Chapter 3: Winchesters

A old diner appeared in front of the Impala as it halted to a stop, parking in the lot. The doors opened up and to men came out of the vehicle. The doors closed with a soft slam.

The two Winchesters walked into the diner, looking for a bite to eat and a case. A nice pretty looking waitress came up to them and lead them to a table.

The older brother slid into the booth and winked at the waitress who blushed. “What shall I get for you?” She asked, taking out a notebook and a pen, biting on it teasingly. “I’ll have a slice of your pie.” Dean replied smoothly, winking at the waitress.

“Coming right up~. What about you big boy~?” The waitress said as she glanced over at the younger Winchester brother with the brooding shoulders.

Sam looked over the menu and nodded, finding out what he wanted. “I’ll have water and the…uh…caesar salad wrap.” He answered, sliding the menu across the old style table. He avoided all eye contact with the waitress except for a second when he flashed her an awkward smile.

“Be right back with your order~” The waitress cooed as she walked away, swaying her hips side to side. That didn’t go unnoticed by Dean Winchester. He saw it and his lips formed an ‘o’, the pursed lips threatened to let out a wolf whistle.

“Do you have to do that with every waitress?” Sam asked, glaring at his brother who turned to face him once the gorgeous waitress went out of sight. “Well all the pretty ones.” Dean answered, leaning back in the booth. The younger brother let out a scoff. “What? Just because you don’t get any doesn’t mean I have to not get any either. Not my fault you are a party pooper.” Dean said with a shrug.

“Dean, be serious for once.” Sam said sternly as he nearly glared over at his brother. “I am serious. Serious about tapping that-” “Dean!” He interjected, the glare turning all dark and angry like how he did.

“Chill out Sammy.” Dean said nonchalantly. “We’ll find a case and then we’ll let off some steam, okay?” He asked, throwing his arm up in a challenging motion.

“Fine.” Sam huffed, looking out of the window at their table and sighed. “Maybe we should ask around and see if anything is popping up out of the ordinary.” He proposed, getting a nod back.

The old vintage 1967 Chevy Impala in midnight black rode cleanly along the newly paved highway. The sky as blue as the ocean and not a cloud to be found. Strange for what kind of thing they were after. A ghost and a blog.

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