Crashing

By Mady Bay

Thanks to Shywalk and November's Guest for beta reading.

They hadn't been in their motel room for twenty minutes, as long as it took to stow their weapons, grab quick showers and put on clean clothes, before Dean announced that he was going out.

"Gonna get a drink. Play some pool. Maybe get laid," he'd said, and was out the door.

Sam had just nodded, as he usually did. It had become routine lately. Find a gig (or be sent to one by their dad), kill the demon/ghost/monster/insert baddie of your choice here, get out of town, find a motel in a different town, and crash for the night.

Crashing for Sam meant sitting up against the headboard of the bed, vegging out in front of the television set. Not quite watching, not quite listening, but using the white noise to calm his nerves, allowing himself to think on happier times, happier thoughts, and trying to put whatever gruesome or horrible thing they'd just dealt with away, into one of the back closets of his mind, hoping to forget about it, like old, outdated clothing and rarely used sports equipment.

Crashing for Dean meant going to the local bar and engaging his mind in other activities. Having a beer or two, flirting with some pretty women, playing some pool (sometimes not even for money) and immersing himself in normalcy. Like Sam, he used these 'happy thoughts' to push his experiences with evil to a dark corner of his mind. Unlike Sam, though, he needed the bars, or places in other people's every day life, to accomplish this. He didn't have the happier memories to use. Not like Sam did.

And so, as Dean walked toward "Davy's Last Chance Saloon" and saw the lineup of Harleys and Yamahas and Hondas parked out front, he smiled at the thought of hooking up with some leather clad biker bitch in an hour or two.

00000

The place was dark, seedy and exactly how Dean expected it would be. If he'd been able to hear anything over the sounds of the Skynard tribute band playing, he'd have heard the noise his boots were making as they stuck and unstuck to the hardwood floor as he walked across the room to the bar.

He ordered a bottle of Bud from the bartender and leaned back against the edge of the bar, propping his elbows on it, as he surveyed the place. At the far south corner was the stage. The band wasn't half bad, he thought, though nothing like the originals. Looking at them, he didn't think they'd even been born when all of Skynard's members were still alive and kicking. Not that he'd be able to complain – half of the stuff he listened to was made before he was born, too.

The bartender put his beer down on the bar behind him and collected the cash Dean had left for it. Dean picked it up with his left hand and took a swig, savoring the coolness in his mouth and throat first, before caring about the taste.

The second time he brought the bottle to his lips he took the time to taste it. He smiled a little then. Nothing like good ol' American beer. Sam always went for the Canadian stuff.

Drink in hand, Dean continued his survey of the bar. On the west side of the place was a large alcove – a wing to the place, if you'd want to call it that. Three pool tables, a jukebox and a couple of old pinball machines were there. Two of the pool tables were currently in use, or in use for pool, anyway. The third one had some guy and girl rolling around on it, obvious foreplay going on. Dean had no doubt that in this place, if they decided to go further, no one would blink an eye.

He decided to watch the other tables for a bit. See who the players were, see who the hustlers were. Decide whether he'd play for fun, money, or both, and with whom.

By the time he'd finished his beer, he'd pretty much figured out who'd he'd play. He ordered another beer and after getting it, headed for the first pool table and the twenty-something kid with the dragon tattoo on his forearm.

He'd beat the kid fair and square, no hustling, no money involved, just because he could. Even when the kid had challenged him to play a second game, for money, Dean had refused. He'd accomplished what he'd needed, putting the faces of the demons of the day onto the balls, locking them away in his mind as he watched them disappear into the pockets.

A drink, a game of pool… only one thing left on his list.

And as the blonde in brown leathers sidled up next to him on his way back to the bar, whispered in his ear and walked to the back door, he made another checkmark on his list.

00000

Sam turned over on the motel's bed and looked toward the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly two in the morning. The bed next to him was still empty, telling him that Dean was still out. He wasn't worried or anything. The bars in this town didn't close until three and if Dean followed his routine of late, and had found someone to spend some time with, he probably wouldn't be back until dawn.

He looked over to the television next, saw Chuck Norris exercising on his latest workout machine. He hated this infomercial. Where was Christie Brinkley? The one she was in was better. Sam shook his head at the thought – the woman was old enough to be his mother... Sam rolled his eyes in frustration. He'd obviously had some unsuccessful attempts at ignoring the television shows late at night. Maybe next time he should just go with Dean to a bar. Alcohol, gambling and sex seemed to do the trick for his brother when it came to clearing dark thoughts.

00000

Dean was sitting at a table with Maren and Todd. Maren being the blonde in brown leathers he'd gotten mostly naked and sweaty with in the bar's storeroom, and Todd being the kid with the dragon tattoo he'd beat at pool. They were brother and sister, as it turned out.

"Come on, Dean," Todd cajoled for the hundredth time. "Just one more game. You can't just beat a guy and walk away. You gotta give him a chance to redeem himself. Give me a second chance to kick your butt."

Dean took a swallow of beer and smiled. "I don't give second chances. They bite you in the ass."

Todd rolled his eyes at the seriousness of Dean's tone. "Oh, come on. It's just a game of pool. Not like we're playing for money or anything."

Dean was starting to not like Todd anymore. Not that he really liked him to begin with, but he'd been being nice to him, because he wanted a second round with Maren.

"Why you so hot to play me?" he asked.

"Todd's just new to the game," Maren spoke up. "Looking to prove himself."

She received a punch in the arm from Todd for the remark, as he retorted, "I'm not some little baby."

Something in his tone, sounding like a typical little brother, made Dean cave. "Fine. One more game."

Todd smiled and headed for the pool table. Dean took one more sip of beer before standing and heading there as well. He put the bottle of Bud onto one of the wall shelves near the pool table and nodded for Todd to break.

Maren joined them, seductively coming up behind Dean as he leaned over to make a shot, and reached around his waist to playfully fondle him.

"Hey, who you rootin' for here?" he asked her, trying not to let her distract him from his shot.

"Whoever wins, of course," she laughed and moved back toward the wall, away from the table.

It was during the next game, against Maren this time, when Dean had started to suspect all was not right with the siblings. He'd missed an easy shot. He never missed an easy shot, well, not unless he was hustling someone, and he hadn't been. When he started seeing double, he knew he was in trouble. He'd only had four beers. In four hours.

"Son of a-," he got out before Maren shoved him face first down onto the pool table.

00000

At seven-thirty a.m. the motel room door opened and a dark silhouette filled the space.

"Dean?" Sam called, eyes squinting at the light behind the figure.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean replied quietly. "Go back to sleep."

Everything was fine. Their normal routine was still in place. Dean came back to their room, Sam woke up, Dean told him to go back to sleep.

Sam, content, mumbled a quiet greeting from under his covers, put his gun back under his pillow and rolled over, doing as he was told.

Dean stumbled into the bathroom, closed the door, and slid down to the floor.