala, just kind of sauntering. Sam snaps his hand out and grabs him by the arm.
“Dean,” he says. “What are we going to do?”
“What are we going to do?” Dean repeats, frowning, as if the question doesn’t make any sense.
“We can’t get him a hooker,” Sam says. It’s what a hunter who gets succubus’d would usually do, but he’s not sure that Cas would even know what to do in the first place, and besides, he’s still mostly angel, with all kinds of crazy angel strength and angel powers. They can’t just toss some unsuspecting girl at him, especially not when he’s like this; she could get hurt.
“Well, of course we’re not going to get him a hooker!” Dean snaps, to Sam’s relief; they’re on the same page with that at least.
“Okay, so what are we going to do?” Sam repeats. “I don’t know what this stuff is going to do to him, to, you know, the angel him, but I know what it’s doing to the vessel, and we can’t just let him die-”
“We’re not going to let him die! Jesus, Sam, what’s wrong with you?”
“Well fine,” Sam snaps, then starts in for the third time, “so what are we going to-”
“We are not going to do anything,” Dean interrupts, “because I am just not that kinky. You are going to drive us back to the motel, and then Cas and I are going to take care of this.”
“You and Cas - you and Cas?” Sam stares at Dean. “You mean you - you’re going to-”
“Well, yeah,” Dean says. “It does seem like kind of the obvious solution.”
“How is that the obvious solution?” Sam sputters. “I mean - he could - and you - you’re - and he-”
He knows more words than this, he’s sure, and he’s pretty sure that a few minutes ago he even knew how to put them together into sentences, but at the moment all that complicated knowledge seems to have escaped him, so he’s awfully glad when Cas, who seems to have drifted over unnoticed, speaks up:
“You were supposed to tell him,” Cas says, to Dean.
And Sam remains awfully glad, even though what Cas has said makes no sense. “Tell me what?” he asks.
Dean rolls his eyes. “We’ve been over this,” he says to Cas. “I don’t have to tell him. He knows, okay?”
“I know what?” Sam asks.
“About, you know.” Dean makes some vague gesture, waving his hand between him and Cas, that he apparently thinks explains everything, and which very much doesn’t. Sam just stares at him, waiting for him to start making sense. Dean frowns.
“You do know?” he asks.
“Know what Dean?” Sam demands, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Dean stares at him, with what looks like dawning horror.
“You... don’t know,” Dean says. “Oh.” He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck; he seems kind of embarrassed. “Um.” He looks over at Cas, but if he’s expecting support there he’s not going to get it; Cas seems to be trying to glare at Dean and not look at him at the same time.
“Me and Cas...” Dean starts, then he stops. “Cas and me....” He takes a deep breath, then manages to look Sam in the eye. “What me and Cas are going to do back at the motel,” he says. “It’s not exactly going to be the first time.”
“Seriously?” Sam realises his mouth is hanging open, and makes a point of closing it. He looks at Dean, who, having decided to take the bull by the horns, stares back at him with his determined face on; he looks at Cas, who seems to be staring at something fascinating on the trunk of a nearby tree. “Since when?”
Dean shrugs. “Illinois.”
* * * * * * * *
Illinois
5 weeks earlier
Sam wakes up before the alarm, just a bit after 7am. He’s a little worried to realise Dean isn’t back yet - not a lot worried, as it’s not exactly unheard-of for Dean to go out drinking and end up finding somewhere else to “sleep,” but he’s usually back again by morning. Plus, he was out with Cas last night - he’d bullied the angel into going out with him after Sam had said he wasn’t up to it. Sam’s actually not sure if that should make him less worried - Cas isn’t going to let anything happen to Dean if he can help it - or more - would Dean really ditch Cas to go off with some random girl?
Fortunately, he’s only been awake (and worried) for about ten minutes before the lock on the motel door starts to turn, very slowly. He automatically grabs a handgun from his bag, just in case, but he isn’t really surprised when the face that peers around the cracked-open door is Dean’s.
