Dean opened the door to the motel lobby, allowing Sam to enter first. They had spent the entire day packed in the Impala after discovering many odd reports from this small town and were ready to bunk down for the night.
Sam approached the tiny receptionist, who was comically short and frail-looking compared to the absolute pillar of muscle that was Sam Winchester. She had curly, dyed-black hair with bright neon green bangs that cut off just above her thickly outlined, piercing blue eyes. She looked up from the pointless doodles she'd been mindlessly drawing on the cheap motel stationery with a bored expression, her jaw habitually moving up and down over her stale chewing gum.
Sam subconsciously hunched over a little, trying to appear less intimidating, not that she showed any nervousness or fear, or any emotion, for that matter. He placed a hand on the counter, reaching the other to his back pocket to draw out his wallet.
"Hi. We'd like a room," he said, motioning to Dean, who was standing inside the front glass door and looking out at the sky with a quizzical expression.
The girl stared blankly up at Sam, still grinding her gum, flicked her eyes to Dean for a few seconds, then looked back to Sam. "Two singles or a double?"
It took a moment for Sam to recover from how surprisingly low her voice was. If she noticed his discomfort, she didn't show it and just stared, waiting for his reply. "Uh, singles, please," he said, sliding his fake credit card of choice across the counter. She took it and went about registering the guests.
Sam turned around and looked at Dean. "Dude, stop staring at that thing."
" 'S weird, Sammy. It's very weird."
"Well, why don't you scout us out some food instead?" Sam suggested, pointing to the nearby illuminated Arby's sign. The distraction worked, and Dean was now digging out his keys, ready to savor some delicious, greasy fast-food gifts from heaven.
"Here," came that uncharacteristically low voice from behind the counter. Sam turned to see the girl holding out his card, took it and slid it back into his wallet. She then handed him the key to their assigned room, complete with an obnoxiously large plastic key chain that advertised their local radio station.
"Be sure to tune in to our nightly broadcast for all of your local news!" it read, along with the number of the station. The receptionist must have been watching him as he read because she piped in, "It's gonna start soon. There's a radio in your room." She then picked up her pen to continue her doodle.
"Yeah, um, thanks," Sam searched for her name tag, "Stephanie." He gave a small wave.
"Yeah, sure," she sighed, then gave him a practiced smile that looked like it actually hurt a little to form.
"Welcome to Night Vale."