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

[nextinline]

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

[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.

[nextinline]

"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."

[nextinline]

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.