Because of course Dean would ditch Cas to go off with some random girl. And, apparently, did. Sam can’t believe he ever doubted it.
“Morning!” Sam calls, loudly, and Dean jumps, though sadly not high enough to bang his head on the doorframe.
“You’re up,” he says, coming into the room.
“Nothing gets by you, Dean. Long night?”
“No!” Dean says quickly, which makes Sam blink in confusion. “I mean yeah,” Dean corrects, just as quickly. “Long night. Sorry, I uh,” he clears his throat, “didn’t get much sleep.”
Dean’s just fishing for an opening to talk about whatever her name was and what he did with her, and Sam’s so not biting. “I can’t believe you did that to Cas,” he says instead.
“Cas?” Dean says sharply.
“You practically begged him to go out with you and then you ditched him for some random hookup.”
“Oh.” Dean says. “Right. Yes. I did that.” He clears his throat. “Because I... am a bad person.”
It’s possibly the fakest contrition Sam has ever heard from Dean. He can’t tell if it’s because Dean actually doesn’t care or if it’s because it’s only now occurred to him that ditching Cas in some random bar was a crappy thing to do.
“You’re a jerk,” Sam tells him. “I-” The rest of that sentence is supposed to be I’m going to go shower, but stepping towards the bathroom brings him closer to Dean, and he immediately changes it to “You need a shower,” because oh my God, Dean reeks of sex, and if Sam goes first and accidentally uses too much hot water, there’s a good chance Dean’ll just hop in and out without really washing, and Sam is not spending God knows how many hours in the Impala with his brother smelling like that.
By the time Dean emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, Sam’s got them pretty much packed and ready to go. “Your turn,” Dean tells Sam, scrubbing at his head with a towel, then he looks past him and says casually, “Hey, Cas.”
And Sam absolutely does not jump, he just turns around very calmly, and yep, there’s Cas standing just inside the motel door. He kind of wants to ask how long he’s been standing there, but he doesn’t want to give Dean the satisfaction of admitting he has no idea.
“Been here long?” Dean adds, with a grin that says he knows perfectly well Sam had no idea Cas was there.
“I have come to have breakfast with you,” Cas says.
“Breakfast?” Dean asks. “You don’t eat.”
“No,” Cas agrees. “But I understand it to be a traditional indication that one wishes to continue an acquaintance.”
“Tradit-” Sam turns and glares at Dean. “You dragged Cas out to some bar, and ditched him, and now he’s taking you to breakfast because it’s ‘traditional’?”
It’s Dean he’s glaring at, but it’s Cas who jumps in:
“Yes,” he says. “Last night, Dean ‘ditched’ me--” Sam can hear him trying out the unfamiliar word “--and this morning, we are going to break our fast together.”
“It’s right in the Bible, Sam,” Dean says, and Sam can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “Breaking bread. Shows there’s no hard feelings.”
And while Dean really shouldn’t be preying on Cas’ lack of understanding of human customs, he also maybe has a point with the hard feelings thing, even if he probably doesn’t realise it. Cas clearly isn’t pissed at Dean - even though he totally should be - and Sam probably shouldn’t be trying to convince him he is. Still-
He points a stern finger at Dean. “Don’t take advantage of Cas,” he says firmly. And then he heads into the bathroom to see if his jerk of a brother left him any hot water.
* * * * * * * *
Iowa
4 weeks earlier
Hearing the scream, Sam looks up just in time to see the ghost at the top of the hill flame out, even as the last of the bones at his feet crumble into ash. He toes the cinders over a bit to make sure he got them all, then, satisfied, he grabs his empty gas can and starts the trek back to the half-built McMansion where Dean and Cas are waiting for him, having distracted the spirit while Sam did the burning.
