Cold air bombarded her as she stepped through the sliding door of the market. Looking down at her list she smiled briefly. There was only one thing she really needed and there was only one thing on the list. Pie. She hated pie usually, at least that was what she told herself to stop from buying it, but today she needed pie. She had just driven halfway across the country in a car that really was impractical to drive around the corner in much less travel a thousand miles in.
She walked towards the limited bakery section and looked around. There were several types of cakes, cupcakes, cookies, even a large brownie, but no pie. Her heart sank a little. She had been telling herself since the last pit stop that when she got to Nebraska she would get a pie and celebrate, slightly.
But there was no pie. She looked bleakly for a moment at the other options. No, it was pie or nothing. She tore herself away from the bakery and moved over to prepared foods. Nothing, she wanted nothing. She was really irrationally upset about the lack of pie. Blaming her upset on the emotional turmoil in her life she decided to just set out and find a proper place to eat.
She returned the basket and walked out to the car park. Her 1965 red Chevelle El Camino Hot Rod didn't exactly blend in, but some considerate soul had parked a '67 black Impala next to her. Together they drew a phenomenal crowd but it also made her look slightly saner. Yeah, people probably thought she was crazy or related to some sort of gangster but people also saw that there existed someone crazier than her. Someone had bought a 1967 Impala hard top and compared to an El Camino they should be locked up in an insane asylum.
They had parked too close and she had just opened the door and the worst screech of metal on metal echoed through the car park. She cringed. It was too late now. She kept opening the door trying to ignore the sound and eventual damage she was inflicting on both cars. She was in and as she closed the door she saw the long scratch of red paint she had created along the door of the Impala.
Proper etiquette told her that she needed to leave at least her name and number. After digging around in her purse for a minute she found an old receipt for a six-pack of beer and a carton of cigarettes. Classy, and a touch too reminiscent of the past she was trying to forget. In a chicken scratch scrawl she could barely make out she provided her number along with an apologetic note.
'So sorry! Give me a call and I promise to make it right. - Anna'
With nothing left to say she reached out of her window and plucked the note under the windscreen wiper. Diving off she started looking for a place to stay. Cheap, she needed to save now. She didn't have a job, she had limited savings, and short of having some street knowledge and the ability to throw a loaded rifle around, she didn't have a ton of marketable skills.
This town was considerably smaller than Arlington but it was just a means to an end for her, a passing through place, by all means not a home. She wasn't sure she wanted one of those anymore. People talked about the human instinct to nest and she had always thought it was just what people do. They find someone they care enough about and they nest, they create a home.
And that is what she tried to do. She genuinely tried to create a home she imagined little carbon copies of herself running around the midsized townhouse she had rented. She imagined coming home from her dead end receptionist job and kissing her partner before fixing dinner. It didn't fill her with a sense of wonder and excitement but it was normal, it was expected. And then it all went to hell in a hand basket. But she wasn't focusing on that, she was looking at the Now and that was all that mattered. Right now she needed a place to stay, she passed a number of chain hotels she knew she could never afford before deciding to pull off at a little motel with florescent lights that would have spelt out Camelot except the 'E' had burnt out so instead it read Cam-Lot. It wasn't the Ritz and she was pretty sure they had charge by the hour options but at this point she couldn't be bothered to care.
She parked and walked into the run down shack with the words 'Front Office' taped onto the door. The room smelt of rotting flesh and she was pretty sure it was coming from the man behind the desk. As she walked closer to him she could make out the putrid smell of rancid onions and old fish. The man was deathly skinny, with sunken eyes and a yellow pallor. His greasy hair was dusted in flakes of dandruff, which sprinkled the desk whenever he moved his head. The white singlet he wore was drenched in sweat leaving it almost see-through.
Gross.
"Hi, I need a room for two nights."
"You sure that's all you need?" The man leered at her chest and she immediately regretted wearing the flimsy white sundress.
"Incredibly." She grimaced. "Just the room thanks." His smile revealed a set of rotting yellow teeth.
"Two nights." His eyes probed her body as he pressed some numbers into the cash register. "Two nights." He repeated. "That will be forty bucks." He flashed another sleazy grin and this time she thought she was going to be sick.
She pulled out two crumpled twenties from the pocket of her denim jacket and slapped them on the table. The man's nose twitched and he brought one grubby finger up to slide the money towards him. Immediately his hand slipped back into the elastic waistband of his sweatpants.
"Here are your keys." With his free hand he handed her the key. His fingers lingered on her palm for a second longer than they needed to. "If you need anything my door is always open."
"Thanks." She forced herself to smile as she backed away and rushed out of the building.
She was in such a rush to get out of the front office that she somehow missed the Jolly Green Giant walking around the corner with a bag of what looked like gas station groceries. She smashed into him and squashed her nose against his half raised hand. She must have hit metal because there was a distinctive cracking sound and pain radiated across her face.
"Oh fuck!" She yelled as she held her nose, which had insisted on starting to bleed, and backed away from him. "I'm sorry." She winced as she tried to breath through her nose. There was no mistaking it was very broken.
