Summary:- A little one-shot tag, extracted from "Bad Day At Black Rock." Season Three.
Sam turned his head disbelievingly towards the other occupant of the Impala.
"Dean! Did you know anything about this?" he asked his brother, surprise in his moss-green eyes.
"Well if you tell me what you're talking about Sam, I might be able to give you an answer," Dean replied. "I'm awesome, but as yet I don't read minds."
"A deposit store! Dad had a rented deposit store!" Sam informed his sibling, a tone of annoyance underlying his voice, as if his older brother had somehow been privy to a secret and had kept that titbit of information from him. But Dean's puzzled expression was nothing if not genuine.
He hadn't known about it either.
"Dad had a store? I swear I knew nothing about it Sam. He never mentioned it to me."
Sam turned back to study the address he'd jotted down, comforted by his big brother's assurance that he hadn't been keeping anything from him.
Dean deftly turned the Impala around; the boys' curiosity being such that there was no need of a verbal consultation to decide that Dad's mysterious hide-away would be their next stop.
The creaky door opened onto a dusty, dark space, the musty smell of a long-unopened room hitting them in the face.
Dean wondered if this was how Ali Baba must have felt as the door to the forty thieves' cavern opened up before his eyes.
He stretched out his hand, groping blindly for the light switch; eventually encountering it and illuminating the space with a low-wattage glow.
The brothers wandered through the garage-sized space, more surprised by the fact that their severe father had kept memorabilia of when they were young, like Sam's soccer trophy and Dean's first home- made shotgun, than by the cache of weapons or supernatural objects which were more in keeping with dad's hunting life.
Someone else had been there however; the recently fired shotgun and the blood-spotted floor bore witness to that, and Sam's discovery of an empty curse box revealed to the brothers just what the object of the thieves' visit had been.
As Dean tucked heartily and ecstatically into their free millionth-client lunch, Sam twirled the seemingly innocuous rabbit's foot in his hand. He'd witnessed its power with his own eyes but still found it hard to believe that such a mangy little thing could cause so much chaos.
He slipped it into his pocket.
They would figure out how to get rid of it later and remove the curse that was now lying on his shoulders, he mused; but not until Dean had made him scratch an abundance of winning cards!
Although to Sam it felt like cheating, he reckoned it could be no worse than using false credit cards or hustling pool, and anyway they needed the money.
Saving people and hunting things was an expensive business!
He was enjoying his coffee when an attractive dark-haired waitress arrived with a top-up.
"Can I just fill that up for you, sir?" she cooed, proceeding to spill the hot coffee all over him.
Sam jumped back awkwardly as the hot liquid penetrated his outer clothes.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I'll bring you another cup and more coffee," she apologised, as she mopped up the excess liquid from Sam's jacket and sashayed off sensuously, knowing that the brothers' gazes would follow her.
From that moment on with the loss of the lucky rabbit's foot, Dean had the impression that his little brother had regressed to childhood; scraped knees, losing his shoe, even his expressions were those of a five year old.
Outwardly he berated his little brother for his clumsiness but inwardly he somehow enjoyed his sibling's second childhood.
It brought back fond memories of when Sam had depended on his awesome big brother to defend him from all and sundry and by God, even if his younger sibling was now a Sasquatchian wall of muscle, that job would always be the number one reason of Dean's existence; supernatural fuglies be damned!
He dragged his danger-prone little brother back to their motel room and planked him down in a chair placed strategically in the middle of the floor, far from any visible source of danger.
He'd found out the name of the thief and she was going to feel the wrath of Dean Winchester.
"Touch Sammy and die," was the older Winchester's motto!
"Sammy!" he ordered his recalcitrant sibling. "Do NOT move from that chair, until I get back. Understood!"
"Don't even scratch your nose!" he emphasised for good measure.
Sam would have loved to bitch back with the highest grade of intensity possible, but he knew that Dean was worried about him and a "worried for Sammy" Dean was a Dean at his most pissed, and therefore absolutely impossible to reason with.
He sighed resignedly and tried to get comfortable on the hard unyielding chair.
As if instigated by Dean's last words, Sam felt his overgrown calloused hand moving towards his suddenly itchy nose and starting automatically to scratch.
Dean opened the Motel room door to find his little brother tied up and bloody, not a good situation for the perpetrators of such a crime to find themselves, and Dean, comforted by the incalculably high level of luck accorded him by the rabbit's foot, made short work of the two pathetically inferior hunters he had in front of him.
Even without the 'foot' they would have had no chance against a Dean Winchester intent on defending the one person in the world that meant more to him than going to Hell itself.
Previously Dean had enjoyed his little duel with Bela and had even acknowledged to himself that she was a worthy antagonist, but she didn't have a Sammy to defend and that was her weak spot.
Whatever appreciation Dean might have had of her skills however was soon trampled under his worn working boots, 'cause anyone who dared to put a bullet into his brother deserved every painful thing that Dean Winchester's inventive mind could come up with and he was VERY inventive.
If he ever got his hands on the thieving little vixen again she would get to experience it all first hand.
He hauled his wounded but strangely amused brother back to the Impala, not looking forward to the certainty that Sam would tease him endlessly about the unnoticed theft of the winning tickets from his jacket pocket by their latest, and unfortunately for the Winchesters, human and thus not eliminable adversary.
Something told Dean however that they hadn't seen the last of her yet and with that encouraging thought he turned his mind to examining the wound in Sam's shoulder.