so fucking out of my head; i was running at full steam...

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It doesn't take any sort of super-sensory perception to realize when they've made it to Vegas. The billions of lights on the buildings make it nearly as bright as daytime, and the noise itself is sufficient to wake the dead. Stark fights wakefulness for a few moments, but eventually gives in to the inevitable and straightens up from where he's been reclining in the spacious backseat. Naturally, the first thing he does is light a cigarette. Then he clambers over the front seat and drops into the passenger position, peering around curiously for landmarks. It doesn't take long.

"Take the second left, up there." Stark waves with his cigarette in lieu of pointing, then continues scoping the place out. After a moment, he adds, somewhat nonsequitorially: "You really gotta admire a man bold enough to take huge amounts of acid in a place like this."

With further terse directions, he leads Winchester to a parking garage beneath a hotel with which he's familiar. It's, expectedly, gaudy and bright and something like twenty stories high, hidden behind a French Quarter facade. Once the Lincoln is parked, Stark opens his door and rolls out into the glamor-less garage with an absurd sort of grace, stretching. He unfolds the back door, as well, to heft out the bags from the floorboard.

Comments

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While Winchester approaches and sits, Stark finds his necessities, which in this case, aren't much. The stick of lead works to draw a double-circle on the map, which has been weighted at the corners by odds and ends from the bag to keep it from folding up again. He adds a few words and symbols here, Latin mixing with more arcane signs but, thanks to Stark's chicken-scratch scrawling, bearing not much more resemblance to any modern alphabet. He only looks up when Winchester speaks again.

Taking the photo cautiously between two fingers with a serious but sort of distracted nod, he looks it over briefly. "This'll work." At any other time, the photo's contents might garner more commentary, but for now, the blood and weapons and happy-family smiles only earn a moderately amused, "'s touching." Setting the photo to the top of the circle, Stark looks his preparations over briefly and nods to himself. Improvising a sort of dowsing pendulum from a small throwing knife with a chain looped through the pierced-work hilt, he sits forward to concentrate, holding the knife suspended over the map.

Though it could be used easily for nefarious means, there's nothing inherently hostile about a locator spell, so no words have to be spoken aloud. Instead, it's more of a focusing, narrowing will to a sharp point and directing it with mental commands. Within a few seconds, the knife begins to spin, seemingly on its own. It wavers over a few different places, first to the north of the map, then lower, and easterly. For a moment it sways pendant over the midwest in general. Stark narrows his eyes, mental concentration kicking up to a barely-audible tuneless humming. The knife shivers then, sudden as a lightning blast, veers away west sharply before the chain jerks itself from Stark's fingers. He snatches his hand back to his chest instinctively, as if his fingers were burned, while the knife buries itself a few inches deep in the table.

Recovering from the surprise easily, Stark leans over the map. Seeing that the point is embedded centered in the state of Nevada, he snorts emphatically. "Sonofabitch." This is all he has time to get out, before the knife burns literally red hot, igniting the map. With those fast reflexes of his, Stark snatches the photo before the flames can get close and offers it back to Winchester calmly, like this is all normal behavior.

[whiskeynpie]

Dean watches curiously and a little warily. He's used location spells before though he hates using them as he hates pretty much all other magic. Humans used magic and humans were crazy sons of bitches in his book and he'd rather deal with a frigging pack of Wendigos than a human with a magic book. It takes him a moment but he realizes that James means to find Sam and Dean doesn't know if he likes that at all. He'd planned on getting to Bobby's then ditching the guy to haul ass and find his brother.

But this guy who he doesn't know and certainly doesn't trust knowing where Sam is? Yeah no, Dean no likey. He has little time to say anything, though when the knife spins and pulls from the man's grasp and slams into the map and the table. It's sudden enough that he sits up sharply and stares at it, then jerks back himself when it lights up.

Dean snatches the picture back, smooths it over to make sure there are no scorch marks, then glares at James. "The fuck was that? What the fuck just happen? What does that mean? And the next time you want to use that witchcraft fuckery you let me know so I can get the hell outta Dodge. I don't deal with witches."

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Rather than try to put the fire out, Stark takes the opportunity to light a cigarette off the flames, waiting for them to extinguish themselves. This they do in short order - the map is obliterated, but the table beneath is untouched, excepting where the knife has imbedded itself.

Though he's probably planning on making some explanation, Winchester's little tirade stops him. "Witches? You see me flying around on a broom? Talking to a black cat, or chanting over a cauldron? I'm not a fucking witch." From the flat tone of his voice, it's obvious that he really is ticked off this time, instead of just faking. Reaching a hand over, Stark loops his pinkie finger through the hole on the knife's hilt and plucks it from the table, but only to toss it back into his bag. "If I heard right, you're the one who made a deal with the devil. Seems you fit the bill better than I do, Mrs. Proctor."

[whiskeynpie]

"I don't know what the fuck you are so for all I know you could be," he snaps back. Or a demon, a skinwalker or a myriad of other creatures. Christ, he wishes he had some salt or holy water. He's getting those things the moment he can, a silver blade on top of it.

His lips upturn in a sneer at the mention of his deal. "I made that deal to save my brother's life, asshole. That's different," he bites out. It was always different when they do it. Witches were bad, evil, he's never met a good witch and he doubts he ever will. "And I would do it again and again to save him. They're not the same, that witchy spell and my deal. It's different."

