Track 1: Bad to the Bone
BTVS and SN are properties of their genius creators, Joss Whedon and Eric Kripke. FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY no infringement intended. The title refers to a song by the Animals – belongs to them – I own nothing.
Summary: Based on “The Wish” and “Doppelgangland” – Buffy is more like Faith, Xander and Willow are like Spike and Dru and Dean is even more screwed up than ever! Can Buffy from both worlds save his soul?
Spoilers: BTVS Season 3 “The Wish” and “Doppelgangland”– preseason SPN 1
Rating: FR-18 for language, suggestion and sexual situations
A/N: This is sort of my musical tribute as all the chapters are named after actual song titles.
There is no Buffy/Angel romantic relationship in either world; it is more of a friendly alliance.
Warning: Raunch factor
A/N: This chapter takes place in the AU world leading up to “The Wish” episode“On the day I was born, the nurses all gathered 'round
And they gazed in wide wonder, at the joy they had found
The head nurse spoke up, and she said leave this one alone
She could tell right away, that I was bad to the bone…” – George Thorogood
Sam shifted his stance as he watched the large iron security gates slide open. A uniformed officer watched Sam from the guard station as he pushed off toward the entrance to the Chicago State maximum security facility. Sam paused at the foot of the entrance as he watched his older brother step into freedom with restrained emotion.
Dean simply nodded an acknowledgment to Sam as he stepped outside of the gates. He swept his eyes to the guard tower and the security gate before regarding the open street. Sam watched his brother drinking in his freedom in reflective silence. For a minute, Dean looked Sam over. His tawny brown hair was shaggy and his bangs fell down to his nose.
“You are in serious need of a haircut,” Dean replied brusquely. “You look like a bum.”
Sam had become accustomed to his brother’s boorish attitude and let the comment slide. He merely drew an amused smile.
“And you’re in serious need of a shave,” Sam said.
Sam turned toward the walkway and caught Dean rubbing his close trimmed goatee.
“Well, I used my last razor blade to slit a guy’s throat,” Dean replied flatly.
Sam paused and assessed his brother’s blank face.
Sam noticed a brief light in his brother’s stony eyes.
“Yeah man, it’s a joke. You think they’d spring me if I killed a guy?”
Sam shrugged in his brown leather jacket as he pushed a booted foot onto the street leading to the parking lot.
“Well, that does happen in prison,” Sam said. “I won’t…..I won’t judge you if you did.”
Dean let out a huff. “I wouldn’t give a fuck if you did.”
Sam was also used to Dean’s colorful language and did not take offense to the response.
“You been taking care of my wheels?”
Dean looked off to the visitor’s parking lot.
“I said I would,” Sam answered.
When they reached the black Hummer, Sam noticed a significant change in his brother’s expression. He gave a margin of a smile as he circled the vehicle.
“Give me the keys,” Dean requested.
Sam frowned. “You can’t drive.”
The remnant of the smile faded as Dean set his steely eyes on Sam.
“Why not? It’s my car.”
“You just got out of prison and you don’t have your license anymore.”
“I never had a license in the first place so what the fuck does it matter? Now give me the keys.”
Sam held his ground, determined to steer his brother’s life in a different direction.
“The way you drive, you’re bound to get pulled over and get in trouble again.”
Sam watched Dean’s eyes staring back at him with intense calculation.
“I just got you back,” Sam added.
After a long silence, Sam saw Dean’s intensity shed a degree.
“Fine,” he said as he circled back to the passenger side.
Sam unlocked the doors and climbed into the driver seat. He switched the engine on as the car filled with the sounds of an upbeat tune. Dean stared at the radio and grimaced before shifting his eyes to Sam.
“What the fuck is this shit?”
Sam glanced at Dean’s disapproving frown – a frown that always seemed to be etched on his face – and gave a casual answer.
“It’s My Chemical Romance – they’re a punk band.”
Sam watched as Dean’s frown deepened, if that was possible.
“It’s a shit band,” Dean remarked disdainfully. “You call this music?”
Sam sighed and objected, “Just because there is no screaming in the song doesn’t mean it’s not music.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“Whatever,” Sam grumbled. “I’ve got other stuff in the console.”
Dean popped the console between the seats and fished out a handful of CDs.
“Blink 182, No Doubt…..Green Day? What is this shit? Where’s my Circle Jerks? My Bad Religion? My Black Flag? My Sex Pistols?”