It probably wasn’t necessary to divide and conquer like that, not for this spirit anyway. They had a couple run-ins with her while they were trying to find the grave, and pretty quickly realised she was mean but inept: she never laid a finger on them (so to speak). But Sam’s just as happy not to have a pissed-off spirit whirling around while he’s working with fire, and the fact that it’s a bitch of a bramble-covered hike down to the unmarked grave and back again meant that Sam managed to make a deal with Dean: Dean got to stay in the (relative) comfort of the haunted house while Sam handled the salt-and-burn; Sam gets to pick where they eat dinner. It might not sound like much, but Sam is desperate for any food that isn’t red meat slathered with cheese.
It takes him almost twenty minutes to work his way back up to the top of the hill. And then he spends another ten wandering through the half-finished house (seriously, this place is going to be huge), calling “Dean?” He’s just starting to get a little nervous when he rounds a corner and almost runs into his brother.
Who’s looking a little the worse for wear. His overshirt is torn in three places, he’s got the beginnings of a dark bruise coming in where his shoulder meets his neck, his mouth is all red and swollen, and his hair is as messy as hair that short can get, sticking out in every direction and full of white plaster dust.
“Dude,” Sam says, “what happened?” wondering if maybe the seemingly inept spirit turned nasty at the last.
“What?” Dean says, and then he looks down at himself. “Oh, yeah. I fell.”
“What, down the stairs?” Because Dean didn’t get all that from just tripping.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Well, doesn’t Sam feel like a heel now. “Are you okay?”
“Oh yeah, I’m fine. I just, you know, fell,” Dean assures him, in a way-too-nonchalant tone that tells Sam pretty clearly that I fell is probably code for The lamest ghost in the continental United States got the drop on me and now I’m embarrassed.
“Right,” Sam says, not bothering to hide his skepticism. “Where’s Cas?”
“I am here,” and okay, Cas really has to quit it with the popping up behind Sam all the time.
Sam turns and blinks in surprise because Cas is looking kind of the worse for wear too. His shirt’s untucked (it looks like he might even have lost a few buttons), his tie’s so far askew it’s practically hanging down his back, and he’s definitely, somehow, lost the button off his pants. His hair is even worse than Dean’s. Hell, it’s even worse than usual.
“Let me guess. You fell down the stairs?”
“No,” Cas replies. Despite all the time he spends with Dean, he’s apparently still a little hit and miss on the whole sarcasm thing.
“He means fix your tie, Cas,” Dean says, with an audible eye roll (although he might as well not have bothered; all Cas does is look down at his own clothes with an air of vague puzzlement). “Are we done here?”
“Sam’s presence would suggest that we are,” Cas says. Sam can’t tell if he’s actually making a deductive statement or if he’s deadpan snarking on Dean.
“Good,” says Dean. “I’m starving.”
“Oh, great!” Sam says, with all the bright enthusiasm he can muster. “Cause there’s this little cafe in town that makes these fantastic salads-”
It’s kind of funny how Dean immediately goes pale. “Sammy,” he wheedles, and Sam lets him beg and cajole (and piss and moan) all the way back to the motel (they aren’t going anywhere until Dean changes) before finally admitting that the place has burgers too.
* * * * * * * *
Nebraska
3 weeks earlier
The blast of a trucker’s horn startles Sam out of his sleep (what the hell the guy is honking at at three in the morning, he can’t imagine). He’s blinking into the motel semi-darkness when he hears it.
“Cas.”
Sam turns towards the sound. The hideously ugly neon sign outside casts just enough light into the room for him to make out the slope of Dean’s shoulder: he’s curled up on his side on the other bed, his back to Sam.
“Cas.”
Sam throws off the covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed.
“Cas!”
And it’s a full-throated cry now, Dean’s whole body jerking with it. Sam puts a hand on his shoulder, shaking hard.
“Dean. Dean!”
