It wasn't long before she heard from the Winchesters again. She had just been getting ready to leave when there was a knock at her motel room door.
"Just a minute," she called, throwing a towel into the bathroom to dry and pulling a dark green shirt over her head. She was still pulling the hem down over the top of her dark blue jeans when she opened the door to find Dean standing there in a dark blue jacket. His eyes were drawn down to the generous amount of skin showing above the waistband before she managed to tug her shirt into place.
"Oh, wow, hey Dean," she said caught off guard. She held the door open, looking at him quizzically.
His eyes moved up to her face when she spoke, "Not interrupting anything, am I ?"
"No, not really," leaning against the door frame she scanned his face, "I was actually just heading out for something to drink. Mingle with the locals, see if there are any legends around this area. You know, just keeping an ear out," she shrugged. "Did you guys find something?" as the possibility struck she stood up straighter, excited at the idea of a breakthrough on the case.
"Not yet. Sam's back at the motel room doing research still," he stood totally relaxed, hands in his pockets as though he had all the time in the world.
"Oh," she said, a little disappointed, and crossed her arms in front of herself self-consciously, "Is there something you needed?"
"Yeah, Sam was wondering which spouse you talked to. The one that's still alive. Wanted to know if they said anything strange."
"Strange how? Is he looking for something specific?" Nothing exceptional stood out about the brief conversation she had had with the grieving husband, but he had still been reeling with the news and the idea of raising his kids alone.
Dean shrugged his shoulders slowly, "Hell if I know," he allowed them to drop down again. "Far as I can tell he's just covering all his bases. Guy lives for research."
"If that's all then, no, I don't think so," she said after thinking for a moment. "Counter question," a ghost of a smirk flitted across her face. He raised his eyebrows slightly, silently telling her to go on, "Did you two lose my number already? Seems like a question you could have asked over the phone."
He gave a short laugh and licked his lips, looking away for a moment before bringing his eyes back to hers, "Yeah, well, research is more Sam's thing. I think he gets some kind of sick enjoyment from it. So I just let him go to it. Long as I stay out of his way, he's happy."
"Aw, that's so nice of you," she laughed a tad sarcastically, "So that's why you drove all the way here? To stay out of Sam's hair?"
"Yep," he smirked. "Besides, the ride's not bad," he indicated over his shoulder where the gleaming Impala crouched in the parking space just outside Theresa's door.
Her brown eyes traced the contours of the car with nothing short of lust only real car lovers can understand. "Yeah, I bet," she murmured. Theresa looked back at Dean to see he had been watching her with a sexy, proud smile on his face and felt a small jolt of something other than envy go through her. "She's your baby, huh?"
"Sure is," that proud smile didn't fade as he looked back at the Impala. She had to admit there was something undeniably attractive about a man who appreciated a car like that, but she still had to see if he could actually handle the American muscle.
"So, you heading back to the motel, or does Sam need more time alone?" she asked conversationally. If they were going to be in close contact for the next little while, it couldn't hurt to be on good terms.
"No, I think I'll give him some space. All work and no play kind of guy." His eyes traced her again, taking in the black running shoes that were worlds better for any kind of real work than the shoes she had worn yesterday. "Maybe I'll join you for that drink," she watched that grin spread across his face, "You know, mingle with the locals."
As he repeated her own words back at her she rolled her eyes at his attempt at charm. Though he was charismatic, she had to give him that much.
"Well, I guess I could live with that. Company's always nice."
"I'll drive," he offered. She had a feeling there was no arguing with him on this. Plus, it gave her an excuse to get closer to that car of his.
"Alright, just give me a minute to grab a jacket," she turned to go into the room.
"A minute as in a minute, or a minute as in me waiting out here for fifteen minutes while you do whatever you people do in there?" he was already stepping back to the Impala, walking backwards with his hands in his jacket pockets.
She smirked, calling over her shoulder, "A minute!" She walked back to the kitchenette to pick up her jacket from the back of a chair where she had tossed it yesterday.
After slipping on her jacket she walked over to the bed where her stash of weapons lay inside a duffle. She wouldn't go anywhere in this town without some sort of defence since she still didn't know what to expect from whatever was terrorizing the people. She pulled out a small handgun and a thin dagger of pure iron from amongst the other assorted weaponry. She tucked the dagger securely into an inside pocket of her jacket, and checked the chamber of her gun for the silver bullets she always kept loaded before stowing it inside her jacket too. Feeling comfortably outfitted she started toward the door, taking her good, sweet time just to stretch that 'minute' out a little longer. She locked her door carefully before heading over to the Impala.
Dean was sitting inside, lounging back against his seat, one hand resting comfortably on top of the steering wheel while the other dangled outside the window nonchalantly. She flashed him a knee jerk, half assed smile as his eyes turned to her when she crossed along the front of the Impala and opened the passenger side door.
"See?" she asked as she got into the car, "Two minutes. Tops."
He cast her a look, one eyebrow raised, as he turned the key in the ignition. "If you say so. Now where is this place?"