The last CD in the stack made him pause and exude a glimmer of enthusiasm.
“Ramones, okay, thank god. I was beginning to think you really were a complete pussy.”
Sam made a turn onto the highway and let out another sigh.
“Actually, that’s yours. It must have gotten mixed in with my collection.”
Dean shook his head.
“Sometimes I wonder if we really are related.”
Sam picked up speed once he hit the highway as Dean changed the CD in the player. Dean took notice of the highway signs leading out of Chicago.
“So, what have you been up to since I last saw you? What’s it been? Seven months since you visited last?”
Sam nodded, “Just about. I’m sorry I didn’t visit sooner but my life has been – crazy since you’ve been away, especially recently.”
“You missed your exit,” Dean noted flatly.
“I don’t have a place here anymore,” Sam said. “I’ve been moving around, here and there. I’ve been tracking events – scientific anomalies – disruption in normal weather patterns – unexplained deaths and disappearances.”
Dean huffed again, “Jesus Fucking Christ Sam, I was hoping to live vicariously through your graphic stories about how much pussy you ate while I was in the joint but instead you sting my ears about your freaky little hobby. You were supposed to have a life since I couldn’t.”
“Dean, there are more important things than….that. I’m trying to find the thing that took Jessica.”
Dean rolled his eyes and heaved a huge sigh as he rifled through the pockets of his black cargo pants. He fished out a worn pack of cigarettes and flicked open the top of a lighter. After he lit the filter, he took a long tug on the cigarette before he blew out a spray of smoke through his nostrils.
“I can’t believe you’re still obsessing over some chick you met in middle school. Get over it man.”
“We practically grew up together. I still care about her a lot.”
Dean pulled on his cigarette and quickly released a breath.
“You fucked her?”
Sam shook his head and sighed. “Must you be so vulgar?”
“I’m just being me- you know that,” Dean stated. “So did you or not?”
After a brief second, Sam let out another breath.
“Yes, we were - intimate.”
“Jesus Sam, if you can’t even say the damn word, how do you expect to do it?”
Sam rolled down the window when the pungent smell of nicotine made his stomach turn.
“The point is – she sent me a letter last month that she was fine but this month – nothing. I’m really worried about her.”
Dean hitched a black boot on the dashboard and crooked an elbow on the window frame.
“Did you ever consider that she sent you a “Dear John” letter? Your problem is you get too attached to the girls you sleep with – you make it too personal.”
“Relationships are personal,” Sam stressed. “But I can’t expect you to understand since you’ve never had one.”
“I’ve had relationships.”
Sam scoffed, “Three conjugal visits with an inmate’s girlfriend does not qualify as a relationship......I still can’t believe you did that.”
“What’s your problem? Whistler couldn’t pay his debt to me – so instead of taking a beating – he offered me up his chick to beat me instead.”
Sam let out a long breath. “Don’t you feel any remorse at all? You probably ruined their relationship.”
Sam eyed his brother’s glare.
“What the fuck do I care? A debt is a debt and if I don’t get paid in cash it’s going to be something else I take.”
Sam gripped the steering wheel to keep his composure in check. Despite knowing his brother’s rough life, he sometimes found it hard to sympathize with him.
“Yeah, you always did have to take things that weren’t yours.”
Dean sensed heavy animosity in Sam’s tone.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Sam rolled his eyes.
“Oh come on Dean, every girl I ever went out with or showed remote interest in you ended up sleeping with.”
Dean pulled on his cigarette as he studied Sam.
“I have not…..not every girl.”
Sam rolled his eyes again.
“Hey, is it my damn fault that the chicks you dated ended up being more attracted to me? I kept telling you that you’re too damn nice to them, too open with them, you lost their interest on your own.”
“And you couldn’t help but let them jump into your bed,” Sam snapped.
“Consider it a favor, they all ended up channeling their inner tramp – you wouldn’t have known what to do with them.”
Sam huffed, “Whatever. I thought the last time we talked you said you were going to change some things about your life when you got out….like your chain smoking.”
“I never said or vowed anything like that,” Dean protested. “Especially about the sticks.”
“Well, you really should consider it, seeing how dad died of black lung.”
“He died from napalm poisoning,” Dean corrected. “Not black lung.”
Dean flicked the wilted cigarette butt out the window.
“But he smoked almost a pack and a half a day until the day he died.”
