“Well,” Dean confirmed, as he wondered into the bathroom to wash his face with refreshing cool water, “I don’t know if we need to go into the main town if we’ve got a semi-witness right here.”
“Dean, u saw her face; she’s still pretty beaten up about the whole thing. The woman lost her brother. Maybe I’ll know how she feels.”
Dean appeared at the bathroom doorway to give Sam one of his looks as Sam sat on the bed and looked down at his hands in typical Sam pondering fashion. Still, Dean felt a burst of protectiveness for him that had been inside him for as long as he could remember.
“How could u make that deal, Dean?” he asked quietly. “Did u not think about me for one minute?”
Dean looked taken aback, a hint of sadness crawling into his face. He hadn’t wanted Sam to have to continue hunting without him, but what choice had he had?
“Sammy, believe me, I was thinking about u for all of it.”
Sam looked up to face his brother and nodded semi-understandingly. He drew a breath, and zei “Nevertheless, I don’t think Helen will want to talk to two strangers about her brother’s death, so I guess we will have to head into town first thing tomorrow to talk to this Laura Harlington.”
Dean nodded in agreement and walked over to his bed, then perched on the edge of it. Having run out of things to talk about, Sam got up, threw his bag on the floor and opened the crisp duvet.
“Time to turn in?”
“Sure. I’m beat.” Dean turned to look at Sam as he unpacked a few things from his bag, thought about the situation for a moment, then fell back onto that meer than welcome bed.
When Sam came around the volgende morning, he was greeted door an empty bed and a strewn creased duvet flung on top, boven of it a few metres away from him. Sam blinked a few times and scanned the rest of the room to check Dean’s bag was still around; it was still open with clothes that were overflowing out of it at the foot of the bed. Sam sat up and ran his hand threw his hair. He wondered where his brother had gone; he wouldn’t start to worry unless he wasn’t back in about half an hour, because Sam had a distinct feeling he knew exactly where his brother had disappeared to.
As if able to penetrate Sam’s thoughts through the motel room door, a key twisted in the lock and Dean came in, still holding a polystyrene cup of caffeine.
Sam sighed. Dean and his food.
“Morning, princess. u want any from the diner across the road?”
Sam almost wretched at the thought of the greasy overcooked food that a cheap highway diner would provide.
“Er, I’ll give it a skip, thanks.”
“Your funeral,” zei Dean, sipping from his coffee cup.
“Yeah,” zei Sam sarcastically, “if u say so.”
Dean looked at him in genuine puzzlement at why Sam didn’t want to have a nice, fatty breakfast, then gave up trying to work it out. Sometimes he just didn’t get his brother. But he let it slide; they needed to save brain power today.
“Hey, get up. We got a lot to do today. First stop – Riverside Psychiatric.” Dean attempted to look excited about the prospect of visiting a crazy-house, failed, then took a t-shirt out of Sam’s bag and threw it at his head. Sam ducked at caught it mid-throw with his left hand. He gave an annoyed look and sauntered out of bed and into the bathroom.
Sam and Dean were just coming out of the dreary entrance to the motel when they were caught door Helen, this time wearing a fitted red top, boven and skinny jeans.
“Hey guys, how was the room last night?”
Sam and Dean exchanged looks with each other. The beds had been hard, the heating system was non-existent and there was a constant draft from a not-quite-fixed window.
But then again, they’d stayed in worse.
“It was great, thanks.” Sam replied, trying to sound as polite as he could.
“That’s good. Look, I’m sorry again about last night and my brother and that. I just...I’m still dealing with it, I guess.”
“No, that’s totally understandable, no worries,” Sam said, and Dean gave him a prompting look to start interrogation. Sam gave him look; Dean always seemed to rely on him to do the soft, emotional talking to the bereaved victims. Dean was...well, a little less sensitive than Sam, and it seemed he wasn’t interested in changing that now. However, Sam felt wrong putting this woman under the microscope about something she clearly wasn’t comfortable talking about, so he pretended to miss Dean’s look and continued talking.
“We should go, we’ve got things to do,” he said, tugging Dean very subtlely on the arm and gesturing him to follow his lead. Helen nodded, and, reluctantly, Dean caught on and wondered off behind Sam whilst Helen turned in the opposite direction and headed back towards the motel entrance.
“So how far is it to the institution?” Dean asked once they were on the road, stealing glances at the complicated array of coloured lines on the map Sam was holding.
“Um, about two miles to the main town, but since it’s on the outskirts, it looks meer like 3 miles.” Sam paused. “I see you’re disappointed,” he added jokingly.
“Are u kidding me? meer driving?”
If Sam was honest, Dean was very keen and almost too protective of the 1967 Impala that their father had passed down to him when Dean had hit sixteen. It had, nevertheless, probably been the largest object Dean had ever felt he’d officially owned, so Sam didn’t really mind Dean’s banter and enthusiasm over his car most of the time. Sam lightly laughed his brother’s commentaar off and his gazed out of the passenger window.