She felt the car kick into life under her as she tried to inconspicuously run her hands over the upholstery. "You probably passed it on your way in. Just off Main," she explained as he pulled out from the space smoothly. The tires hadn't touched the asphalt of the two lane road when she recognized the music quietly pumping through the speakers.
"Bob Sager?" she asked, causing him to slide a sideways glance at her questioningly.
"Yeah," he said challengingly, "What about it?"
She leaned back, feeling the way the car moved along the road, "Nothing. It's not bad, I guess."
His only response to her dismissive tone was to shake his head and turn the volume up loud enough that she could feel the bass like a second pulse inside her skin. The dreary town landscape began to whip by as Dean pressed down on the accelerator. It felt surreal to see everything blurring by as old classic rock surrounded them. Her exultant laugh was drowned out as she met Dean's steady gaze. The rules of the road had been clearly and inarguably established.
The bar was just barely within the town limits, but seeing as the town itself was barely a town at all, it didn't mean all that much. The bar was a fairly spacious area with only a little over a dozen tables scattered about, many of which were, surprisingly, occupied. Five or six people sat up along the bar where the barkeep stood polishing a glass meticulously. Despite the fact the clock was only just nearing nine o'clock , the sun only setting an hour or so ago, there was already one man slumped down against the counter. There was a slightly raised platform off to one side where a few burly looking guys were having a game of billiards. From one corner of the bar an old style jukebox played music, which could only be heard in patches through the dense cocktail of chatter and laughter.
"Man, this place is pretty decent," Theresa grinned excitedly, "I mean, where's the last place you saw a nickel jukebox?"
Dean half smiled at her enthusiasm, setting down his recently empty bottle. "Yeah, It's not bad," he agreed, though his heart didn't really seem in it.
"Don't strain yourself," she chided softly as she took the final swig from her own bottle, setting it down closer to the middle of the circular table they sat at.
"What?" he asked, confused.
"Nothing, nothing," she shook her head. Dean gave her a look, that half smile still playing around the corners of his lips. They sat, looking at each other for a moment, an uncertain tension between them. Theresa was the first to duck her eyes away. She looked down and traced a finger along a deep scar on the polished wooden tabletop.
A waitress walked slowly by the table, smiling at Dean. "Oh, hey," he spoke to her as she drew even with him, "Think you could get us two more, sweetheart?"
"Sure thing," she lingered for just a moment longer than necessary before sauntering up to the bar to get the drinks. Both Theresa and Dean watched her go, but for entirely different reasons.
Theresa looked back at Dean just in time to see his eyes slide down to the waitress's perky little ass. She leaned back in her chair and when Dean pried his eyes away from the waitress she couldn't resist raising one eyebrow at him questioningly. He shrugged his shoulders, his facial expression a classic hand-in-the-cookie-jar innocent, which only made her snigger at him.
"So," she dragged out the 'o', deciding to sidestep a potentially awkward situation, "You and your brother seem awfully close." Taking about his family was really only one step up from talking about the weather, but at least thoughts of his brother would likely drive his mind away from the bar wench.
"Yeah. Sam's a good kid," the expression on his face spoke volumes about how close they were. "He's my kid brother. What else is there really to say?" He looked at her curiously for a moment, leaning his elbows on the table, "Only child?"
Her smile decreased just a little as she shook her head, "No," she paused, "What made you think that?"
Dean shrugged, "No one with any real apple pie family comes into this. And I've never heard of any hunters going by Priestley. Your family hunters too?"
She shook her head again, "No, no," she twirled the empty bottle so it rattled hollowly against the wood, "nothing like that." The way she wouldn't meet his eyes told him there was something else there, and she didn't want to talk about it. She looked back up at him to see that he was on the verge of probing deeper, but she knew as well as he did that asking a hunter how they got into it was never a good idea; no one got in for good reasons.
The awkward moment stretched taunt between them for a long moment. They looked at each other across the table again, but the growing sense of camaraderie that had been building between them was gone.
Luckily the well endowed waitress chose that moment to come back with two fresh beers. She slid one in front of Theresa with only a quick glance before sliding Dean's to him, lingering again hopefully. "If you need anything else, just shout," perfect whit teeth flashed at him.
"Yeah, will do," he flirted back, though it seemed a little half hearted.
Theresa lifted the fresh bottle to her lips for a long swallow as the waitress walked away swinging her hips much more apparently than before.
Dean looked back to see Theresa setting down her bottle, now missing a considerable amount. "Woah, uh, thirsty?"
She smiled again, trying to push past the tension, "Just a bit."
He pressed his fresh beer to his lips and took a long drink from it. "Since we're getting all friendly here, I've got a question," he said gruffly.
"Alright," she said somewhat hesitantly, wondering what he could possibly want to know. He hadn't struck her as the touchy feely type, let alone the type to ask arbitrary questions about her.
"Why Sam and I?" he leaned forward on the table again, looking perfectly at ease, though she suspected she couldn't brush off the answer with a joke this time.
"I heard you two were some of the best," the answer came out plainly, getting straight to the point.
"From who?" he asked suspiciously. Sam and Dean made more enemies than friends on the road. A hazard of digging up bodies and burning them.