“He was always in a lot of pain,” he noted. “And the sticks made him feel better…did you really want to take that away from him?”
“I’m just saying you should take better care of yourself or you’ll end up like him.”
Dean resented the authoritative tone in Sam’s voice. He quickly lit another cigarette and purposefully blew out a cloud of smoke in Sam’s face.
“That is bullshit,” Dean snarled. “He fought in fucking ‘Nam and came back juiced with Napalm that ravaged his body for years. I’m not sick or dying. Besides, he wasn’t our real dad so it’s not like I take after him.”
Sam let out a breath as he drifted back to his past for a minute.
“Maybe not,” he replied softly. “But he loved us like a real father. He was good to us.”
“He was good to you,” Dean clarified. “He hated my ass – he kicked me out of the house countless times.”
Sam grew despondent and angry at Dean’s blatant disrespect of the only father he had ever known.
“He kicked you out because you were always getting into trouble. If you weren’t stealing cars or dealing drugs, you were beating people up or sleeping with my tutor,” he growled.
“Graciela? I didn’t fuck her. She just gave me a blow job after your lessons.”
Sam was appalled by his brother’s indifference even though he should have expected it.
“I suppose that wasn’t your fault either?”
Dean blew out a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
“I was fifteen with raging hormones and dad grounded me every damn day of the week. She felt sorry for me.”
Sam rolled his eyes.
“It didn’t matter what I did – I could never do right in his eyes. That’s why I left.”
Sam swallowed down the emotion swimming in his throat as he thought about their father.
“You’re wrong. When you took off, it hurt dad really bad Dean. He was really broken up about it. He looked everywhere for you – he’d come home crying his eyes out because he feared you were lying dead somewhere. He told me he felt so guilty for failing you as a father….”
Sam sniffed as his eyes dampened. He struggled to focus on the road as he continued.
“He took us in because he saw that you could be a good kid with a bright future but nothing he said or did got through to you. He loved you a lot Dean and it killed him that he didn’t know how to help you.”
Sam stared down the road but allowed himself to shed a few tears. He took a long breath.
“And it scared him because losing both of us scared him to death.”
Sam choked with sorrow as Dean took a long pull from his cigarette. Sam heard him blow out a breath before he broke the tense silence.
“I had no idea he felt that way. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
Sam thumbed away the tears hanging in his eyes and tried to rope in his emotions.
“You never wanted to talk about him,” he remarked.
“Because I thought he hated my guts. If he cared so much about me, why didn’t he show to my trial? Why didn’t he visit me in the pen?”
“Tough love,” Sam answered. “He thought if you went through the system without family support, you’d straighten out. But his condition….”
Sam’s voice trailed off as he swallowed down the grief in his throat.
“His condition got worse. He could hardly get out of bed anymore and by the end…..”
Sam felt his cheeks wet with tears again as his memory flashed upon John Winchester’s final hours.
“By the end, he was delirious. He kept asking for you and I – I didn’t know what to say…he needed you…I needed you but you left us…you left me, your only brother….you never even let us know you were alive and okay…you just dropped off the face of the earth until we found out you went to prison…you hurt us….hurt me so bad….”
Sam sniffed and cut off the remainder of tears dancing in his eyes. He heard Dean take a slow breath.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
Sam glanced at Dean and saw a very uncharacteristic expression on his face – guilt.
“What can I say? I was born a screw up. I’ve never been able to make the right choice – I always took the easy way out – whatever was convenient. I tried to work toward a future – to be legit because I saw how much you liked being in that house with John – how much you liked him and how much he liked you….so I tried, I really did but there was always something that came along to tempt me and I….I messed up a lot and after awhile, I realized you’d be better off without me fucking up your life. So I took off. But I sent you money – every dime I ever made on the streets, I gave to you because you deserved to be happy, to get to do whatever you wanted…you were always a good kid…..”
“I wanted my brother. I wanted us to stay a family.”
Dean blew out a frustrated breath.
“Yeah, well…I can’t take back the past and even if I could, I’d probably still make the same mistakes again because I’m damaged – maybe the DNA from our real dad gave me the screw up gene because he was one mean sonofabitch – or maybe it was all those knocks to the head I got when he’d beat the shit out of me – I don’t know….”
Sam tried to recall his early childhood memories.
“I don’t remember that.”
