Nothing Else Matters
Chapter One: We've stumbled on to something
Room seven at the King's Knight Motel sat in murky darkness thanks to the heavy, cheap velvet drapes adorning the soap spotted window. A lingering scent of sandalwood and mothballs trumped the musty stale air emanating from the once shag carpet.
Through the thin walls a low rumbling purr vibrated the tempered glass, dying away with twin squeaks, metal on aged hinges, announcing an arrival outside. The tinkling of keys danced into the space and a lock clicked then the hollow motel door swung wide preceding a gruff, annoyed voice.
"You know what you are Sammy? A pain in my ass, lay off already."
Dean Winchester blew in like a typhoon, flinging his duffle with practiced ease onto the bed closest to the door, hitting dead center on the ugly puce comforter that adorned its lumpy surface.
He scrubbed a hand down his whiskered face, rolling his eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.
Sam strode in behind him, wearing his 'bitch face of doom', as Dean so aptly dubbed it, closing the peeling, cracked door behind him. His brother was pacing again, already wearing a path in the vomit colored carpet.
Glancing around nearly made him groan aloud. Goldenrod yellow coated the walls; cheap dark stained furniture along with framed prints of long ago kings adorned the space and it smelled like month old gym socks. He was so getting some air freshener before the end of the day.
"Dean Come on…" he started, but true to self, Dean Winchester was in no mood to share and avoided any eye contact.
A few hours outside of Lexington Kentucky all the sudden Sam wanted to play Doctor Phil, but Dean was still pissed about purgatory, and all his brother's confessions set his teeth on edge.
When Sam huffed Dean shot him a glare, his jaw flexed and he knew he had to get out of there before he did something he might regret later.
He pushed Sam aside and bolted, slamming the door behind him as he went.
Sam, letting a pent up breath shoot out with a whoosh, folded his long frame into the cheap wobbly chair beside the requisite small table, rubbing his burning dry eyes as he groaned "This is going to be one hell of a week."
...
The late afternoon sun had Dean squinting into the ripples of heat coming off the black top.
He swiped at his temple as beads of sweat formed, dampening his short hair.
They had driven straight down from Kentucky in order to leave that last case in the dust, avoiding all major highways and sticking to the back roads.
He'd left the navigation to Sam, as per the norm, and they rolled into this little Podunk haven that sat east of the Mississippi just after one o'clock.
Dean peered down the main strip swearing he could see the whole town in one glance and made a rude noise in the back of his throat, peeling off his button down blue plaid shirt, tying it round his waist as he strode across the street to the local diner.
The AC was kicked up on max and he felt immediate relief from the blistering late summer heat outside.
Scanning the place he took a seat at the counter. A menu appeared and he looked it over, setting it down pretty quick. It was a standard diner with familiar fare, seemed like every small town had one or two.
The booths had red vinyl seats and a fake wood grain lacquered table top set with the customary shakers and metal napkin holders. The floor was some kind of marbled linoleum grey and the counter a Formica laminate, the edges worn by age. The stools bolted to the floor were of a dull chrome cast that boasted the same deep red vinyl seats as the booths.
Usual kitchen in the back with a window space for orders, there was even a TV set mounted in the far corner above the counter with the volume turned low. It could be a carbon copy of the last three diners he'd been in before purgatory, before hell, before Dad…
Dean firmly pushed that shit down and buried it then nodded to the waitress who slunk up to take his order with a too big grin on her lips. "What can I get you hun?"
Her southern drawl was about as fake as Dean's smile when he handed over the menu "Coffee and a slice of pecan pie."
"Commin' right up" she winked, darting off to get his order. He was damn surprised she hadn't added darlin' to that cliché crap she was churning out. He shivered at the implications. The girl was at least ten years younger than he and flirted with strangers off the street. It screamed small town girl looking for a way out and didn't care how she got it. No matter her cute upturned nose and corkscrew curls, or the curves and big brown Bambi eyes, that girl was trouble with a capital T.
His eyes drifted over the other customers, categorizing them quickly.