"Oh, uh crap." The man commented in a deep voice as he dropped the bag he was carrying and rushed over to help her. "I'm sorry I should have looked where I was going. My dad was always telling me not to read and walk." He smiled at her but she was too preoccupied with her nose to think about his words.
"Yeah," She scrunched her face. "It's broken." She winced again as she leaned against a light post.
"Here let me take you back to my room. I have some medical supplies I can at least set it for you." He must have noticed her hesitation because he quickly added. "Or I could take you to the hospital or something."
"Um no, no hospitals, thanks." She couldn't really afford the bills at this moment in time and it was just a broken nose they wouldn't be able to do much more than put a six thousand dollar splint on it. "If you think you can set it straight I'm not going to stop you." She hid her fear well.
If she told the truth she was petrified to enter some stranger's motel room, especially in this motel, but she didn't have many options, it wasn't like she could fix it herself. At least not without coming out of it looking like a science experiment. The man must have taken that as the go ahead and he helped her up. She was grateful because at the moment seeing was difficult and walking in a straight line was almost out of the question.
"Fuck! What are you made out of solid metal?" She asked with a laugh followed by a wince.
"Uh, no." The man responded earning a quizzical look from her. It wasn't really a question she was expecting an answer to.
"Okay." She was unimpressed. "Which room are you?"
He pointed to a room with pealing numbers on the garish orange door. Room 11-B. She looked down at the keys she had been holding and saw on the tattered lanyard the number 11-A glinting back at her due to the reflective stickers. They were neighbours.
"And you promise not to murder me with an axe when we get in there?" She was mostly joking but there was a serious concern underneath all of that.
"If I was going to murder you with an axe wouldn't I tell you I was going to, would I?" Great he was a joker. She had very little patience for jokers.
"Okay." Was her only response again as they walked the short distance to the grubby door.
The door creaked on its hinges and the sound made Anna wince. There was a man lying on the bed and the television was blaring some sort of prime time soap opera. Suddenly she regretted her decision on having this stranger set her nose. Her feet stopped and when she saw the man get off the bed her heart started pounding.
'Great, get yourself thrown into some sex trafficking thing! Perfect!' She yelled at herself.
"This is my brother." The man must have sensed her fear. "Dean. Here let me got you a rag or something." He moved quickly as he realised she was holding up her dress slightly in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.
"If you could just knock my nose back into place that would be perfect." At this point she just wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible. She lowered her dress and pointed her face towards the one not named Dean.
"I can, but it's going to need stitches." He gently moved her head from side to side, barely making contact with the base of her chin. "I can do them if you want."
"Who the hell are you?" Anna questioned as she listened to him appraise her face.
"I could ask you the same question." His question was light but she could hear the actual curiosity behind the statement.
"Anna Fulton, pleasure." She winced as she held out her hand.
"Sam Winchester." He nodded as he took her hand and gave it a small shake.
"Yeah and I'm the big brother, Dean." The shorter one waved. "Dude, where's the pie?" He looked at his brother expectantly.
"The market didn't have any but I got you a really big brownie." Sam was concentrated on wiping of the excess blood from her face but it was still pouring out of her nose.
"I probably look like Carrie right about now." She laughed trying not to move her face. For the second time that day she regretted wearing that stupid dress.
"I have some more bad news." This time Sam's voice seemed cautious. "Dean, I swear it wasn't my fault."
"What's wrong?" Dean's voice was as sharp as a razor. "What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything. Look the car," He started but Dean was already running out the door. He was back within seconds and his whole body was trembling.
"You scratched her!" He yelled.
Anna froze. The market didn't have pie and the car was scratched. No, it couldn't be the same car. There were at least twenty other cars in that car park and she would have noticed someone of Sam's stature walking around the small market.
"Look they left a note with their number I'm sure they will pay for the paint job. I swear I just parked her, when I came back out I saw it." Sam wasn't looking at Dean as he fished something out of his back pocket and slammed it onto the table.
Immediately Anna's heart sank, she recognised the scrap of paper as the receipt she had left on the black Impala. Dean picked it up and scrutinised the note before looking over at her.
"What did you say your name was?" Dean lifted an eyebrow at her.
"Fuck, you drive a '67 black Impala, don't you?" She winced as Sam started going at her nose with something that smelt slightly alcoholic and stung like a bitch.
"And you drive some tacky red hybrid?" Dean accused causing Anna to frown.
"It's a '65 El Camino, don't trash talk her." She demanded, fighting the urge to stand up and poke him in the chest for insulting her baby. "And it was your brother that parked too close to me."
"If your nose wasn't already broken I would bust it again!" Dean threatened but walked away fuming.
"That's assuming I'd let you." Anna scoffed, secretly hoping it would never come to finding out because she was sure Dean could take her.
"I'm going to pop your nose back in place now." Sam whispered.
"Do your worst." Anna braced herself for the pain. CRACK!
"Son of a bitch!"