A/N: Hi everyone. Just a quick note to tell you I have no idea where this story is going, but it will probably be a pretty dark place. Hope everyone enjoys.

No Vacancy

Chapter 1

Shivering. Intense, pain inducing shivering. That's what woke him up from the deep state of sleep he had been in, the uncontrollable shivering that was racking his body as he tried to sleep on yet another lumpy, uncomfortable motel bed under the ugliest, scratchiest comforter he'd ever seen or felt. It had been an overly long and tiring day filled with nothing but driving, and stressful driving at that. There was a blanket of very fresh, very wet and very heavy snow that had fallen very fast over the entire state, leaving the roads a slippery mess and damn near unsafe to travel on. They had become increasingly harder to navigate as the day drew on, and after too many hours of slipping and sliding as he white-knuckled the steering wheel and scowled every time Sam made some asinine comment about his driving skills, he'd just decided to pack it in and call it a night. The damn body they needed to salt and burn would be there tomorrow, it sure as hell wasn't going anywhere.

The motel left more then a lot to be desired, but it was the only one they could find in the little shithole town they found themselves trapped in, so unfortunately for them, it would have to do. The décor had been unusual, even by their standards. Along with one of Dean's favorite vices, the coin operated vibrating bed, the walls were adorned with bazaar paintings of half or totally naked women and men in rather 'interesting' poses, making them both wonder what kind of clientele stayed in this place on a regular basis. Dean was never one to frown on pornography of any kind, but this was just downright creepy, and it took a lot to creep out a Winchester. The bedding would have been more comfortable if it had been a burlap sack, and the sheets could probably be used to sand drywall if absolutely necessary, but it was warm, relatively clean, and damn it if Dean wasn't so exhausted from head to toe he was about ready to pass out. Well, the room had been warm, but the shivering told a different story now.

"Sammy…I think I have a fever, I can't stop shaking," he called to his brother in the dark room, feeling his own forehead and pulling his hand away in total surprise when he felt how cold his skin was. He didn't feel sick, and his own body temperature confirmed that.

"Me too man, I think the heat's out," Sam replied through his own obviously chattering teeth back to Dean, wishing he hadn't needed to exert the energy to speak.

"Dude, it's like friggin' twenty below zero outside. We can not stay in this room all night if it has no heat," Dean bitched as he forced himself out from under the pathetic excuse for a blanket and started searching for his clothes in the dark, having no idea where they'd ended up since he was too tired to do anything but throw them on the floor somewhere and crawl into bed, even if it had only been eight o'clock in the evening.

Sam curled himself up tighter in his own covers as he listened to his brother fumble around the room, perfectly content to let Dean fix the lack of heat problem himself, not really wanting to leave what little warmth he still had underneath his blankets, which in actuality was none. He considered rolling over and turning on the light to aid Dean in his quest for clothing, but that would require throwing the blanket off his frigid body and exposing himself to the freezing temperatures in the room, and that just wasn't a very appealing idea. Dean had been the one that wanted to stop so bad, so in Sam's opinion, that made the whole thing Dean's problem. The guilt hit him like a frying pan to the back of the head when he heard the crash, the bang, then the swearing.

"Son-of-a-Bitch!" The angry, pain-riddled curse filled every inch of the room, prompting Sam to quickly unbury himself from his sanctuary and finally flip the switch to shed some light on the scene. He jumped from the bed when he got a good look at his brother laying on the questionably clean carpet with his head resting against an overturned chair.

"Shit Dean, you're bleeding," he stated, rather shocked as he watched the blood flow from his scalp but reduce itself to a trickle as it ran down his brother's forehead and start to pool in his eye as he lay on the floor. He knew Dean had run into something, and run into it hard, but he didn't think it had been hard enough to actually draw blood. "Damn it, that looks like it may need stitches."

"Ya think?" He exclaimed, the irritation in his voice evident as he angrily threw what looked very much like a size jumbo shoe across the room, promptly followed by another one right behind it. "God damn it Sam, did you have to leave you're ginormous monster sneakers smack dab in the middle of the room for me to trip on and split my head open like a monkey with a coconut?" He couldn't hide the anger he felt, not only from the pain, but from the unbearable cold in the room.

