When Sam and Dean left the motel around nine o’clock the next morning, there was no sign of Amy anywhere, nor any other members of staff; Sam probably reckoned it was such a small motel she could run it herself, maybe with a helping hand from time to time. Looking out of the dusty Impala window, the murky March weather was certainly not doing the town of Bennington any favours; all life seemed to have been sucked out of the town along with the absent sunshine. Then again, Sam thought to himself, having four murders in the last month probably doesn’t make a good tourist attraction.
As Dean...
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