And baby [Talk dirty to me]

[Drink It]

“The women over there would like to buy you a drink,” the bartender says as she sets another beer in front of Dean. He glances over his shoulder and grins at the table; one red head, one blonde. He gives them a wink and then makes a show of taking a drink of his beer. Any other time, he’d saunter over, make some conversation and start planning for some French thing he can’t pronounce that means threesome. Instead he hangs out by the bar, talks the tender and waits until the red head approaches—he knew it’d be the red head.

“So my friend and I were wondering” she hesitates, the tip of her tongue touching the corner of her mouth “if you’d like to have drinks with us.”

“Sweetheart, I’m never gonna turn down a drink,” Dean says with a too cocky grin and a tip of his bottle.

The red head looks over at the blonde, triumphant smile on her face and sits down next to Dean. Another half second and there’s a blond snuggling up to his other side.

They’re three beers in and a couple of shots before Dean breaks the news to the women.

“Ladies, I hate to be the one to break up this party-“

He’s interrupted by the blonde. “Our apartment isn’t far from here and we’re room mates.”

“Very open minded room mates,” the red head reminds him. Her hand is on his knee and then way too high on his thigh for anyone’s comfort.

“And there is nothing I appreciate more than open minded roommates,” Dean says, an idiot’s grin on his face. “And I am one lucky man tonight.” He glances to the red head and then the blonde, taking a moment to appreciate just how lucky. “But there is one very, very lucky girl waiting at home for me.”

The look of disappointment and rejection is pathetic and if Dean were a lesser man, he’d succumb to their pouts. His self control is better than anyone will give him credit for. It takes several more minutes for Dean to get out the door but he’s in the Impala and headed back to the motel room alone.

“Hey Hot Ass,” Dean says as he crawls into the backseat of the Impala. “Talk dirty to me.”

The jig is up, the news it out, they finally found me

[This image]

Sammy in the basement storyline

He’s debating the assets of one carburetor cleaner against another when his phone rings. He knows it’s Claire by the ringtone—She’s only Seventeen by Winger—and he answers it with the urgency it deserves.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, abandoning the half full basket of car care products in favor of booking it toward the exit.

“His fever has spiked. It’s up to 105,” Claire starts. Dean interrupts before she can finish what she’s saying.

“I’ll be there in five minutes.” He doesn’t say goodbye, just hangs up and shoves the phone in his pocket. The Auto Zone is fifteen minutes from the house.

Dean is in the process of breaking land speed records in the Impala when he sees the blue and red flashing lights behind him. He can hear the sirens even over Black Sabbath but he doesn’t slow down or pull over. He sticks his arm out the window and makes a come along gesture. They can ticket him for what the hell ever they want when he gets home.

By the time he gets to Brooke’s house, he’s leading three police cars and he sort of misses the drive way, taking out the grass to the right of it. He slaps a driver’s license—Ted Hendrix—on the hood of the Impala along with the insurance that matches.

“Baby brother’s sick, leave the tickets under the windshield wipers,” Dean says as he books it into the house and clatters down the stairs to the basement at speeds that might make Bruce Jenner envious…maybe.

Sam is curled up in a ball, chains still on his wrists and his ankles, soaked in sweat. His hair is plastered to his skin and Claire is standing off to the side with her hands on her hips.

“Don’t touch me! It hurts!” Sam screams when Dean gets close. Dean looks over at Claire with a questioning look because this is new.

Claire shrugs in response. “You didn’t have to run home. I can inject him and it’ll bring his fever down but I can’t get near him.”

Dean holds out his hand. “Gimme,” he says, expecting her to put the syringe of her blood in his hand.

“Dean…be careful. He knocked me across the room and broke my neck. That’s when I called you,” says Little Miss Bounce Back.

Dean’s brow furrows and he takes a step back to study Sam for a moment. “Alright, I’ll grab him from behind and hold onto him. You stick him.”