Crossroad Blues
Bobby's House
The brothers sat in the living room of Robert Singer’s residence. Bobby sat behind a large wooden desk covered in books and a little glass of Hunter’s Helper, otherwise known as Jim Beam. He took a swig and sighed as the whiskey burned its way down his throat.
“It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?” Dean joked as he sat on a backwards chair. Bobby just shrugged.
“It’s five ‘o’clock somewhere.” He took another swig and Dean just shook his head. “So the woman—she’s safe?”
“For now. That demon’s going to be back though.” Sam said from his position leaning against the doorframe.
“I’ll put someone else on it. I found a lead on a way to fix Dean’s problem.” Sam visibly perked as Dean shook his head and sighed.
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“I put some feelers out for help and came up with something. A hunter by the name of Rascal Williams said she could help.” Dean scoffed, causing Bobby and Sam to stare at him. “You got something to say?”
“No, no. How do you know this chick can help us?” Dean leaned forward unconsciously. He didn’t want to die but he couldn’t have lived without his little brother. So he did what he had to do. He wanted a solution, sure, but what that demon said nagged at him. He couldn’t weasel his way out of this.
“She sort of specializes in crossroad demons. If anyone would know, it’d be her.” Bobby explained dryly.
Dean remembered the woman from the night before. Short, curvy, full lips that would look fantastic wrapped around Little Dean…She said her name was Rascal. There couldn’t be that many women named “Rascal” in the world. He bit his lip, wondering if he should ask. Did it even matter? He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.
“Rascal? Is she about yay high,” He held his hand up about five feet and three inches from the ground, “with thick lips and curves that don’t quit?” Bobby rolled his eyes. Of course Dean would get all hot and bothered by some random girl.
“Black hair and light-skinned?” Dean nodded at Bobby’s question. “Yep, that’s Rascal all right. How do you two know her?”
“She was the one who saved the woman last night.” Sam explained.
“Technically. But we would’ve had him.” Dean added with defensive derision in his voice. His mood soured instantly at the thought of some chick getting the beat on them.
Bobby shook his head, “So it seems you’ve met. Peppy little spitfire, ain’t she?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Sam muttered.
“She needs an attitude adjustment.” Dean added and Bobby let out a bark of laughter.
“Good luck if you think you’re the one to give it to her.” Bobby clicked his tongue and sighed. “Anyway, you should get goin’. She’ll be expecting you.”
“Where are we supposed to meet this ‘peppy little spitfire’?” Dean did nothing to hide his annoyance.
“New Orleans.” Sam looked at Dean expectantly, and his older brother’s wicked grin did not disappoint.
“New Orleans?” Bobby nodded. “Awesome.” Dean jumped up and grabbed the keys to his Impala from their place on the desk.
“Hey Dean, you know what time of the year it is?” Dean’s smile grew at his brother’s question.
“Mardi Gras.”
“It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?” Dean joked as he sat on a backwards chair. Bobby just shrugged.
“It’s five ‘o’clock somewhere.” He took another swig and Dean just shook his head. “So the woman—she’s safe?”
“For now. That demon’s going to be back though.” Sam said from his position leaning against the doorframe.
“I’ll put someone else on it. I found a lead on a way to fix Dean’s problem.” Sam visibly perked as Dean shook his head and sighed.
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“I put some feelers out for help and came up with something. A hunter by the name of Rascal Williams said she could help.” Dean scoffed, causing Bobby and Sam to stare at him. “You got something to say?”
“No, no. How do you know this chick can help us?” Dean leaned forward unconsciously. He didn’t want to die but he couldn’t have lived without his little brother. So he did what he had to do. He wanted a solution, sure, but what that demon said nagged at him. He couldn’t weasel his way out of this.
“She sort of specializes in crossroad demons. If anyone would know, it’d be her.” Bobby explained dryly.
Dean remembered the woman from the night before. Short, curvy, full lips that would look fantastic wrapped around Little Dean…She said her name was Rascal. There couldn’t be that many women named “Rascal” in the world. He bit his lip, wondering if he should ask. Did it even matter? He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.
“Rascal? Is she about yay high,” He held his hand up about five feet and three inches from the ground, “with thick lips and curves that don’t quit?” Bobby rolled his eyes. Of course Dean would get all hot and bothered by some random girl.
“Black hair and light-skinned?” Dean nodded at Bobby’s question. “Yep, that’s Rascal all right. How do you two know her?”
“She was the one who saved the woman last night.” Sam explained.
“Technically. But we would’ve had him.” Dean added with defensive derision in his voice. His mood soured instantly at the thought of some chick getting the beat on them.
Bobby shook his head, “So it seems you’ve met. Peppy little spitfire, ain’t she?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Sam muttered.
“She needs an attitude adjustment.” Dean added and Bobby let out a bark of laughter.
“Good luck if you think you’re the one to give it to her.” Bobby clicked his tongue and sighed. “Anyway, you should get goin’. She’ll be expecting you.”
“Where are we supposed to meet this ‘peppy little spitfire’?” Dean did nothing to hide his annoyance.
“New Orleans.” Sam looked at Dean expectantly, and his older brother’s wicked grin did not disappoint.
“New Orleans?” Bobby nodded. “Awesome.” Dean jumped up and grabbed the keys to his Impala from their place on the desk.
“Hey Dean, you know what time of the year it is?” Dean’s smile grew at his brother’s question.
“Mardi Gras.”