“Dean, u saw her face; she’s still pretty beaten up about the whole thing. The woman lost her brother. Maybe I’ll know how she feels.”
Dean appeared at the bathroom doorway to give Sam one of his looks as Sam sat on the bed and looked down at his hands in typical Sam pondering fashion. Still, Dean felt a burst of protectiveness for him that had been inside him for as long as he could remember.
“How could u make that deal, Dean?” he asked quietly. “Did u not think about me for one minute?”
Dean looked taken aback, a hint of sadness crawling into his face. He hadn’t wanted Sam to have to continue hunting without him, but what choice had he had?
“Sammy, believe me, I was thinking about u for all of it.”
Sam looked up to face his brother and nodded semi-understandingly. He drew a breath, and zei “Nevertheless, I don’t think Helen will want to talk to two strangers about her brother’s death, so I guess we will have to head into town first thing tomorrow to talk to this Laura Harlington.”
Dean nodded in agreement and walked over to his bed, then perched on the edge of it. Having run out of things to talk about, Sam got up, threw his bag on the floor and opened the crisp duvet.
“Time to turn in?”
“Sure. I’m beat.” Dean turned to look at Sam as he unpacked a few things from his bag, thought about the situation for a moment, then fell back onto that meer than welcome bed.
When Sam came around the volgende morning, he was greeted door an empty bed and a strewn creased duvet flung on top, boven of it a few metres away from him. Sam blinked a few times and scanned the rest of the room to check Dean’s bag was still around; it was still open with clothes that were overflowing out of it at the foot of the bed. Sam sat up and ran his hand threw his hair. He wondered where his brother had gone; he wouldn’t start to worry unless he wasn’t back in about half an hour, because Sam had a distinct feeling he knew exactly where his brother had disappeared to.
As if able to penetrate Sam’s thoughts through the motel room door, a key twisted in the lock and Dean came in, still holding a polystyrene cup of caffeine.
Sam sighed. Dean and his food.
“Morning, princess. u want any from the diner across the road?”
Sam almost wretched at the thought of the greasy overcooked food that a cheap highway diner would provide.
“Er, I’ll give it a skip, thanks.”
“Your funeral,” zei Dean, sipping from his coffee cup.
“Yeah,” zei Sam sarcastically, “if u say so.”
Dean looked at him in genuine puzzlement at why Sam didn’t want to have a nice, fatty breakfast, then gave up trying to work it out. Sometimes he just didn’t get his brother. But he let it slide; they needed to save brain power today.
“Hey, get up. We got a lot to do today. First stop – Riverside Psychiatric.” Dean attempted to look excited about the prospect of visiting a crazy-house, failed, then took a t-shirt out of Sam’s bag and threw it at his head. Sam ducked at caught it mid-throw with his left hand. He gave an annoyed look and sauntered out of bed and into the bathroom.
Sam and Dean were just coming out of the dreary entrance to the motel when they were caught door Helen, this time wearing a fitted red top, boven and skinny jeans.
“Hey guys, how was the room last night?”
Sam and Dean exchanged looks with each other. The beds had been hard, the heating system was non-existent and there was a constant draft from a not-quite-fixed window.
But then again, they’d stayed in worse.
“It was great, thanks.” Sam replied, trying to sound as polite as he could.
“That’s good. Look, I’m sorry again about last night and my brother and that. I just...I’m still dealing with it, I guess.”
“No, that’s totally understandable, no worries,” Sam said, and Dean gave him a prompting look to start interrogation. Sam gave him look; Dean always seemed to rely on him to do the soft, emotional talking to the bereaved victims. Dean was...well, a little less sensitive than Sam, and it seemed he wasn’t interested in changing that now. However, Sam felt wrong putting this woman under the microscope about something she clearly wasn’t comfortable talking about, so he pretended to miss Dean’s look and continued talking.
“We should go, we’ve got things to do,” he said, tugging Dean very subtlely on the arm and gesturing him to follow his lead. Helen nodded, and, reluctantly, Dean caught on and wondered off behind Sam whilst Helen turned in the opposite direction and headed back towards the motel entrance.
“So how far is it to the institution?” Dean asked once they were on the road, stealing glances at the complicated array of coloured lines on the map Sam was holding.
“Um, about two miles to the main town, but since it’s on the outskirts, it looks meer like 3 miles.” Sam paused. “I see you’re disappointed,” he added jokingly.
“Are u kidding me? meer driving?”
If Sam was honest, Dean was very keen and almost too protective of the 1967 Impala that their father had passed down to him when Dean had hit sixteen. It had, nevertheless, probably been the largest object Dean had ever felt he’d officially owned, so Sam didn’t really mind Dean’s banter and enthusiasm over his car most of the time. Sam lightly laughed his brother’s commentaar off and his gazed out of the passenger window.