"Well, at least you're not freezing anymore," Sam joked, knowing Dean was not going to find it very amusing as he made his way into the bathroom.

"The hell I'm not! It's so cold in here, I can see my own breath," he damn near screamed at Sam, who was already next to him, pressing a towel hard against his bloodied head, the stinging eliciting a hiss that he couldn't help but let out that only made Sam feel worse. "Give me that god damn towel."

Dean ripped the cloth from Sam's hand and shoved it hard against his skull as he pulled himself off the rather sticky feeling carpet, not really wanting to know why his skin stuck to it the way it did and instantly feeling the need to shower, determined to find his clothes and complete his mission of getting some heat back into the room. Finally locating his jeans and pulling them on one handed after what seemed like a monumental effort, he decided he really didn't need a shirt and opted for just his leather jacket instead. Slipping one arm at a time through the sleeves in order to keep one hand against the still seeping gash in his forehead, he pulled the heavy coat up over his shoulders and headed out the door barefoot into the freezing night.

He stormed across the snow covered parking lot with one arm holding his jacket closed while the other was still pressing the bloodied towel over his head, totally mindless of the cold wind whipping against his barely protected body and nipping at his exposed toes as he made his way to the deserted looking office, praying to god someone was actually inside. He shoved himself through the door, marched up to the counter, and relentlessly rang the bell over and over until a bleary-eyed barely twenty kid stepped out from the back, rubbing his eyes and throwing Dean a disinterested yawn before acknowledging he was even there.

"Can I help you?" He finally decided to address his obviously irritated client, totally oblivious to the fact that blood was streaming down his face.

"You sure can…uh…Brian," he started, noting the clerk's name and doing his best to hide his seething anger as his head throbbed under the nearly soaked motel towel. "Apparently, we have no heat in our room. Normally, I wouldn't complain about something so trivial, but since it's cold enough to freeze this blood pouring from my head into ice, the blood that's pouring from my head because we have no heat in our room, I really think you need to either come take a look at it or give us another room."

Brian looked at Dean like he had suddenly grown a second head before answering him, "Dude, did you make sure the heater was plugged in before you came all the way over here?"

Dean was not in any kind of mood for stupid questions, and the kid had just asked him the mother of all idiotic ones. He dropped the towel from his head and leaned over the counter to stare the barely out of his teens night clerk directly in the eye as his blood snaked down his face and landed in pooled droplets on the counter between them. "Do I look like a moron to you? It was working when we went to sleep, so unless gremlins came in and unplugged the damn heater while we were sleeping, I think we have a problem… Brian." Ok, maybe gremlins wasn't such a far-fetched idea, but the kid didn't know that.

"Jeez, sorry. You don't gotta bleed all over the counter dude." Brian stared at the blood like he'd never seen the real thing before, and he was somewhat fascinated by it. "So, what do you want me to do about it?"

Another stupid question that Dean felt deserved a punch in the face for an answer came out, and he could feel his arm cock back in preparation of splitting some knuckles on the kid's chin, until he felt the strong hand around his elbow holding him back. He'd never heard Sam come through the door, and lucky for the dumb shit in charge for the night he did. "I checked the heater, it's broken. I think you're gonna have to give us another room," he calmly informed him as he pushed Dean to the side, the entire right half of his face now a bloody mess.

"No can do fellas, gave you the last one I had, Honeymoon Suite," he snickered as he eyed the two men in front of him, both half dressed in the freezing cold.

It was Sam's turn to lean into Brian's face now, keeping himself between his brother and the soon-to-be-deceased clerk, at least if Dean had his way he would be. "You see that guy over there, he's my brother. You see that blood all over his face, it tends to put him in a rather foul mood. You see that key still hanging up there on your board, that looks like an empty room to me, so unless you want me to let him loose all over you, you may want to consider giving us that room. It's three a.m., you can't honestly be holding it for someone, can you?"