Theresa shrugged noncommittally, "Dunno. Some hunter at the Roadhouse." Dean started in surprise which she misunderstood, "It's a small bar hunters tend to frequent."
"I know. We've been there before," he looked at her closely, "Who told you about us? Do you remember anything?"
"What?" his sudden intense desire to know left her a little taken aback, "No. Nothing. It was just some guy passing through ages ago." The look in his eyes told her he wasn't satisfied with that answer. She cast her eyes upward for a moment exasperatedly before looking back at him, "Come on. You know how hunters like to talk."
"No, not really," he said, "but if you say so," he tipped his bottle to her before taking a swig. Mimicking his gesture she took a small mouthful. Dean relaxed back into his chair once more as Theresa traced patterns in the condensation on the side of her bottle.
"How did you know we were going to be here anyway?" he asked after a moment, studying her carefully. When she looked up to answer him she noticed how his eyes were trained on her. Her first instinct was to look away from the curiosity she saw there, but she didn't; she tried to meet his gaze just as steady, though something inside her twisted in her stomach.
"Call it a hunch." Dean scoffed, obviously not a believer of such things. She snickered at him, "Alright, alright," she raised open hands to him, palms out, "I knew you guys were only a few towns over, so I thought when you caught wind of what was going on you'd head this way."
"Well that's-" he abruptly paused, "-creepy," he laughed. She couldn't help but chuckle along, embarrassed. Dean shook his head, "I'll let Sam know to lock the doors."
She couldn't look at him. Now she was some kind of obsessive stalker. "Yeah, well, uh," trying to explain herself got her no where. She stumbled over her words a few times before chuckling to herself, covering her face with one hand, "Okay, you've got me there."
Dean smirked, watching her reaction as he took another swallow of cold alcohol.
Theresa closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before removing her hand and scanning the bar for an excuse not to look at the smug face across from her. She watched as the two men who had been hussling pool walked away from the table, one happily to the bar, the other dejectedly left. "Hey," she pressed her lips together briefly, "how about a game?" she nodded over his shoulder. Looking behind him he noticed the now vacant pool table and looked back at her incredulously. "Oh, come on. It's not like we're getting any work done here anyway.""Really?" he asked, still not sold on the idea.
She grinned mischievously, "Could be fun. Maybe make a little wager," she leaned forward on the table.
"A wager?" he asked suggestively.
"If you want," she laughed, thinking she should have known that he'd twist the idea of a wager into something perverse. "I'll be right back. Think on it though." She pushed away from the table and stood up, walking past the bar to the small hallway leading to the washrooms.
The hallway was short, the walls painted a dreary, dirty off white. At the end an exit sign hummed dully over an industrial looking door. Her footsteps echoed slightly in the enclosed space as she walked towards the door near the end with faded and peeling letters spelling "LADIES." It was grungy, but somehow it didn't seem to bother her.
Just as she was only a few paces from the door the florescent lights above her hummed loudly before sputtering, throwing eerie shadows along the walls. Immediately drawing to a halt, Theresa's hand disappeared under her jacket, gripping the handle of the iron knife. The only sound was her breathing accompanying the fizzing of the lights overhead. For a few long moments she stood completely still, waiting.
A scream punctuated the strained silence. Quickly, Theresa charged through the door of the woman's washroom, the origin of the scream.
Inside a woman lay on the red slicked tiles. Blood bubbled in her mouth, spilling down her cheeks and neck where a long jagged gash spilled more blood to pool on the floor behind her head. From where Theresa was standing it looked as though the cut went almost clean through to her spine. A metallic smell hung heavily in the air.
There wasn't time to dwell on the horrific sight on the floor. Standing over the body on the floor was a woman. Her hair might have been long, but it was matted thickly together with an unmistakeable sticky red substance. A long, serrated slash ran across her neck, exactly mirroring the one the woman on the floor was now bleeding steadily out of. Her eyes were sunken deep into her face, a manic glint glowing from the shadow.
The spirit moved with insect-like twitches, each one accompanied by a loud, bone shattering crack. She moved in the blink of an eye to stand just beyond arm's reach, glowering at Theresa murderously. Theresa held her dagger primed at her side, waiting, but the ghost didn't move.
Suddenly it lunged at her. She sliced through the air with the deadly pure iron edge, but the apparition was gone.
The door banged open, smashing against the wall and barely missing her. Still charged from the encounter she spun, bringing the dagger down. Her arm was abruptly stopped at the top of its arch by a large hand closing around her wrist.
"Dean!" she gasped.
He looked past her at the grisly sight before letting her wrist go, only to grab her upper arm instead. "Come on," he growled, pulling her out into the hall and moving toward the exit.
"Wait! Dean!" trying to pry her arm away from him proved useless against his firm hold.
He didn't stop until they were outside. Dean spun to face her, "They find that girl in there," he jabbed his finger at the heavy door behind them, "who do you think they're going to blame?" His eyes locked on hers for the briefest moment, "Come on," he said roughly, grabbing her upper arm again he pulled her to the Impala; she didn't fight him this time.