Bonds Broken ~Dean Winchester Love Story~

Crossroad Blues -- What's It Worth?

~*****~

I trailed behind Dean as we stepped into the large apartment building and up the large, wooden steps. "What's this guy's name again?" Sam asked as he glanced back at me.

"George Darrow. Apparently he's a regular at Lloyd's bar." I explain. It wasn't hard to get that information - considering I was the only woman in a six mile radius that had real boobs. Dean wasn't too happy when I flaunted them to get the information I needed. I've never seen him start hyperventilating so quickly.

"Though this house probably ain't up next on MTV Cribs, is it?" Dean jeered.

"Yeah. So, whatever kind of deal he made," Sam started.

"Wasn't for cash." Dean finished as he looked around the dingy apartment building again.

"He probably asked for a room full of tight whores." I commented. Dean grinned like a maniac and held his hand up for a solid high five. Sam sighed heavily at my comment, and trudged onwards. "Wow, it's not often that I'm not the voice of reason. Still, that's not worth whats to come."

"Look at that." Sam pointed out after we reached the fourth floor. A line of black dust lay as a barrier to 4C.

I crouched down to it and ran my fingers over it, and bringing it to my nose. "What is that?" I wonder aloud.

The door suddenly swung open to reveal a dark skinned, older man. He was dressed in a gray shirt that had seen better days. I'm pretty sure he'd seen better days too. "Who the hell are you?" The man asked rudely as I stood up slowly.

"George Darrow?" Dean confirmed.

"I'm not buying anything." The man snapped, and quickly tried to shut the door.

Dean shoved his hand out and stopped the door from closing. A smirk covered his lips as he gestured to the barrier. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, looks like you went for the wrong shaker there. Heh, usually, when you want to keep something evil out, you go for the salt."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." George denied.

"We're talkin' about this." I pull out the picture from my pocket and display it. "Have you seen that Hellhound yet?"

"Look. We want to help. Please, just five minutes." Sam urged. George took a deep breath and opened the door for us, and didn't say a word. We ventured into his apartment; Paintings hung on the walls, tables and cabinents were filled to the brim with oil and gloss paints with different sets of brushes. Some of the works were eye-catching, dazzling even. And others made me want to stop and stare for the rest of my life.

"So what is that stuff out front?" Sam asked loudly, which tore my gaze from a particularly beautiful painting of a mountain.

"Goofer Dust." George answered. Sam and Dean stared at him blankly. I made a face of recognition and made a soft sigh. "What, you boys think you know somethin' about somethin' but not Goofer Dust?"

The man shook his head in disappointment before throwing Dean a brown burlap sack tied with twine. He caught it easily. "Well, we know a little about a lot of things. Just enough to make us dangerous." Dean defended, looking offended that George called him out in it.

"What is it?" Sam asked again.

"It's Hoodoo, Sam." I explained.

"My grandma taught me. Keeps out the demons. You should listen to her more often." George commented.

I snorted and laughed at Dean. "Demons we know."

"Well then, keep it. Maybe it'll do you some good." George offered as he grabbed his whiskey and wandered over to the chair in the corner. "Four minutes left."