"What's your story?" Deb asked, setting her coffee pot down. The man looked kind of old to be a hustler, and too clean-cut, but he was definitely dressed like he wanted some sugar daddy to pick him up.

Dean looked up from the table. He was tired, and this diner had been the only place open. He needed coffee before he got back to work. "Nothing," he grunted.

Debbie whacked the back of his head and then pointed at his face with a red colored nail. "Don't lie."

Dean winced and rubbed the back of his head. "Fuck, fine!"

Debbie nodded, pleased, and folded her arms. "So?"

"...It's... Sam," Dean grunted. He didn't know if he should call him his brother or not. They might have to canvass this part of town later, and their covers as newspaper reporters wouldn't be as convincing if everyone knew they were related.

Debbie rolled her eyes. A man. Of course. "So? What happened?"

Dean shrugged stiffly. "He's involved in this... stuff. This evil bitch got him into it, and... now I'm really worried."

"Mm," Debbie said, sitting across from him. The poor man looked really sad. It just about broke her heart. "What stuff?"

"Just stuff," Dean said, averting his gaze. The woman was intimidating, and yet he couldn't help opening up to her. "I think he's addicted or something."

Debbie sighed heavily. Crystal. Of course. She pulled a business card out of her pocket for the local rehab center and handed it to him. "All you can do is ask him to get help, honey."

Dean blinked at the card, and then at the woman. She smiled and slapped his cheek, and refilled his coffee mug.