Two old guys in the corner booth by the sun drenched windows were old buddies bitchin' over their fourth or fifth cup of Joe, regulars.
A single mother had the booth closest to the front doors, her two kids doing their damnedest to wear more food than eat it, while she huffed, rubbing at a migraine in the making.
There was an old trucker sitting a few seats down from him, sopping up gravy with a biscuit, his eyes glued to the news and weather.
That was it, besides him and the girl in the back corner booth, beside the employee exit; a prime seat to observe and give a quick escape in case anything went down. A seat that Dean would have taken had she not already been there with her notebooks and maps, papers scattered over every possible inch of the table. All that and she'd only ordered coffee.
'The waitress must love that' he snarked in his mind, grinning over his shoulder.
He would have classified her as a student or into topography research from the looks of the maps, but there were no colleges around for a good ways and she didn't seem to be a regular even though no one paid her any mind, so she had been here before doing the same routine with the research…
That got Dean's attention.
He eyed the girl more carefully. She was petite, even sitting down he could tell she was shorter than average, she wore silver wire framed glasses that hid her eyes but slipped down her nose every time she looked at her notes.
Dark brown waves sat piled upon her head in a messy bun stuck through with a pencil to hold it in place and her dark blue shirt was buttoned wrong at the top, giving a peek of the grey tank she wore underneath.
She was pretty cute… for a nerd. There was no way that girl was a hunter. She looked determined, maybe looking for something big, something important, but it wasn't his kind of thing.
Dean eyes shifted back to the TV as the waitress, 'Margie' her tag read, placed his pie before him and poured a cup of dark roasted brew into his waiting cup. "Thanks" He sent her scurrying off with a dimpled grin as he palmed the mug, inhaling the rich aroma coming up off the steam.
The bell above the door jingled merrily just as he forked a bite of pie, which was left uneaten with a heavy sigh when he saw who it was.
Sam ambled in, casing the place like usual before taking the seat beside his brother. He progressed slowly, like he was afraid he would scare Dean off again with any wrong move.
Margie, practically skipping, came to a full stop in front of them holding the coffee pot.
Sam gave her a quick quirk of a smile and nodded, letting her pour him a cup, then he waved her off and turned to his brother. "Dean, I really think we should talk about this."
Dean pressed his fingertips into his forehead, feeling empathy for the mom behind them. He could feel a headache coming already.
"Sam…"
"Shit!"
The sudden exclamation drew every one's attention to the booth at the back.
The nerd girl was frantically gathering up her papers, her glasses shoved up like a headband resting in her hair. She quickly snatched up a pencil, jotting something down in the margins of her notes and then secured it between her teeth in her haste to get out of there.
She never even noticed the attention she had garnered as she dropped a twenty on the table and, clutching the mass of materials to her chest, left the diner in a gust of motion, with a wild look in her eye that was familiar to both the hunters she passed along the way.
Margie clucked her tongue as soon as the door swung shut. "There she goes again…"
"That poor gal just don't give up" stated an old man in the window booth, "reminds me of my second wife. Hell of a woman, spitfire Irish she was."
"It's a damned shame" agreed the other, ignoring the tangent his friend had drifted off in.
"Wasn't she in here last week too?" The trucker down at the end of the counter asked, "Could of sworn I saw her on my way to pick up my load."
Margie sighed "The Sheriff's done told her they were working on it best they can. Aint nothing she can do to find that guy any faster. Barns done chased her off from the station twice." She giggled as she pulled out her pink encased cell phone, her thumbs flying over the screen sending out a text.
Dean's gaze met Sam's and his arched brow said 'people man' as he rolled his eyes.
Sam took a breath and it caught when his attention shifted to a piece of paper lying at their feet. He bent down and retrieved it, eyes quickly scanning the untidy handwriting. His jaw flexed and he folded the paper, jamming it into his back pocket.
Clearing his throat, Sam launched his earnest expression and called out "Hey… Margie?"
Dean shot his brother a 'what are you doing' look and Sam shrugged. 'Just go with it' was implied.