Dean snaps abruptly awake, bolting upright so fast he would have smashed his head right into Sam’s if Sam hadn’t already backed off, mindful of the knife under Dean’s pillow. (The knife that is, in fact, now in Dean’s hand. Waking sleeping hunters is not for amateurs).
“Sam?” Dean says, sounding confused, as he puts the knife away again.
“You were dreaming,” Sam tells him.
“Oh,” Dean says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Sam says, surprised. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Okay,” Dean says. He clears his throat. “Okay. Right.” He gestures vaguely towards the bathroom. “I’m going to...” He trails off, sounding almost embarrassed, which - he can’t really think Sam is going to judge him for having a nightmare.
At least he doesn’t sound upset. “Yeah, sure,” Sam tells him, stepping out of the way and turning back to his own bed as Dean hauls himself up. He gives Sam’s bed a wide berth in the dim light, heading into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.
Sam thinks he should probably stay awake until Dean is safely back asleep, and he means to. He does. But then, Dean seemed fine, and he’s taking really kind of a long time, and the bed is really warm and it’s really really three o’clock in the morning...
* * * * * * * *
Wyoming
2 weeks earlier
By the time Sam gets back from returning the books he borrowed from a local hunter, it’s almost eight-thirty, and he’s starving.
“Dean?” he calls out, coming into the motel room, but there’s no answer - the bathroom door is shut and Sam can hear the shower running.
“Dean!” he yells again, louder, because he knows that if he goes on a food run without finding out what Dean wants, you were in the shower will not be considered an acceptable excuse.
There’s still no answer, so “Hey Dean!” he bellows, going across to bang on the bathroom door. “DEAN!”
At last the door springs open just enough for Dean to stick his head out. “What?” he snaps.
“I’m going for din-” Sam sees movement in the room behind Dean and breaks off. “Is that Cas?”
“What?” Dean says, turning his head to look (what, he has to check?) (well, it’s Cas, maybe he does). “Oh. Yes. Yes it is,” he says. Then, “I am teaching him how to wash.”
“You’re teaching him how to wash.”
“Yes,” Dean says, in a firm voice that means he’s realised how ridiculous he’s being but he’s sticking to his guns anyway. “It seemed like something he should know.”
Sam just stares at Dean. Dean can’t meet his eyes. Understandably.
“Whatever,” Sam says. Dean is weird, and Cas is weird (although at least Cas has the excuse of being an angel), and if the two of them are being weird together, Sam doesn’t think he can deal with that on an empty stomach. “I’m going for food. You want anything?”
“No, no, we’ll grab something later,” Dean says. “You go ahead.”
“All right,” Sam says. He heads back to the door of the motel room, snagging the keys to the Impala on the way by. “I’m taking the car!” he calls, secure in the knowledge that Dean can’t hear him through the closed door and over the running water, and wonders if there’s anywhere in town that’ll serve him fish that isn’t deep-fried.
* * * * * * * *
Idaho
1 week earlier
They’ve been on the road for hours and Sam’s more than ready to stop and find a motel, but Dean is in the Zone, driving-wise; Sam’s trying to remember to pick his battles with Dean, and this definitely isn’t one he can win. So for the moment, he’s just dozing in the back seat of the Impala - dozing because he can’t really get comfortable enough to sleep in the tiny little back seat, and in the back seat because Cas is riding up front with Dean.
At least they’re keeping their voices down, the low tones of their conversation blending into a constant background noise that’s almost soothing.
Until abruptly Dean says firmly and distinctly “Cas, stop right now. I mean it,” and there’s enough forced calm in his tone that Sam is instantly awake and on alert. He looks frontwards--
--just in time to see Dean lifting Cas’ hand out of his lap.
Sam can’t help the smirk that spreads across his face. Well, maybe he could, but he’s not going to. That’s what you get when you boot your brother into the back seat so an angel with no concept of personal space or (apparently) appropriate touching can ride shotgun.
Dean’s pulling the Impala over onto the shoulder. There’s silence for a moment after he stops the car.
