Two: Why the Winchesters Always Stay in Crazy Motels

John Winchester likes tacky motel rooms. He isn't ashamed to say it. There's something homey about them, something more personal when a room has mismatched curtains, 70s décor, and bowling pins hanging from the ceiling. More personal, anyway, than the generic rooms with their landscape paintings and berber carpet.

The boys don't like them, though. Or, rather, Sam doesn't. Dean's never had much in the way of taste: he probably couldn't tell the difference between the Ritz and a Day's Inn. Sam, on the other hand, always runs a finger through the dust, and scrunches up his face.

So, for Sam's ninth birthday John decides to splurge. He checks them in to the biggest, nicest place in East Lansing. Which isn't saying much, but the boys stare at it like it's a palace.

"Wow, Dad," Dean says in awe, sitting down on one of the queen beds. "This is almost as nice as home."

"What do you mean?" Sam asks, nearly bouncing in his excitement. He doesn't remember the house that Dean is talking about, the place that they'd moved from when Sam was only five years old. To him, this is the nicest place imaginable.

"Sweet. . ." Dean says again. John just smiles. It's nice to be able to please the kids.

He hangs up his things, reminds them sternly not to open the door to anyone, and tells them he'll be back by ten. He even sets his watch, to show how serious he is. He figures he should be able to follow it this time. . .tonight is just research. The hunt was to start the following day, which was fortunately a school day, keeping the boys out of danger.

The library is incredibly hot, stifling almost, and John can feel the sweat rolling down his face. The librarian keeps throwing him funny looks, and he can swear it's her generating the heat. She keeps glancing at him, then goes to close a window, takes another gander, and turns off the fan.

Like she wants to get rid of him.

Or like she enjoys the heat.

John tries not to tense up at the thought. His finger freezes on the page that he's turned to – of course. Golems, formed from hardened clay and dessert sands would enjoy heat. So if they enjoy the heat so much . .if she enjoys the heat so much. . .

He hands her a card for the motel, forces himself to walk out, forces himself not to look over his shoulder, even though he can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. She's looking at him. He's certain of it. But it's almost ten o'clock, and he promised Sam. He so rarely kept his promises. . .and besides, there was a full icebox in the hotel room.

Any thoughts he's had of the golem disappear as he turns the corner to their suite. Sam is sitting outside, legs crossed, a pouty look on his face.

"Sam, what the hell?" John runs to his younger son, drops to his knees, instinctively checks for injuries. Sam just frowns more.

"Dean kicked me out," he says.

This doesn't sound like Dean at all, and now John is even more worried. Dean would sell his soul for his younger brother. . .he certainly wouldn't set him in harms' way. A sickening feeling takes up residence in his stomach. What if the golem somehow got around him. . .what if it's inside. . .with his son. . .

Without a word, Sam holds up a walkie-talkie. It's been rigged to the on position. . .every sound made will be caught up. John feels a little foolish.

"Dean has a friend," Sam said. "He told me to wait outside for an hour."

"Really?" John asks, and now there's another feeling in his stomach, but it's not a very nice one. "How long ago was that?"

Seriously, Sam consults his watch. "Um. . .fifty-seven minutes."

"Good enough," John says, and he's too angry to look for his room key, he just lifts his legs and kicks the door in. He wishes he were surprised by what he sees. He's not.

Despite the modifications to the boys' look several months ago, Dean still has a way with the ladies. Obviously. The boy peeks up over the covers now. There is another heaped body beside him.

"Hey, dad!" he says, brilliant smile flashing. "Have a good date with the books?"

"Not as good as yours, obviously," John says. He walks over and picks up the huddle of blankets, not even checking to see what is inside it. He can already guess. Blond and busty. Dean is nothing but predictable. He walks to the door and dumps the poor child outside, grabs Sams arms, and turns to face both boys.

"Dad," Sam says petulantly. "That's not how we're supposed to treat guests."

"Oh, come on," Dean says. He's holding a pillow in front of himself, though he certainly isn't covering something that John hasn't seen before. He'd given the kid baths when he was younger, for Crist's sake! "You booked a gorgeous hotel room. Somebody had to get a use out of it!"

"It's my birthday," Sam pointed out.

"That's it," John says through gritted teeth. "New Winchester rule. We go back to the tackiest hotels ever."

"Why?" Sam whines. "I like it here. Even the hallway is better than our normal places."

That's when the golem attacks. In retrospect, John thinks that it worked out for the best. He told the boys that nice hotels attract demons. Close enough to the truth.