Author's Note: As it happens I had ended up splitting the first chapter into 2 chapters. As expected, torturing Dean can sometimes be too much fun to allow it to be brief. Please feel welcome to leave comments, suggestions and especially reviews—a girl can't get enough of them and they speed up the writing process. Enjoy!

Information: To get a feel for this fanfic, it is meant to take place some time around the end of season 3. It's set around the time of "Ghostfacers". (For those of you concerned about the timeline.)

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Supernatural or our beautiful boys.

Chapter 1: Coffee and Guns

Yawning as quietly as possible and resisting the urge to groan in satisfaction, Dean used the glow of his cell phone display to make his way to the door. He'd been unable to sleep tonight, just like many previous nights, and decided that he'd rather be moving around instead of lying awake in a motel bed.

Deep thoughts dwelled in his mind as he walked towards the front office, hoping that there was someone who could provide him with a 'cup of caffeine', as his father had once called it.

As he entered the office, a pleasant older woman greeted him with a good-natured twinkle in her eye. Dean's eyes floated to her blouse where a nametag read "Doris". He couldn't help but let his mind drift to the fact that he would never be an elderly person because he only had a few months left, then it was curtains for him. He'd never know the feeling of a life fulfilled, never see another Winchester generation grow up, never grow gray and old with someone he'd chosen to love for the rest of his life. Most people his age could expect another 50 years; but not Dean. He'd die and the world would move on without him, wallowing in evil and pain. And people like Doris will go about, obliviously being cheerful because they are unaware of the terror that surrounds them every day, but never touches them directly until it's too late for them to escape it.

Dean shook the thoughts from his head, disappointed with himself for letting his mind get the best of him for the moment, "Good morning, miss," he displayed his most charming grin as he approached the desk.

"I haven't been called 'miss' in decades, darling. You've made an old lady's day," Doris winked and smiled, revealing relatively straight, yet slightly stained teeth, "And I'm not so sure I would call it morning. It's only 3:30—middle of the night to some, you know."

"Awe, but for folks like us, it's never too early to get started," Dean winked right back, enjoying the banter that was distracting him from thoughts too heavy to carry, "I know another one when I see one."

Doris was obviously enjoying herself as well, "Indeed, young man. Sleep may be good for the body, but vigilance is good for piece of mind."

Dean nodded, slightly surprised by her use of the word 'vigilance'. That was the reason he was awake at such an hour and hadn't expected her to read him like that. Remembering what he had come after, Dean looked into her soft hazel eyes, "You wouldn't know where a fella could get a warm cup of coffee at this hour, would you?"

"Well, now, that's a rare commodity to come across at 3:30 in the morning, but you're in luck this time, kiddo," Doris's cheeks rose as she flashed another smile, "I have a secret stash in the next room." Doris glanced over her shoulder playfully, "Don't tell the husband. He gets awful touchy about my caffeine intake—even when I have to cover the graveyard shift."

Dean again felt a sorrow in his heart, which, to his great irritation, was becoming a regular occurrence. He nearly grimaced as he forced himself to nod and smile, trying not to show his regret of knowing he would never have a lifelong partner to worry over him the way that Doris's husband worried over her.

"What's the matter, honey?" Doris read him immediately, a gift she seemed to have.

Dean straightened up quickly, focusing on his smile, that now felt somewhat toothy and fake, "Just need a cup of coffee and I'll be right as rain." What's wrong with me? Dean thought to himself, I haven't been this distracted in a long time.

Doris smiled and sidestepped to a cabinet on her left, where she seemingly had a stash of coffee mugs. As she walked back towards the room in which they served continental breakfast, Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes.

Damned, if this night couldn't get any longer. He usually was able to occupy his mind and eventually drift into a lucid dream floating between the worlds of awake and asleep. Although there was never any hope for true rest there, at least it helped pass the time. Tonight was one of the nights he was unable to do so. He was fairly certain that Sam was unaware of his late night/early morning coffee breaks. Sam would only fuss over him if he found out about it, and Sam was already worried enough about Dean as it was.

Doris reappeared wearing a smile and carrying a full, smoking cup of coffee. She winked as she neared Dean and said, "Black, right?"

Impressed, Dean raised an eyebrow, "Right on."

"I know another one when I see one," she smiled pleasantly as she used Dean's words.

"I am much obliged, miss," Dean winked as he emphasized the word 'miss' because it had pleased her before.

"Oh, you're too much," Doris waved a hand at him as he turned towards the door, "I don't wanna see you back here before 5:00—two coffees before 5:00 is something even I can't condone."

Dean threw a smirk over his shoulder to see that she was giving him the same sort of look. They both knew if he showed back up in her office before 5:00, there might even be a cup poured and ready for him.

As Dean continued back towards their motel room, he contemplated whether or not to enter the room. He could sit and watch late night T.V. and attempt to ignore the infomercials as he fretted over every small noise, trying not to wake Sam. Or he could pass the time in the impala, playing the radio softly and sipping on coffee for a couple hours until it was safe to go back in, sneak into his bed and pretend he'd been there all night when Sam's alarm went off. He decided on the ladder, but as he reached towards the driver's side door handle, he felt cold steel on the back of his head and instantly concluded it was the barrel of a gun.

"I'm only gonna say this once," a low, scratchy voice broke the silence as Dean's eyes darted around, assessing his options, "Don't. Fucking. Move."

Dean had never been much for following directions given to him by a stranger. Instead of ceasing movement, he splashed the scorching hot coffee over his right shoulder and into the face of his assailant. A stunned yelp of pain erupted from the man as he stumbled backwards several steps, still trying feebly to keep the gun aimed in Dean's general direction.

Without a sound, Dean turned and kicked the man in his searing face, nearly growling with anger at the audacity of the attacker. The man's face displayed nothing but pain and surprise as his gun hand dropped to his side. He fell to the pavement in a heap of dead weight and lay still. As Dean smirked in satisfaction, he mumbled, "You didn't know who you were fuckin' with."

Dean looked at his empty coffee mug, distractedly disappointed that he hadn't got to drink it and wondering vaguely if Doris would believe that he'd spilled it, before coming back to the fact that he had more pressing things to deal with. Who the hell was this guy?

Carefully setting the mug on the pavement next to the stranger, Dean began rifling through the man's pockets and came up with absolutely nothing. There was no ID, cards, or documents in his jacket or jeans pockets that revealed anything about him.

Dean sighed and began to stand, but a distinct pain fired through his left leg as something was slammed into the back of his knee. It buckled and he was instantly forced back down to his knees.

"He was just a distraction," a new, more intimidating and marginally more arrogant voice, informed Dean as the barrel of what felt like a sawed off shotgun touched the back of his head.

"And what are you?" Dean had not turned to see the new attacker, taking the hint from the placement of the gun that he was not allowed to move his head, "The main attraction?"

Another jolt of pain originated in the middle of Dean's back and he had to lower one hand to the pavement to prevent collapsing completely.

"We're gonna get in the car and drive."

"Like hell we are," Dean coughed and spit onto the ground.

This time the blow connected with his head and Dean was kissing pavement before he could stop his body from falling forward.

"If you don't get into the fucking car, we're going to go into room 116 and shoot the holy hell out of your brother."

Author's Note Thanks so much for reading! Drop a line if you've got a minute and look forward to chapter 2, as it is on its way later today after a bit of tweaking! : )