“Okay,” Dean says, to Cas. “We need to talk.” He glances up and catches Sam’s gaze (and, doubtless, smirk) in the rearview mirror. “Outside,” he adds, and pushes open the door to climb out of the car. Cas does the same. Sam doesn’t. If Dean’s willing to take on explaining appropriate touching to an easily puzzled and frequently literal-minded angel, Sam’s perfectly happy to wish him well from very far away.
He doesn’t want to fall into a doze alone on a pretty deserted highway, though, so he reaches forward into the front seat and snags a tourist map of Idaho out of the glove compartment, figuring that while he waits he can marshall his arguments about stopping for the night while it’s still, you know, tonight.
They’re gone kind of a long time; Dean apparently wants to make sure this lecture takes in a way the one about personal space obviously didn’t. By the time they get back, Sam’s nodding despite his best efforts. But he rallies: he’s got five likely-looking motels picked out, two of them near IHOPs for added appeal, and four horror stories about fatigue and impaired driving ready to go. He’s almost disappointed when Dean responds to his “I think we should maybe stop soon, get some rest,” with a “Yeah, okay.”
Still, he’ll take his victories where he can get them. Especially if it means he’ll get some damn sleep.
* * * * * * * *
Oregon
now
“Illinois?” Sam says weakly.
“Illinois,” Dean repeats.
“Oh,” Sam says. “But what about-” he starts without thinking, then realises maybe he doesn’t want to know.
“What about what?”
Sam hesitates, but he has to ask. “What about Jimmy?”
Dean glares at him. “Jimmy’s been dead since the archangels tried to gank Cas, but thanks so much for the vote of confidence.”
“Oh.” Sam winces; he probably shouldn’t have implied... “Sorry.”
Dean flaps a hand at him, looking pissed off, but the next thing he says is “I can’t believe you didn’t know,” like that’s so stunning it overrides everything else.
Which is kind of unfair. “How was I supposed to know?” Sam demands.
“How were - Sam, you caught us in the shower together!”
“You said you were teaching him how to wash!” Dean’s the one who’s been having secret angel sex for five states; why is Sam the one who sounds defensive?
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you believed me!”
“Well geez Dean, it was either that or my brother was having gay sex with an angel in the shower at a Motel 6! What was I supposed to think?” Sam thinks he’s got a pretty good point there. Dean doesn’t look like he agrees.
“You woke up that time Cas tried to give me a handjob in the Impala!”
“I didn’t think he realised what he was doing!”
Dean smirks, because he’s Dean. “Oh, he realised.”
“Dean!” Not helpful. So not helpful.
“We were gone for like, half an hour Sam! What the hell did you think we were doing?”
“I thought you were explaining about, you know. Appropriate touching.”
“How long do you think it takes to say ‘hey, don’t touch my dick while I’m driving’?”
“I thought you were explaining it more delicately?”
“You thought I was - have we met?”
Sam shrugs helplessly; Dean’s kind of got a point there.
“Seriously Sam-”
“Dean, perhaps you could finish berating your brother later.” And there’s Cas’s excellent timing on display again (though for some reason he’s still staring at that tree).
“Oh, yeah. Right,” Dean says, with an awkward look that suggests he forgot how this all started. “We should-”
“Also,” Cas interrupts, “you should stop talking.”
Dean closes his mouth and blinks, looking taken aback, then abruptly he grins a grin that Sam really didn’t need to see. “Kinky,” he says. Cas at last turns away from the tree to glare at Dean, and Sam instinctively reaches for the holy water in his back pocket before realising he can still see the whites of Cas's eyes. The darkness isn't demon blackness; it's Cas's pupils, so blown his irises have basically disappeared.
It bears repeating: crap.
Dean holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender, then pulls his car keys out of his pocket. He jangles them until Sam turns towards him, then tosses them over, apparently serious about Sam driving. Dean looks from Sam to Cas and back, then makes a grandiose after you gesture in the direction of the Impala.
