CHAPTER TWO
Dean grudgingly accepted that Sam was right, although it pained him to leave his baby broken down like this in an empty field. He handed Sam his duffle and shouldered his own, giving the trunk an extra, reassuring pat as he closed it and silently promising her not to be gone too long.
They trudged through knee-deep weeds and mud back to the side of the road, the storm seeping in through their jackets and plastering their clothes to their skin. Dean broke the lock on the gate with a well-placed kick, then looked up at Sam with a self-satisfied grin to see if his brother was impressed. Sam rolled his eyes. "Vandalism?"
"You're the one who's so eager to break and enter," Dean shot back, undeterred.
Sam shrugged and gestured at the sign hanging above the iron gate. "The Grand Hotel," he read. "Sounds right up your alley, mister classy."
Dean snorted, shifting the weight of his now-soaked duffle on his shoulder. "Come on," he said. "Maybe the cockroaches have clean towels and turn-down service."
On their way up the circular drive toward the entrance, they stopped, startled by a light that suddenly flickered on in one of the windows. The gauzy curtain in the window rustled and a slim figure moved into view behind it.
"Shit!" Dean exclaimed, grabbing Sam by the sleeve of his coat and pulling him down with him to duck into the bushes lining the drive.
The heavy, inlaid oak door creaked open and the figure stepped outside onto the top step of the stone staircase.
"Who's there!" called an uncertain voice, decidedly female.
Dean exchanged a surprised look with Sam, hesitated only long enough to weigh the potential unknown threat against the likelihood of contracting pneumonia, and he straightened, stepping out of the bushes.
The woman clutched a thin hand to her throat and stepped back into the doorway. "Who's there?" she demanded again, no doubt appraising the bedraggled appearance of the two strange men who had appeared out of the storm on her property.
Dean raised his hands disarmingly. "Sorry, don't mean to spook you," he assured her, doing his best to seem charming, given the circumstances. "Our car just broke down, just past the gate." He gestured with a vague wave, and she looked past them uneasily, even though there was no way the Impala could be visible from where they stood.
After a moment, she gave a jerky nod, then made a small motioning gesture with one hand, keeping her other hand clasped close to her chest. Sam wondered if that hand concealed a necklace or some other piece of jewelry, and if she had a habit of unconsciously concealing her valuables from strange men. He did his best to look non-threatening as he followed close on Dean's heels up the rough stone staircase.
"You're welcome to stay," she said, a bit hesitantly as Dean and Sam stepped over the threshold, mindful of the fact that water was running off of them in rivulets onto the scuffed hardwood floor. "It's just that... it's just me now. Since the-the... incident." She trailed off, looking self-consciously down, and then back up at Dean. "If you'll forgive the dust," she added, offering him a too-bright smile.
"We don't want to be any trouble," Dean assured her.
Sam was prying his wet jacket off and attempting to contain the dripping mess as best he could when he stopped and looked at her with interest. "What incident?" he asked. He wondered how far away they were from the job Dad had sent them to do, and whether there might be a connection.
Dean shot him a disapproving glare. "Dude," he mouthed. "Not now."
Sam looked back questioningly. Why not?
"Oh, it..." Her fingers went to her throat again, fiddling nervously. "The Grand murders. You know." She looked at Sam, puzzled.
"I'm sorry, we don't know. We're not from around here," Sam said apologetically. "Was someone murdered here?"
Dean stepped in front of Sam. "You'll have to forgive my brother," he said. "He's a bit of a-" he glared at Sam again. "Like a dog with a bone for details. Small-town history buff." He took the girl's arm by the elbow and smiled, oozing charm, and led her further inside through the paneled atrium, toward what appeared to be the front desk. "I'm Dean, by the way. What did you say your name was?"
"Matilda," she said, glancing down shyly and pulling away from Dean to take back control of the situation. She was clearly young, but she carried herself with poise and a sort of confidence that Sam had to admit was a quality he found attractive.
Jess had been like that, so independent. So damn beautiful. Sam felt his chest tighten at the loss every time she crossed his mind. Which was often.
With difficulty, he reined his attention back to the present, in which Matilda had crossed the paneled atrium to the front desk and was brushing dust off the open ledger.