“You wouldn’t. You were barely crawling when the old bastard started taking his self-pitying rants out on me….but as soon as you started walking, he set his sights on you….he tried to raise the belt to you but I wouldn’t let him….if I had been older and knew how to kill him, I would have without blinking…..I hope he’s rotting in Hell….”
Dean tugged on his dwindling cigarette and eyed the road.
“The point is, I’ve accepted who I am so there’s no sense in trying to pretend that I’m not.”
“You don’t have to keep on this path. You can change your life now. You can learn new things to better yourself. You just have to believe in yourself, believe in me.”
Another long silence passed before Sam broke it.
“You can start now.”
“You can help me find out what happened to Jessica.”
Dean blinked with disbelief. “Are you kidding me? I thought you were going to suggest we hit Vegas or something....”
“I’m serious. There are things out there – in the dark – things you only see in horror movies - roaming around – killing innocent people. We can put a stop it. We can fight them. We can save lives.”
Sam noticed the heavy skepticism washing over his brother’s face.
“You realize you sound like some loony raving about an alien invasion?”
Sam sighed. He was used to the reaction by now.
“Do you trust me?”
After a long minute, Dean propped his leg back down on the floor mat and shifted in his seat.
“You’re seriously telling me that your ex-girlfriend was kidnapped by some – creature of the night?”
“I’m not sure – the last letter I got I traced back to a town in Southern California called Sunnydale…in recent months the town has had a number of strange deaths.....I have a really bad feeling about it. I want to check it out.”
“How exactly do you expect to fight a monster?”
“There’s a ton of info on the internet about demonology, urban legends, mythological creatures. We just need to do our homework.”
“I’m too old for homework.”
“Fine, I can handle the research. Does this mean you’ll help me?”
“I just got out of an eighteen month stint in prison and instead of letting me enjoy a little newfound freedom at a bar over a couple of rounds of drinks, you want me to ride with you across the country, chasing after a girl you hooked up with iall because you got a bad feeling?”
Sam huffed and threw a hard ball.
“You owe me Dean, for all the crap you put dad and I through, you owe me.”
Dean was a little surprised and pleased that Sam had grown a backbone. He flicked his cigarette out the window.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Seeing is believing I guess.”
Sam let out a breath. “You’ll need some fight training and we’ll need to get some weapons.”
Dean scoffed, “You need fight training and weapons. I’ve been fighting and surviving my whole life with just two fists and a bad temper. I don’t need anything else.”
“Demons are strong Dean,” Sam noted. “These aren’t gang bangers or street kids. You can’t just kill them with your bare hands. There are specific ways; specific tools and resources you need to use to be effective or you could end up getting hurt.”
“Whatever, do and get what you want. Where is all my stuff anyway?”
“I put everything from the house in a storage unit. I didn’t know if you had a place other than the house.”
“I had lots of places, the alley on Fifth, the junkyard downtown, bus station….wherever I ended up at night.”
Sam grew sullen reflecting on Dean’s history of living on the streets for four years. Dean noticed his expression.
“It’s not as bad as you think. Hell, a lot of places were better than a tiny ass prison cell. At least I had fresh air and no pimply roommate that cried himself to sleep.”
“You could have always come home, you know? No matter how bad it was, dad would have let you come home.”
Dean had nothing left to say. He stared off into the distance as Sam angled onto an off ramp.
After dropping by the storage unit, Dean sifted through a couple of boxes and pulled out a handful of items. Sam blinked in surprise as growing up, Dean had always been so possessive of his personal belongings. Now, it seemed that he had completely detached himself from the past.
“Okay, we can go now.”
“What do you want to do with the rest of your stuff?”
“Sell it, chuck it, I really don’t care,” he answered flatly.
Sam rummaged through one of the boxes and yanked out a worn baseball mitt.
“What about this? You and I used to play catch every afternoon with dad. I thought it’d have sentimental value.”
Dean looked at him blankly. “I’m not a sentimental guy but if you want it, take it.”
Sam drew a disappointed frown as Dean spotted an article of clothing buried at the bottom of the box. He fished it out and slipped into the black leather jacket. He was pleased it still fit.
“Don’t you miss him at all?”
Dean let out a long sigh as he swung around and regarded Sam. The kid looked like he was three years old and had watched his ice cream scoop fall off of the cone.
“How long are you going to keep dragging this issue through the mud Sammy? Dad is dead. Dying is just a part of life and no amount of reflection over a stupid baseball mitt or playing dress up is going to bring him back,” he groaned.
