Sam turned his head to look out the window to see spatters of rain hitting the windscreen and windows of the car and nothing but a dark stretch of dimly lit road lying in front of them. Sam’s mind wondered to his father. Was this what he wanted them to do? Sam almost laughed to himself. Of course it was. That man had thought that the job was the most important thing in the world. Sam’s light smile faded as he felt the heavy, sagging weight of guilt as he remembered how badly he’d treated his father, especially as he’d adapted from being a teenager to an early adult. He knew in his heart that his father had always done what was best for them, after their mother’s death. Another fairly unpleasant thought. Sam blinked and mentally shook himself back to reality again. There was no point in dwelling on the past, Sam thought. It’s me and Dean, we’re what matters now.
Sam was brought out of his deep thoughts that had been lingering in his head, admittedly, for quite some time now, and raised his head in response to the sharp left Dean had made off the main road and down onto an unused gravel driveway that crunched as the Impala’s wheels rolled above it.
“Are you telling me this is the best motel you could have found?” Sam asked, with a tone of annoyance in his voice. They always stayed in the crappest places. He supposed there were setbacks with the job after all.
“Dude, you really think I’d want to stay here out of choice?” Dean replied with equal resentment at their latest accommodation in his voice. He steered the Impala down the rough, dusty driveway and switched off the engine as they parked outside the Hill’s Mount Motel. Sam and Dean got out the car and the doors of the Impala creaked rebelliously as they pushed them shut. Dean didn’t know about Sam, but his faith in the motel that had appeared as bearable on the highway at one o’clock in the morning seemed to be decreasing quite quickly as he looked up at the sign above the front door of the lobby. Ivy was infecting its way around every crevice in the sign, and it blew occasionally in the cold night breeze. Dean shivered as even his trusted, worn, but loved leather jacket couldn’t handle the air of the night. He wondered round to the other side of the car and gave his brother an unreadable look. Sam grabbed their duffle bags and they approached the entrance to the motel lobby.
As they entered the run-down, seemingly empty reception desk, Sam laid his finger on the rusty bell and pushed a couple of times. As they waited, he took in their surroundings. As he’d grown up a hunter, observing and memorising details if needed was a skill both the brother had learned to adopt over the years. On the two walls on the sides of the desk were old, antique paintings of landscapes and the outside of the motel in better days, and on one side there was a small table with a delicate hand-finished vase resting on it.
Dean was also looking around and inspecting the lobby, but more out of curiosity than Sam’s eye for important details; the research and the memory storage was his little brother’s department. Dean was brought out of his scanning much earlier than Sam was, however, because coming closer to the desk was a young woman, Dean would have guessed in her early twenties, with shoulder length chestnut hair and wearing a low cut pastel blouse and jeans.
“Can I help you guys?”
“Oh yeah.” Dean replied; this woman was within his range. Sam threw his brother a behave-yourself look and gave an apologetic look to the woman.
“I’m sorry, yes, we’d like a twin room for...3 nights please.”
“Sure thing. Don’t worry about not getting a room, we’re pretty much empty tonight.”
“Yeah, we noticed,” said Dean. “How come?”
“Oh, it’s holiday season. Everyone’s got out of this little backwoods town by now and have hit the beaches. Helen, by the way.” She held out her hand and Sam shook it, then she gestured it to Dean and he did the same.
“I’m Dean, this is Sam. You know, we heard about the local tragedy here, the road accident, was it a few months ago now?”
Helen seemed taken aback that she’d been asked, and looked down as sadness seemed to cast over her features. Sam picked up on this and gave a look with his eyes to back-track the conversation; this was obviously something Helen wasn’t comfortable with.
“We didn’t mean to pry, we’ll let you get on,” Sam offered.
Helen looked up at them and said “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude to my guests, but it’s just...the man who was killed in that crash – he was my brother.”
Sam’s facial features softened and he gave her a sympathetic look; Dean raised one eyebrow and looked down, guilty for asking now.
“Oh, we’re sorry...you know.” Dean said; he felt bad interrogating this woman who they’d just met for information on her brother’s death.
Helen’s face seemed to change back into its starting position, and she collected herself again.
“No. It’s fine. You didn’t know. Um, you’re in Room 138. It’s up the staircase, to the left and down the corridor.”
Feeling that this encounter had been awkward enough, Sam gestured Dean to follow him as they went up the main staircase to find their room for the next few nights. When they’d found Room 138 at the end of a corridor that seemed otherwise uninhabited, Sam and Dean threw their small bags onto the beds; travelling around so much and so far had taught both of them that travelling light was essential.