“So, you’ve never done this before? Because it’s very important to my client that his dates are… well, more on the innocent side.”
Dean snuck a glance at Sam from where he was hiding in the restaurant’s kitchen. The woman seated across the table from his little brother ran an escort service, that specialized in discretely supplying victims to an incubus they were hunting. She was a nasty piece of work, who was paid a lot of money to sell out desperate college students to a monster.
The incubus was either smart or lazy, having its prey delivered like a pizza to its front door instead of hunting publicly in bars or back alleys, and Sam fit the victim profile, tall and good looking with a slim build and long hair. Plus Sam was a much better candidate than Dean for the whole virgin-whore thing that this particular demon had going on.
But the idea of dangling Sam like bait at the end of a hook just pissed Dean off.
Sam needed to look the part of someone willing to sell their body for a price so they ditched the flannel and dressed him up in one of Dean’s black t-shirts that was one size too small. The snug fit showed off Sam’s broad shoulders and the skinny jeans they bought earlier that day hugged his long, long legs.
Removing all those layers that were typically wrapped around his little brother made Sam seem unnecessarily naked and vulnerable. Despite the plan for Dean to wait in the Impala, there was no way that he was letting Sam walk in here alone.
His brother blushed at the woman’s question about experience and looked away, as she murmured “perfect” under her breath. The madam set her cocktail down on the table while she pulled out her organizer and pen to take notes, smiling at Sam as if she had won the sex worker lottery.
Dean hated everything about this lady from her blood red nails to her overly white teeth to the bright orange of her drink. Normally, he would laugh or kid with Sam when the ladies flirted with him but this bitch was setting him up to have his sexual energy sucked dry by a monster. Un-fucking-acceptable.
As Dean glanced once more into the dining room of the restaurant, he saw Sam nodding and taking a slip of paper from the woman before getting up to leave.
Dean snatched a white apron off a shelf in the kitchen and wrapped it around his waist, blending in with the other wait staff. As he made his way out to the madam’s table, she picked up her screwdriver once again, sipping delicately. A well-placed bump against her elbow sent the glass clacking against her bleached teeth and the icy liquid all over the front of her expensive silk blouse. She squawked like a Canada Goose in spring as she stood up in disgust.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, ma'am! Please, let me get someone to help you clean that up.”
Dean flagged over a very confused restaurant manager and dodged outside before the man could ask who the hell he was, smiling all the way out to the Impala and Sam.