Just a Baby in a Trench Coat

Chapter 1 ~ Hunt Gone Wrong

It was unusually brisk for Kentucky for the time of year, the wind chill forcing Dean to shiver and bury his hands into his jacket for a shred of warmth. The weather app had lied to him when he was deciding his attire a week ago and he was woefully unprepared for the cold. Hands shivering in pockets, Dean was glad to be entering a diner with some heat and an 80's upbeat jukebox alongside a vintage aesthetic. Black and white tiles and worn-out red booths greeted them as Sam was spouting out lore to a vacant audience since Dean was trying not to think about something, which only made him think about it even more. The 'something' happened to be how bitter Cas had been in the motel room before he stormed out (which of course this intense focus of trying not to think about Cas was making him think about the guy even more). Dean huffed, it wasn't like he was trying to get his head bit off.

"Dean you're sulking."

Dean startled, tripped up by uneven flooring and the pointed tone Sam had unexpectedly employed. Dean recovered by sliding into a fraying booth with a fake nonchalance as he splayed across his side. Sam watched, unamused by the flustering as he took his own spot opposite.

"Sulking is for wimps, Sammy," Dean said matter-of-factly as he swiped the menu off the table, hiding behind its grandioso pages. Sam rolled his eyes, suppressing a sigh. He should have expected Dean to be antsy after the argument he had spurned. Sam called them, 'domestic quarrels' mentally, but he never said his idea out loud lest he is attacked by an embarrassed brother and confused angel.

"Are you going to call him before we go to investigate the farmhouse?" tried Sam as innocuous as possible, twiddling a straw in his fingers he had picked up from the side stand as he glanced down at the menu. Dean grunted, "Of course not. I'm not some baby he needs to monitor constantly. I'm a grown-ass man, and I've been hunting as long as I can remember. I shouldn't have to apologize for shit." Sam resisted, what Dean so elegantly called, his 'bitch face'. Of course, Dean would take Castiel's protectiveness as an insult.

"He's just looking out for you Dean -- remember the last time you got dropped by a vamp?"

Dean flopped his menu down, an offended look on his face, "You know damn well--"
"I know, I know -- no one is denying your stupidly heroic actions to save the girl scouts, but Cas still blames himself for that." Sam slid his menu to the side, eyes focused on Dean's brooding posture. For a moment, one astounding moment, Sam thought he had helped Dean see the light-- but then Dean's sneer returned and the brother knew the bread crumb trail he had so delicately left behind had been destroyed by the swift wind of stubbornness. Dean had been about to start a slew of bullshit when the waitress arrived -- seemingly bored and oblivious to the fact that the brothers had been sitting at the booth for five minutes with no one to greet them. However, when the woman really looked them both up and down with a spark of interest, Sam realized their service might get a little faster. When the waitress gave Dean (Sam shivered uncomfortably) a saucy wink, Sam almost mentally prepared to spend the night at the library. To his surprise, Dean ignored it in favor of ordering, and then devouring a hamburger like a starving American let loose. Sam counted this as a win.

"So tell me," garbled Dean, Sam distastefully watching as a piece of bacon dangled at the corner of Dean's mouth, "what are we fighting that can snatch kids out of thin air?"

Sam, using a fork to stab lettuce and various veggies, started his list of ideas, "So the murders must be committed by something powerful." Sam shuffled for a moment, pulling out a folded piece of paper, "The magic is closely associated with witchcraft, but it's like nothing we've ever seen." Sam paused, looking Dean in the eyes with an edge of excitement creeping into his voice, "It resembles the magic we saw with Prometheus and the Greek Gods." Dean groaned, wiping his mouth with his jacket sleeve, "Not those asshats again."