Dean's POV
Sam and I pulled up to the Ruger's house. After being awaken by a wet willy, I looked to my left to see Sam resting his arms on the steering wheel and watching me intently.
"Dude, this guy probably isn't a monster. We should just leave him and his goody-two-shoes family alone."
"Listen, I'm gonna refresh you. My vision was of his family watching a horror movie. He left the room to get something. My vision followed him to a bedroom, and he opened a drawer. It was too dark too see any details, but he took something shiny out. It reflected in the nightlight. He went back to the living room and I started hearing screaming. Then the vision cut out, so I didn't get the whole thing. That means we have no idea of what happens next, but we shouldn't take any chances. I wouldn't have had this vision if it didn't mean anything."
"That's true, you had the vision for a reason. Your visions are obviously happening because of the bigger thing. We're not just being sent on missions like the premonitions Yellow Eyes gave me. Yours are different. They give us clues. Either he or someone related to him is linked to it, and you know me; when there's any suggested connection to something, I dig in to it."
I sighed with exasperation. Taking note of Sam's choice of words, I chuckled. Sam threw me a look, but before I could catch it and recognize its meaning, he caught it and erased it. I hate when I miss his reactions. They hold foreshadowing information that I usually need. Well, that I want. It makes coming up with a comeback, in case of anything, easier. Not that it isn't easy, but when you've just come back from Hell, you know you've missed out on the newest jokes and recently discovered and improved definitions from the dingy depths of urbandictionary. I laughed again, just thinking of what the world that doesn't hunt comes up with. Shakeweights, segways, butt implants...a chimichanga loving comic dude - no, wait...that's normal. I'm a double-bacon-cheeseburger loving dude. I guess I could be Deadpool, but I hunt things that go bump in the night and frisky women instead of things that go bump in the head and frisky tacos. I couldn't help myself, and I started laughing so hard that my sides hurt.
"What's up with you?" Sam questioned. I realized that I probably looked like a person Deadpool would hunt. Doesn't Deadpool go bump in the head sometimes? Nevermind, sometimes Sam and I go bump in the night. Wait, that sounded really butchy...
"Hey! Uhh...Dean Winchester sucks eggs!" Sam teased, interrupting my trance.
"Dude, I do not!
"Why'd you laugh? Are you feeling okay?"
"Funny stuff. Anyways, I'm a Winchester. Will I ever feel okay?" I replied.
"Stop acting weird, that's my job." Sam flicked my ear and scoffed.
I looked back to him and shrugged. "Speaking of weird, I wonder why I'm having these visions. I don't have demon blood, and Yellow Eyes is as dead as a dodo."
"I have no clue. Anyways, I dug up some of this family's info. But I wanna know why you're laughing like the Joker. What's so funny?"
His DC reference made me smile, and I almost laughed again. But I restrained it. I had to control myself. Something about me was weird, the mood swings and the visions and the trances and the asininity.
"Man, you need to come up with cleverer references. You're supposed to be smart Sammy Stanford. See? Like that."
"Okay, devious Dean Dropout." Sam spat back.