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"Ahh, the I-did-it-for-my-family defense. Lucifer likes that one, I bet. He probably even gives you time-and-a-half on your hours of torment." And just as quickly as it appeared, Stark's ire seems to have dissipated. If he's irritated now, it's only in an amused fashion. Likely this is because Winchester himself is so easy to rile.

Leaning back, he recaptures the bottle of Bushmill's whisky and takes another long drink, before setting it down and continuing to smoke. "But you're right, it's not the same. For one thing, nobody gets hurt with the spell I just did. On the other hand...mine was completely useless. Someone's put some sort of protection around your brother, or cloaking, so the spell rebounded. I could try something else, but - " Another pause, for another swig of whisky. " - wouldn't want you to get all 'Bell, Book and Candle' on my witchy ass."

[whiskeynpie]

"I don't give a rat's ass what the devil thinks or wants or does. What I did I did for my brother, he deserves his life," more than he does, he almost says, because that's how he thinks. Sam deserves more of a life than he does and there's a part of him, albeit small, that hopes he got away from it - though the bigger, selfish part of him hopes that Sam's still out here fighting the good fight and looking for a way to get him out.

He cocks a brow at that, grabbing the bottle he'd been drinking from himself and taking a couple swigs from it. "Protection? The hell would he need protection from. You think the whoever put me back together did that?" It worries him that someone thinks his brother is in danger enough that he needed to be protected by an outside source, a strong on at that. "You're right, I don't. We'll leave in a day or two to head up to South Dakota. I got a friend up there who'll know where my brother is." Once he's convinced Bobby he's the real deal.

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"Oh, stop. I'm starting to tear up." He sounds entirely sincere. No, really. But he does seem somewhat relieved to get off the Lifetime-special topic, when Winchester changes it.

"No, The Whoever definitely didn't do that," and Stark truly does sound sincere about this. "I didn't mean protection in general, just a protection from seeking spells. Someone's trying to hide him, either for his own good, or theirs. Someone with some power." He pauses again, as if for thought, then adds pointedly: "Maybe a witch."

Stubbing his cigarette out in a convenient ashtray, Stark tears the tape on the bandaging on his burned arm, and starts to unwind the gauze, using the material to wipe up the traces of the weird herbal mixture he covered the burns with.

[whiskeynpie]

Dean rolls his eyes at the others tone, because he doesn't really think that James gives a shit and he's sure the guy has his own agenda in all of this some how. The guy can't be doing it just outta the goodness of his heart, that's for sure.

"Well ain't that peachy. Perfect, looks like I'll have to find him the old fashioned way." Dean sneers at the mention of witches. Fucking witches, he hates witches. Monsters he can deal with, people are just plain crazy and stupid. Though he certainly doesn't like the fact that something powerful and possibly old is hiding his brother, keeping him from being found. But like hell he's gonna let that stop him.

He watches, curiously, as James pulls the bandage off and tells himself he doesn't care. Doesn't give a shit. He's only going along with this until he gets to Bobby's, then he's ditching the guy to find his brother, won't need his help then. But for now he'll go along with it.

"Gimme one a'them key things, I'm hittin' the strip."

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That's a pretty good assumption to make; Stark doesn't do much of anything out of the goodness of his heart. Or if he does, he'd deny it under pain of death.

"Great idea." The flat, unreadable tone again, sarcasm or seriousness or plain indifference, it's hard to tell. "Even though that's probably what they want you to do." Of course Winchester will attempt to find his brother anyway. Nothing else could be expected.

Stark doesn't look at the hunter, concentrating just a little too much on cleaning the gunk from his arm. Tossing the wadded bandaging onto the singed remains of the map, he swipes a few last smears of alchemical goo from his skin and looks it over. Though it's only been around six hours, eight at most, since he sustained the injury, he's glad to see that it has healed completely. The forearm is back to its usual scarred, lined state, only perhaps a tint of pinkness remaining from scraping at it with the bandaging.

That next comment finally does divert his focus. Turning his head, he looks at Winchester doubtfully, scanning his face silently for a long moment. Well aware that Winchester plans to slip the leash as soon as possible, Stark can also tell that it isn't his primary concern at this exact moment. And why not celebrate a little after escaping Hell?

Stark lifts his hips from the chair to slide the cards from his back pocket, and offers one to Winchester. Only to pull it back as soon as the other man reaches for it. "Don't think I won't find you, if you take off. Vegas isn't as crowded as Hell, and it'll be much easier to navigate." A couple of seconds to let that sink in, then he extends the card again with a last piece of advice: "And stay away from the men's rooms in the Golden Nugget if you value your heterosexuality."

[whiskeynpie]

"I don't give a shit what they want or don't want, we're finding Sammy." And that was that. Cause right now finding Sam is way more important than whatever the hell is going on with him being back from the dead. At least he's not a zombie.

He waits for James to dig the card out, then walks over to snatch it up only to be pulled back. Dean scowls because he hates shit like that though he listens and rolls his eyes. "I'm not takin' off - not outta the city anyway. You gonna give it to me or what." Nope, not retracting that now that he's said it. When the card is able to be snatched up he does so quickly and pockets it before heading to the door and opening it up.

Dean pauses and looks back, unsure if the guy is joking or not. He doesn't think so. "Good to know, thanks." Then he's out the door and down the hall. He wastes no time in getting out of the hotel and finding a bar so he can order a few drinks, downing them in one- two gulps. The others go more slowly, not wanting to get too drunk too quick, besides he wants to enjoy Vegas and all it's trappings.