The Universe's Mixer

Dean felt like he was still the only person in this huge ass lame place to not get a place to stay. He had met plenty of people, mostly women, who got places. But him, all he had was his car. So a few night in shady bars. Poker, pool, game of darts was enough for him to scrounge money together and find a cheap place to stay.

Dean found a motel room, like any other the Winchesters usually stayed in. It was a roach trap but at least nicer than some. He couldn't keep sponging off of Aeon, even if she didn't mind. Besides, he needed a place to lay out all he had on the City. He couldn't very well do it in Aeon's place and he needed to lay out his weapons. Cleaning time.

An empty bag of burgers littered the room. Beer bottles as well. On one bed, which was where Sam usually slept, he had the guns laid out, knives as well. He sat there, feeling ... lonely. Dean had always feared this moment. What he would do. Not able to find Sam. He was holding it together but it was slim now that he was alone.

Dean sat there, staring. He gave up his soul for his brother once. Partially so he couldn't be alone. Mostly for other reasons. To not let his family down. To not let his father down. That voice in his head still spoke loudly in his head. His father's voice. Protect Sam. Take care of him. And Dean did. The best he could.

Now, the realization of being here was slamming down upon him as he looked up at the walls. A map of the city he drew, markings upon it of buildings shifting, locations changing. Of hauntings, creatures, vampires, no rhyme or reason to it all. No pattern he could see. Damn, where was Sam?

He clicked the gun together that he had been cleaning then got up. He looked at the walls, turning around. "So why did you bring us all here? Why these people? What do you want from us?" He spoke in staring at the notes he had scribbled all over. "Just give me some kind of clue."

"What gives? I thought the Monarch was supposed to send us an escort." 21 pulled at the leg of his yellow shorts, which had ridden up on him during the long bus ride.
"You wish," droned a weary henchman 24. "The Monarch wouldn't shell out for expanded basic cable. What makes you think he'll send us a prostitute?"
"No, an escort. Like a ride back to the cocoon so we don't have to schlep these bags all the way there. We haven't even seen the new place."
24 regarded his shorter cohort with skepticism. "Schlep? What are you, Jewish now?"
"Schlep is a good word. I'll use it if I want. I heard you say 'grok' the other day."
"'Grok' doesn't belong to a historically oppressed people."
"I beg to differ, my good man."
"Whatever. I'm gonna give the Monarch a call."
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