So Cas is full of succubus venom, and now Dean is a mime. Awesome.
Sam gets them back to the motel in five minutes, driving at hunter emergency speed (exactly the speed limit, with all traffic laws strictly obeyed, because nothing slows you down like being stopped by a state trooper when you’ve got an illegal arsenal stashed in the trunk). Cas rides in the back seat and stares fixedly at the floor. Dean rides shotgun and stares fixedly at Cas in the rear-view mirror. Sam sits in the driver’s seat, of course, and keeps his eyes on the road, and absolutely doesn’t stare at either of his passengers. Really.
He feels like he should say something, but most of what he wants to say should probably wait until Cas isn’t-- can wait until they’re not-- it can wait.
Sam’s barely stopped the car in front of their room at the Starlight Motel before Dean’s grabbed the room key and jumped out. He’s moving pretty fast, but Cas can teleport, so really, it’s pretty impressive that Dean manages to get all the way to the room, to get the door unlocked and opened, before Cas is on him, crowding him up against the doorframe, one hand wrapped around the back of Dean’s neck, the other sliding under his jacket - probably going places Sam doesn’t want to think about - while he kisses him, open-mouthed and... enthusiastic.
Not that Dean seems to mind. He’s got his hands wrapped around the lapels of Cas’ coat, pulling him in close, and any vague notion Sam might have had that Dean was making the whole thing up so Sam wouldn’t object to him... helping Cas out... is rapidly crumbling faced with the sheer amount of tongue Dean is putting into the kiss.
As the shock wears off, Sam abruptly realises he’s staring, and he whips his gaze away--
Only to turn back as he realises belatedly that they may have kind of a problem.
Dean’s sort of leaning towards the open doorway, and Sam realises he’s using his grip on Cas’ coat to try to pull him into the room. But Cas - he isn’t trying to do anything except lick Dean’s tonsils - or possibly his lungs - and Sam knows damn well that Dean isn’t going to be able to budge Cas an inch without his cooperation.
Which leaves Sam at a loss. He could go over there and push Cas, maybe, but he’s pretty sure he might as well give the motel wall a good hard shove. He’s sitting there wracking his brains, starting to think this is all going to end with arrests for indecent exposure, when suddenly Dean moves, taking his hands off Cas’s coat and putting them on the backs of his thighs. And for a moment Sam doesn’t see how that’s going to help; for a moment Sam thinks Dean’s made his peace with public nudity.
Then suddenly Cas jumps, and his legs are around Dean’s waist, and Dean’s holding on to him and backing them both into the room in one smooth, very practiced-looking motion, kicking the door sharply shut behind them.
Sam’s mouth is maybe hanging open again.
With difficulty, Sam pulls himself together, and starts over to the motel office to check into a room of his own. But he’s only about halfway there when a loud groan of “Dean” floats out of Dean and Cas’s room and, he swears, echoes through the parking lot. And Sam abruptly changes gears, because the Starlight is not that big and he has absolutely zero desire to test the thickness of its walls.
Humming loudly, and keeping his mind absolutely blank, he grabs his bag out of the Impala and scribbles a note that says I am checking into another motel. He locks the car, then wraps the note around the keys, and, humming really, really loudly, slides the whole thing under the door of Dean and Cas’s room. (Because taking off with Dean’s wheels is one thing, but taking off with his weapons, his clothes, and all his stuff is another).
The fourth eighteen-wheeler to come by pulls over when Sam signals.
“Where’re you headed?”
“The nearest motel.”
The guy gives Sam a look, then turns pointedly to the giant pulsing STARLIGHT MOTEL sign right behind Sam’s head.
“Something wrong with this one?”
And there are a lot of perfectly valid answers to that question, but most of them would make Sam sound crazy, and almost all of them are obscene, so he just shrugs.
“Apparently it’s a long story,” he says.