Chapter Text
Dean entered Baby and closed the door with a loud thud.
“I swear, if this is another one of those places that calls a burger ‘artisan’ and charges twelve bucks for it—”
“Alright, call you back later,” Sam said, lowering his phone and turning his gaze to Dean.
“Who was that?” he asked and took a big bite out of his burger before throwing Sam the bag with the rest of the food.
“Bobby. He got a call from an old friend. His cousin’s worried about his sister.”
“Uh huh,” Dean murmured, mouth still stuffed to the brim.
“His sister, Nisa, lives in a boot camp. Their only way of communication was through letters.”
“So what?” he mumbled around his burger.
“She always replied, until she didn’t.”
“So? Kids run away. Happens all the time. Especially when you stick ‘em in some military camp in the middle of nowhere,” Dean argued, nearly spitting out the last word.
“And if she didn’t run away?” Sam paused, glancing at Dean, who was still munching his burger, grease dripping down his fingers and chin. “What if something happened to her?”
“Fine, we’ll check it out.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. A tiny smile appeared on his lips; his gaze stayed on Dean for a short while.
“Don’t make it weird.”
Between not finding a lead on Lucifer and the usual craziness surrounding them, things haven’t been great between Sam and Dean. The road was taking a toll on them — more so than usual. Dean’s been drinking more; Sam had noticed. Despite this, they always seemed to be on a case, never being able to rest properly or sleep for more than four hours, only to be woken up to comb through lore and read through nationwide newspaper articles.
“Where’re we heading?” Dean asked and crumpled the paper wrapper of his burger to throw it somewhere on the back seats. He was still chewing the last bits of food when he turned the ignition and the familiar roar of the car surrounded them.
“Somewhere between Josephine and Willibet—”
“What the fuck’s Willibet?” Dean interrupted. Sam frowned, but continued to explain nevertheless.
“It’s in West Virginia, close to Route 77; but we’ll have to ask locals from there.”
“' Scuse me?”
“Its location is being kept a secret so no one can plan escapes.”
“Great. If we drive seven hours for nothing, you’re buying dinner,” Dean said, essentially finishing the conversation when he turned on the radio.
Metallica blasted through the car — the good Metallica from the 80s, that is. Baby took off, her wheels squeaking as Dean exited the parking lot and rushed down the road with a destination he couldn’t even pinpoint on a map, yet.