"And this is my brother. Sam," Sam muttered darkly to Dean, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Very nice to meet you. Oh, how funny! No, I didn't even realize I was in the room either for a second there."
Dean, not amused, elbowed him hard in the ribs.
"What?" Sam protested.
"Dibs," Dean said under his breath, nodding in the girl's direction.
Sam looked at him with disgust. "Fine," he muttered back. "Ask her about the murders. It could be related to the-"
"Here you are," Matilda said brightly, holding out a key to each of the boys.
Sam took one of the keys from her. "One room will be fine," he said, thinking about the research they still needed to do. Even assuming he couldn't get wi-fi, which he conceded was likely, they still had dozens of articles to look through related to the disappearances. Dean clearly had plans to stay up all night cavorting, but Sam still needed to be able to shake his ass out of bed bright and early, and he didn't like the idea of being separated when they were staying someplace unfamiliar.
She passed a confused look between the two of them. "Oh, I didn't... I mean, of course, I just thought... I'll see which rooms have a king bed. I'm sorry, I must have thought you were-"
Dean quickly reached out and took the second key. "We are," he said firmly. "Brothers. And separate rooms is perfect."
She smiled at him. He smiled back, looking completely lost in her eyes, and Sam seriously considered stomping on his foot to snap him out of it.
"Okay, good. Come on then, this way," Matilda said. She turned and led them past the red-carpeted sitting room and up a wide staircase. Sam ran his hand lightly over the smooth, polished wood of the banister and kept casting sideways glances at Dean, whose eyes were glued to Matilda's pert backside.
At the top of the stairs, she apologized over and over again about the lack of upkeep and the dust, with Dean repeatedly assuring her that they were just glad to be in out of the rain. Every word from him seemed to draw a broader smile from her, and by the time they reached the two adjoining doors, Dean seemed to be unable to look anywhere else.
Sam cleared his throat. "Thank you. Again. For setting us up on a moment's notice like this. We really do appreciate it."
Matilda nodded. "It's been just me for so long... nice to have company." She glanced at Dean again, shyly.
"How long, exactly?" Sam wanted to know. She didn't seem that old, mid-twenties at most. But from the way she talked, she seemed to have been on her own for quite some time. And there was also quite a bit more dust than he would have expected if the murders she was referring to had taken everyone else within the last few years.
But Dean interrupted again before Matilda could answer. "We'll just get dried off and cleaned up," he said. "It'll be awhile before I turn in. Any chance of a nightcap?"
Sam did a double take at his odd word choice.
Matilda smiled and brought a hand up to touch a thin gold chain that descended into the neckline of her gauzy blouse. "I'll be downstairs." Probably a locket, Sam guessed, basing the assumption on the apparent losses she'd suffered. Or a charm, or an heirloom. Definitely something sentimental.
As she descended the stairs and disappeared from sight, Sam grabbed Dean by the arm and spun him around angrily. "Dean! Seriously? A nightcap? What the hell was that?"
Dean blinked at him. "What?"
"Look, you want to chase tail, fine. But we're probably no more than a few miles off the coordinates Dad sent us. You don't think maybe we should find out if whatever murders happened here might be, you know, our kind of thing?"
"This is not our kind of thing, Sammy. It's j-"
"Sam."
"It's just a nice girl all alone in a creepy-ass old hotel who could use a little male companionship, if you know what I'm saying. And look around you, man. This place is creepy."
"It's just old. It's probably on the historical registry in town. And Dean, I really don't care what you do tonight, but one of us should do a little poking around just in case. And don't get carried away, okay? We need to fix the car first thing tomorrow and head out."
"I guess," Dean said noncommittally, looking absently at the staircase where Matilda had gone. "I'm not looking forward to getting covered in mud and grease just to get a damn car working."
Sam, who had been fitting his key into the lock of his door, stopped and gave Dean a disbelieving look. "Wait-what did you- did you just call the Impala a car?"
"Huh?"
"Baby. You just called her a 'damn car.'"
Dean blinked at him again, then turned to his own door and jammed the key into the lock. "Whatever, man. All I know is, tonight, if the walls are a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'."
Sam rolled his eyes and pushed open the door to his room.
To be continued.
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