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Chapter Six - Phantom Traveler

"Do you salt and burn the plane now?"

"Do you salt and burn the plane now?"

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I tip-toed across the room, careful to not wake the Whore. He lay asleep on his stomach, arms curled as his hands rested under his pillow. He wore nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. I made my way between the two beds. Sam let me have the other one last night since he didn't sleep much anyway. I gently set my phone down on the nightstand. I turned, banging my knee against the nightstand.

I bit my lip to keep in a groan of pain.

Then, suddenly, I was falling forward, pinned to the bed on my stomach. "What the fuck?" I asked.

"Oh, Red, it's you." Dean blinked away dreariness, chest pressed against my back, body leaning over mine. One of his hands pinned both of my wrists above my head. "Thought someone broke in."

I blinked. "Are you fucking crazy?"

"I take it you two are having a good morning," Sam's voice made Dean look over his shoulder.

"Get off of me, you idiot." I scoffed.

Dean stood, knife in hand.

The Whore was going to stab me.

"Just to make sure it's clear, we were not fucking nor were we getting ready to fuck. I would not let him touch me with a ten foot pole," I said, brushing imaginary dirt from my clothes.

Dean sank back into his bed, voice still raspy and eyes still sleepy. His hair stuck up in a million different directions. "What time is it?"

"Uh, it's about five-forty-five," Sam answered.

"In the morning?"

"Mm-hm," I hummed, sitting down on my bed and crossing my legs.

"Where does the day go?" Dean muttered to himself. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Yeah, I grabbed a couple of hours," Sam lied.

"Liar. Because I was up at three and you were watching the George Foreman infomercial and Red was tossing and turning like she's a rotisserie chicken."

"Did you just compare me to a fat bird?" I asked.

"What can I say? It's riveting TV," Sam added.

"When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" Dean asked.

"I dunno. A little while, I guess. Not a big deal."

"Yeah, it is," Dean corrected.

Sam chuckled. "Look, I appreciate your concern—"

"Oh, I'm not concerned about you. It's your job to keep my ass alive, so I need you sharp."

"Sam, let him and his ass die," I said.

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