Sam looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Jesus Sam, take a good look in the mirror – you dress like him, you grew your hair out like him, you throw me that stern expression like him….you worshipped him and now you’re trying to be like him - for what purpose? To honor his memory?”
“Yeah Dean, honoring his memory is part of missing him. It’s part of remembering him. Does your heart even beat anymore or are you too jaded to even feel anything? Why are you so afraid of showing your emotions?”
Dean ambled out of the storage space and fished out another cigarette. He cupped a hand around the cigarette as he lit it, feeling a strong draft washing over him. He took a quick tug before he drew the stick to his side.
“Because emotions will get you killed Sam,” he replied. “You show an ounce on the street, it clouds you and before you know it, you’re lying in a ditch with a knife in your gut….you show your emotions in the slammer and well, there are a number of fates in store for you and they all involve sharp instruments. The only way I’ve survived this long is by divorcing my emotions from myself – I would have died a long time ago if I let an ounce of care affect me.”
As Sam rolled the gate down to the storage unit, he felt his hope fading that Dean would change his bleak outlook on life.
“You care about me.”
After a long minute, Dean met his brother’s eyes briefly before looking away.
“Yeah but I never let it affect me the way dad affected you. I didn’t wake up on a bed of newspapers every morning and think, man I wish you were here, let me sit and cry about it for awhile, no way in hell I would waste my time. I had to worry about other things, like beating that guinea bastard to the dumpster outside Vitollio’s before he hogged all the leftovers, or where I was going to shower when I got sick of smelling so bad….there were always things that were more important….”
Dean paused before climbing back into the car.
“You didn’t have to come and get me when I got sprung. I’ve lived on my own for a long time, I would have found a life for myself.”
There was not a breath of pity in his tone but more of a blunt statement.
“I wanted to come and get you,” Sam replied. “You’re my brother and you’re
all I have now so get in, we’ve got a lot of road to travel.”
After a brief pause, Dean got in the car and shut the door. His first task was to clean out the crap in the middle console. He tossed the CDs out the window as Sam pulled onto the road.
“You may be driving but it’s still my car,” Dean replied. “My music.”
He popped in a Circle Jerks album and cranked the volume as Sam made his way down Route 66.
By the time Sam hit state lines, the sun had dropped completely into the horizon. Miles of sparse green fields stretched before them with nothing but small houses and mom and pop stores lining the street. Dean lowered the volume of the stereo after another mile.
“Man, I’m going stir crazy. Pull over.”
“I will when we get to the next town. It’s about another half hour.”
Dean raked a hand through his hair as he squirmed in his seat.
“Fuck the next town. Pull over.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
Dean looked irked as usual.
“Dude, do you not remember where you picked me up from this morning? I spent a year and a half in a dank, cramped cell and the minute I get out I’m forced to ride for hours in another confined space. Give me a goddamn break here,” he groaned.
Sam let out a breath as he usually did when Dean tapped on his nerves. Dean spotted a business nearby.
“Come on, pull over there.”
Sam pursed his lips together in disapproval but reluctantly swung the car into the parking lot of a roadhouse. Before Sam could turn off the engine, Dean had bolted out of the car and inhaled the air while pacing in a large circle. He glanced at Sam as he stepped out of the driver side.
“You do this a lot? Drive for hours down lonely stretches of roads listening to your crappy music and obsessing over your crazy ghost stories?”
Sam shrugged. “You get used to it after awhile.”
“Well, I don’t know if I can.”
After they settled into a booth and ordered some food, Sam watched his brother finally relaxing a little. The road house was dark and smoky and filled with travelers enjoying a break. The classic rock tune spilling through the speakers was occasionally cut by the chatter of patrons. When the food arrived, Dean practically inhaled his meal while Sam picked at his. Dean eyed Sam’s plate.
“You gonna eat that?”
Sam glanced at his barely eaten sandwich before pushing the plate toward Dean.
“Nicotine is supposed to suppress your appetite, not stimulate it,” Sam said pointedly.
Dean shoved the layers of bread, meat and cheese into his mouth without blinking.
“Yeah, I wasn’t really that hungry. But, you live off dumpster scraps and prison slop long enough, you force yourself to be hungry when you get the chance to eat a real meal.”
He chugged down a long sip of beer before he sat back and took in the atmosphere. The waitress came by to check on them.
“Can I get you boys anything else? Coffee, dessert?”
