Chapter 32 : Golden Girls

by

     "I told you to let it go," I growled at Dean as I pulled my bags out of the back of the Impala. I stared up at the shabby motel we had found on the outskirts of town and cringed.

     "You can't seriously still be talking to him?"

     "And why not?"

     "Because he's - he's a douchebag!" He exclaimed, rounding the car as I started towards our first-floor room. "And you're-"

     "I'm what?" I dared him.

     He scratched at the back of his next as h tried to find an answer that wouldn't get him clocked in the face. "I don't know. You're you! "

     "And you're a dumbass," I snapped at him again, but the agitation in my voice faded as it hit me. I smiled, making sure it was sincere enough to make him want to vomit. "Then again, I have to thank you. If you hadn't set us up, I never would have seen him that way."

     Dean's eyes widened, and his hand came to his chest as he pretended to dry heave. If he hadn't been so gullible, he would have known by now that even the thought of even talking to the tool, let alone sexting him, caused the vile in my stomach to creep up my throat.

     I left him standing there and slipped into the room I had booked next to the boys. I needed sleep and a lot of it because, despite our agreement to spend a week at my cabin in Colorado, we somehow ended up hunting a tulpa in southern Texas, with two of the most annoying douchebags I had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

     I sighed loudly and dropped my bag at my side. I wasn't sure what I needed more: sleep, a shower, or a long sip of whiskey. Sixteen hours in a car with those two was nearly as exhausting as dealing with the douchefacers for even five minutes. Especially since neither of them would call a truce on the prank war, they had somehow managed to suck me into.

     "Is he still buying it?"

     My hand had gripped my gun so fast that it scratched at the skin of my lower back. The lights flicked on, and Sam stood there, towering over the ratty bed with his hands up and a surprised look on his face.

    "Jesus Sam!" I whispered harshly. "What the hell are you doing in my room? I could have killed you!"

     I followed his gaze to the door between the two rooms and rolled my eyes as I tucked my gun back away. His eyes widened with curiosity, and I groaned as I plopped down onto the lump mattress.

    "You two are children. Do you know that?"

     He looked back at me and scoffed. "Says the girl who dyed all of my underwear pink."

     I shrugged. "Would you have preferred I put Nair in your shampoo?"

     I laughed as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through his long locks. I'd be lying if I had said it hadn't crossed my mind, but he was lucky I wouldn't be able to look at him if he was bald. Well, that, and the fact that he was a giant who probably would have picked me up and tossed me out of a window for screwing with his hair.

     It had gone on for days, and though it was fun, screwing with the douchefacers, I had never expected it to go as far as it did. The itching powder and the glued beer bottle was one thing, but setting me up on a blind date with Ed fricken Zeddmore was a level of low I didn't know Dean could go.

     I could still feel the embarrassment in my cheeks as I walked back into our motel room in that little black dress. I had been oblivious to the fact that the note on my bed was nothing more than a prank until Ed had walked into the restaurant wearing a blue tuxedo.

     It hit me almost instantly. I had prayed to every known God that it was just a coincidence Ed had walked in. That Dean was just running a little late and that we would finally have a moment alone. He never did, though, and the moment that skeezy kid slid into the booth next to me, thanking me for the flowers and the note, I knew.

     There were a hundred ways I could have taken it. Dean may have had the double whammy, playing both the idiot who kept getting in our way and me, but I went for the home run. I could have just walked in and punched him square in his perfectly chiseled jaw, but instead, I walked around the block a few times and made sure to mess my hair and makeup up before strolling into the room we had to share, holding my shoes and pretending that it was the best night I had had in such a long time. 

     I wish I could have taken a picture of his face at that moment. Sam was smart enough to know better and quickly caught on to my lie, but it was his idea to keep it going. He called it the ultimate prank, but all it did was push us even further apart. Which, to be honest, was probably a good thing. 

     "How long do I have to keep this up?" I asked him. 

     Sam shrugged. "To be honest, I can't believe he is still buying it."

     "Well, it's Dean," I muttered as I glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. It was only nine-thirty and my empty stomach was begging for fries and a cold beer. "If he doesn't figure it out soon, I'm going to end up marrying this kid."

     Sam laughed as he inched closer to the shared door. He pressed his ear against the scratched wood and listened as Dean tried to figure out where Sam had disappeared too. I knew it wouldn't be long before he came barging in, so I pulled my leather jacket from my bag and slid it on as Sam headed back to the shared door. "Well, I'm gonna head across the street and grab a drink."

    He gave me a sour look. "I thought you weren't drinking anymore?"

     "There's a difference between drinking and having a drink." I reminded him.

     He only nodded. "Well, let me grab my jacket, and I'll come with you."

     "Thank you, but I don't need a wingman right now," I said with a wink. It was strange how close we had become over the last few days. We still didn't know each other all that well, but I had overheard enough of their conversations to see that he wasn't just an ordinary hunter, and he was most definitely not like his brother. "Call me when you find something to kill." 

     "So, I have to do all the work?" He joked. 

     "Hey," I scolded him, standing in the doorway. "I'm the one who found that symbol on the rug, remember? Now, it's your job to find out what that symbol is or if there is anything here more than a psycho murderer."