Brian turned and stared at the key in question, almost forgetting it was hanging on the peg behind him. His parents owned the crappy motel, and he was only doing them a favor by running the place for them for a week while the were having fun in the sun in Mexico. He'd grown up here, and in his entire life had never been in that room, not once. His parents had forbid it, warning him to never, ever, let anyone stay in it. Right now though, what his parents didn't know wouldn't hurt them, and hell, they weren't due back for another five days anyway. He'd let them have the room, pocket the cash, and everyone would be happy.

"Ok, it's all yours," he cheerily announced as he tossed Sam the key. " Turn right out the door and down the hall four doors to the end. Checkouts at eleven, but you can have it until three for the inconvenience. My apologies, and enjoy the rest of your night, Oh, and don't worry, I won't charge you for the towel either."

Dean stood there staring at the kid, not really believing how arrogant he was, and Sam knew he was just about ready to jump the counter and rip his head off. Pain tended to do that to his brother, make him just a little more then a little irritable. Sam turned to leave, grabbing Dean by the jacket and dragging him out and back into the cold with him before he could say another word and shoved the key into Dean's bloodied hand. The key felt like it was on fire, giving him a momentary jolt when he touched it, but as quickly as he felt it, it was gone, leaving him with an unnatural chill coursing up and down his spine.

"I'll get our shit, the car, and the first aid kit, you just go to the room and start cleaning out that cut. It is definitely going to need a few stitches," Sam observed, noting the fact that the wound was still bleeding freely, even after all this time, telling Sam it must be deep.

Dean said nothing, just stared at his brother like he wasn't really sure who he was, then at the key, then back at Sam, the stupefied look never leaving his face.

"Hello, Earth to Dean…" he snapped his fingers in his brother's face when he just stood there, jacket wide open as the howling wind pounded against his bare flesh. "DEAN, what the hell's the matter with you? Do you have a concussion or something?" It was the scream that finally caught Dean's attention, breaking him from whatever hypnotized state he'd fallen into.

"I'm fine Sammy. Don't forget my knife dude, under my pillow," he reminded him, not wanting to be without his weird form of security blanket.

"I won't. Get your ass to the room before that blood starts dripping on your jacket. You know how hard it is to get blood out of leather," Sam noted, physically turning Dean around and shoving him in the direction he needed to go while he turned and went in the other.

He'd damn near sprinted back to the room, the cold making his legs go as fast as their length would take him. He gathered up what few things they'd actually brought in with them when they'd gotten there and tossed them onto the seat next to him before turning the engine over and crawling the short distance to the new room, the parking lot buried in what looked like six inches of snow already, and it continued to fall. Sam killed the engine just outside the door, not really sure he was in a parking spot, but figuring it really didn't matter anyway. Who'd know with all the snow on the ground. He sat there for a second in bewilderment as he watched his brother standing just outside the door with the key dangling from the lock, but making no effort to go inside. He grabbed the laptop and first aid kit and headed for the door, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with his brother.

"Dean, you gonna stand out here all night, or do you want to go inside and get warm?" He asked him as he turned the key and threw the door open wide, not waiting for Dean to enter.

The room was nearly as cold as the one they'd just left, but when Sam flipped on the heater, he knew they were in business. The hot blast felt good on his face, and it wouldn't be long before the entire space was toasty warm. Well, that it would be if Dean would come inside and shut the damn door. Sam was starting to freak just a little at the sudden change in his brother's behavior. 'Shit, how hard did he hit his head?" He silently grabbed Dean by the arm and pulled him in, slamming the door hard behind him.

"What the hell is the matter with you Dean?"

"Sorry Sam, but my head really hurts," he admitted, albeit unwillingly. For some reason he just couldn't stop the words from coming out.

"Come on, get your jacket off and take a seat on the toilet. I'll stitch that up and you can get some sleep." Great, he never admits he's in pain.

Both men turned and walked the short distance to the tiny, sorry excuse for a bathroom, neither one of them noticing the blood puddles on the floor slowly absorbing into the carpet and disappearing like they'd never been there in the first place.

End Notes: Comments are always appreciated, even if they are not nice ones. Thanks for reading my weird thoughts.