Margie tucked away her phone and sauntered up to stand in front of him, leaning a little over the surface of the counter to give him a peek at her nonexistent cleavage. "Hey" she said sweetly.
Dean could barely keep his snort contained.
It was a herculean effort on Sam's end not to grimace at the shameless behavior and he smiled, though it looked a bit pained honestly.
"Uh… about what you just said, about the girl that just left…" Sam gave a minuscule shake of his head as he asked "what's the story there?"
Margie pouted at his question but humans were a social creature and she liked to gossip.
"Well" she drawled all breathy like, "A few weeks back we had some people go missing, drifters mostly, not anybody folks would miss you know?" She sighed dramatically, twirling a curl around her finger absently. Dean had the quick thought that she was just missing some gum popping to round out the image. He snorted softly into his coffee, hiding his smirk.
"One of these guys was a trucker on his way back home supposedly. I don't set much to store by truckers, except Earl here" she nodded to the man down the way. "He's a good one. Lives right on the other side of town." She nodded adamantly. "Well this fella was headed home for the weekend or whatever" she waved her hand with the roll of her eyes. Margie clearly had an opinion on truckers, other than Earl anyway.
Her nose scrunched up like she'd eaten a bad egg.
"That girl came blowin into town asking questions, causing a ruckus after three days of no news. Evidently the guy's her brother" she rolled her eyes with the shake of her head and Dean's jaw clenched. She was really starting to irritate him. "The Sheriff's done told her to leave it alone, that they were doing everything they can to find him and his truck, had to throw her out of the Sheriff's station even!"
Margie poured Dean a refill absently and sighed. "Then she starts commin' in here all hours of the day, spreadin' her maps around and taking up the table, keeping me from some good tips you know."
Dean doubted that, this little shit town didn't have much in the way of commerce. He was surprised it was still running at all.
"Anyway, she's just crazy. Tommy, down at the service station, said she keeps filling that gas guzzler of hers and going out to follow the guys trail or whatever… If you ask me, he ran off. Those types always do."
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Has there been any news, at all?"
Margie shook her head "No, we have local stuff going on, the Sheriff aint going to waste time or guys on some nobody that probably just ran off."
Sam didn't miss the sour look on his brother's face after that and he gave her a somewhat sickly smile, hiding it behind his cup. He placed the mug down and fidgeted with it.
"So… what's the local stuff?" He asked, looking up at her from beneath his lashes.
Margie stood transfixed by the patented puppy dog look, her breathing hitched and Sam saw the pupils in her eyes dilate. Dean nearly choked on his pie and Sam shot him a glare.
"Well… I'm not really supposed to be telling you this, but my friend Sally works down at the station as a receptionist and she said that the Sheriff and his boys found animal mutilations and devil worship stuff painted on the walls of the old tobacco barn out of Clifton road. She said it was painted in blood." Margie shivered looking squeamish.
Just then a couple came in arguing loudly and took the booth recently vacated by their mystery girl. Margie shot Sam an apologetic look and darted away to take care of them.
"Well that sounds like normal, small town creepy." The sarcasm could drip it was so thick.
Sam shook his head, thinking. "Probably just some teenagers messing around" he said distractedly.
"Yeah, when did teenagers messing around go well for us?" Dean wadded up his napkin and threw it on the empty plate. He looked at Sam pointedly and waited.
Sam sighed, closing his eyes in resignation. "No harm in checking it out."
Dean stood dropping a ten on the counter before leaving him behind. Sam grimaced and tossed another five down along with it before following.
Twenty minutes of tense silence later they were dressed in standard suit and tie making for the Impala, both falling into their roles like a well-oiled machine.
A/N: Hope you like this story and I know I would like your opinions about it so please review. This is my first Supernatural fict and I tried to keep it in character since I am a big fan of the show. There will be more to come as I have the whole of the story written out I just have to type it up and upload it so there will be a complete on this by the end. The time frame is, of course, after Dean has returned from purgatory and Sam has returned from the mundane.