Supernatural Season Three: A Dean Winchester Love Story

Dream a Little Dream of Me (1)

Dream a Little Dream of Me (1)

Kylie's POV

"So, he just up and left?" 

The roar of the Impala vibrated my seat, Dean's face was furrowed as he looked ahead. He was upset when we walked into our shared motel room. Sure the room wasn't the cleanest, the wallpaper was peeling slightly off the old walls, but Dean was used to all that. What he hadn't expected was the worn room to be empty.

"Would we be driving around right now if he sent me a text?" Dean sent me a sly look, the wrinkles in his eyes becoming more prominent.

I studied Dean for a moment. His body wasn't tense, his eyes weren't hard, and he wasn't shouting at me in a panic. I turned in the passenger seat to fully stare him down, he gave me a side look, but kept his focus on the road.

"What? Do I got something on my face or something?" Dean asked as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"No." I answered simply, my fingers tapping on the leather. "You're not panicking." I made an obvious note.

The tip of Dean's tongue popped out, wetting his dry plump bottom lip. He hesitated before he let out a soft sigh of defeat. "That's because I know where he is."

As Dean spoke, he turned the wheel of the Impala. The tires of the car crunching the gravel parking lot of a local bar. He reached for the gear shift, putting it in park, before leaning back in his seat. He continue to stare forward, his lips pursed in distaste.

"You can't be serious." I rolled my eyes. I quickly reached into my pocket to pull out my phone, the digits only confirming my theories. "It's literally two o'clock in the afternoon."

"Yeah," He nodded, his face blank, "I know."

Dean pushed his door open, the creak making me flinch. There was no way he was right- Was there? Sure, Sam liked the occasional drink, but it wasn't like he was . . . Well, like he was Dean.

I scurried out of the car and followed the older Winchester. His steps seemed heavier than usual, his boots crunching under the gravel like he was on a mission. Dean's hand reached out to pull opened the door of the bar, he let me go in first. 

My eyes immediately scanned the room for Sam Winchester. It wasn't like he was hard to miss, the man was six feet tall. 

After a quick moment, I was ready to rub my victory in Deans face, but a familiar tall figure sat hunched over his drink in the corner of the bar.

Dean took the lead now, his boots echoing as he approached his little brother. "There you are." He greeted, not sounding too upset. "What are you doing?" 

Sam turned to face us, his face somber and his eyes a little glassy. "Having a drink." He gave a shrug in disinterest.

Where have I seen that look before?

"It's two in the afternoon." I repeated in surprise. 

"You drinking whiskey?" Dean questioned as he reached for his brother's glass, his brows were furrowed as he sniffed the inside. The scrunched up look on his face confirming his theory.

"I drink whiskey all the time." Sam replied blankly. He lacked the usual emotion, his face stone cold.

"No, you don't." Dean shook his head almost as if he was growing frustrated.

Sam scoffed, his eyes rolling in annoyance. The only emotion he had shown since we've been here. "What's the big deal? You get sloppy in bars, you hit on chicks all the time." His eyes narrowed in on his brother, his look challenging and cocky. "Why can't I?"