“Okay,” Dean answered dryly.
The waitress was an older woman in her early forties with a slim figure and an endearing smile. She chuckled for several minutes.
“Well, we’ve got cake, pie and a delicious fudge brownie. Any of them interest you?”
“Just bring me what you got.”
There was zero come on in his tone as the waitress drew a confused look and walked away. Sam cocked his head after she returned several minutes with several small plates of dessert. Dean worked on each one of them without much of a smile or spark of enthusiasm in his eyes.
“Don’t you think all of that is a little much?”
Dean snapped his eyes on Sam as he stuffed a forkful of pie in his mouth.
“One word for you Sam – prison.”
Dean went back to polishing off one of the plates when something across the bar caught his eyes.
“Give me your wallet Sam.”
Sam blinked at the odd request.
“Just give me your damn wallet.”
Sam shifted in his seat and removed his wallet, placing it on the table. Dean flipped it open and rifled through the contents.
He snorted when he saw several library cards. He continued inspecting the contents until he tossed the wallet back to Sam.
“What was that about?”
“Did you learn nothing from me? I thought you were Mr. Prepared.”
“I am,” Sam affirmed.
Dean lit up a cigarette and eyed Sam.
“Oh yeah? What are you going to do when Miss Double Ds over there wants you to take her out to the alley so you can fuck the hell out of her?”
Sam blinked with puzzlement before his eyes drifted over to an attractive brunette at the bar. She caught his eyes and smiled at him coquettishly. She pushed off the bar and swayed her slender hips over to the table.
“Hi, my name is Lorraine. I was wondering if I could buy you a drink?”
Sam felt the weight of two sets of eyes staring at him expectantly.
“Uh, thanks but maybe some other time.”
Lorraine’s smile faded as she wandered away. Dean blew out a cloud of smoke and shook his head.
“I think you need to put an ad in the Classifieds asking people to help you find your dick. What’s the matter with you? Did one of your ghosties kill your libido or something? A pair of tits walks up and practically jiggles all over you and you brushed her aside like she was a piece of lint on your shoulder. You’re a disgrace to the male species.”
Sam shot Dean a resentful glare.
“When’s the last time you fucked a girl?”
Sam refused to answer.
“When’s the last time you ate a girl out until she was begging you to stop?”
Sam remained silent. Dean stamped some ash out in an empty dessert plate.
“Jesus Christ, have you been living like a monk? Don’t tell me the last chick was Jessica.”
“This is why you’re incapable of having a lasting relationship with a girl. You treat them like they’re a means to an end.”
“They are,” Dean replied bluntly.
“Then by all means, you go take Lorraine for a ride. I’m surprised you haven’t swooped in by now.”
“I was getting around to it but I thought I’d give you a chance. You seem to need it more than me.”
Sam shifted in his seat and let out a breath. Dean got up and slipped out of the booth.
“I gotta take a piss,” he said. “Don’t let the cougar take my plates away.”
He wandered off through a crowd. After twenty minutes, Sam started to worry and got to his feet. He looked around the roadhouse but did not see his brother. He suddenly groaned low in his throat when an instinct rang through his gut. He ambled down a short hallway to the restrooms. He eyed the women’s room for a minute when a girl stepped out. He turned toward the men’s room and turned the knob. The door was locked. His stomach turned violently as he rapped on the door several times. When there was no answer, he pounded on the door several more times. After a minute, he pressed his ear against the door and heard a murmur of voices.
Sam nearly tumbled over when the door abruptly swung open. He propped a hand against the door frame to steady himself as the waitress who had served them stumbled out into the hallway. She wiped her smudged lipstick and fanned her flushed face. She hurried off down the hall. Sam let out a soundless sigh when Lorraine appeared in the doorway as well. She straightened her tousled hair, tugged her shirt down and turned her skirt back to the front. A second later, Dean casually strolled out of the men’s room and zipped up his pants.
“Hey, you forgot these.”
Lorraine twisted around as Dean tossed her a crumpled up pair of panties. She caught them and smiled before she skipped away.
Sam blinked with shock. Dean regarded Sam’s disapproving expression as a cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth.
“Prison,” Dean replied before walking back to the table.
Sam let out a breath and shook his head. He shouldn’t have expected anything less. Feeling his own need to relieve himself, he stepped into the men’s room and noticed a condom machine hanging off its hinges, the outer glass completely shattered. Sam let out another breath and shook his head.