#son of a queue.

@alwaysaweapon

Dammit, Sammy. Wasn’t supposed to be paying that kind of attention and honestly, Dean hadn’t thought he was. It’s detour, that’s all, perfectly innocent detour, because somewhere on this stretch of road there’s a truck stop diner with the best cherry pie Dean has eaten in his life and a pretty waitress who can tie the stems with her tongue, and do a hell of a lot else besides. Western Virginia, definitely. But is it the 58? Or the 65?

Dean sneaks a look at Sam, the mild concern, the deeply furrowed brow (one day someone is gonna plant rows of crops in those lines).

@alaricsaltxman

Dean was in a mood. Which might have been why Sam had thought his skills were better used on research than following Dean to the scene of an animal attack that had left a bunch of teenagers dead (and seriously, was every law enforcement officer in Virginia a complete idiot? No animal killed that way). Plus, he hadn’t realized until he put it on that he’d bled on this jacket last time he’d worn it (at least, he hoped it was his blood). Plus, he was one massive bruise. Plus, breakfast had been terrible. Stingiest bacon rashers ever and about half fat. And the eggs were overdone. And the sun was shining, which did nothing to ease his irritation.

“Agent Scott,” he said to one of the officers, pushing through to where the bodies were. He crouched on the ground.

Vampires. The other kind. The opposed to daylight, allergic to wood kind. He sneered, and waved off the objection of one of the deputies.

“Most of this is federal land,” he bluffed. “And this MO matches another dozen bodies found in state parks in the last two months.” True, ish. More like hundreds over the last few years, but he wanted it to sound like a serial killer, not a pack of wolves.

One guy looked out of place. Not in uniform – well, not a cop, anyway, actually looked like he could be cosplaying Dean, and fuck but it didn’t annoy Dean that he knew what cosplaying was. Dean stood up and crossed to the tree the guy was leaning against.

luciferxbait

Dean set his alarm so early it was criminal, with grit in his eyes, yawning and almost ready to roll over and say forget Vegas, I need my beauty sleep. But if they were going to do this, now was the time.

And if he was gonna prank the hell out of Sammy – now was definitely the time.

His bag was packed neatly and sitting at the foot of his bed, but he’d spent a good amount of time last night trying to find a precious gem he’d known was tucked away somewhere. Bit surprising it had been so hard to find, since the bedroom was military clean and tidy, even if he never threw anything away. And there it was; his old boom box.

He didn’t bother looking for a tape. The reason this was put away and abandoned was that the slot was jammed with an old copy of a Slayer album (Dean couldn’t remember which one). Didn’t matter for these purposes.

He turned the volume all the way up, and snuck silently down the hall to Sam’s room. Had to be quick or the kid would wake up and it would all be over.

There he was. Bitch. Said he’d be first up but there was a Sam shaped lump in the bed, as he’d predicted.