Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just strongly recommend it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

TWO

Microtel Inn & Suites
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Thursday, May 25, 2006
12:17 PM

From the moment John Winchester had returned to the diner in Chicago, Amy had known she wasn't about to embark on a normal trip during summer vacation. John had been beaten and bloody, most of it soaked up in his black wool overcoat, with cuts across his face and bruises threatening to form under his skin. As he headed into the small restaurant in which Amy sat in the back of, she could tell that whatever he had been doing prior to arrival, it hadn't been anything as simple as picking up a few things from an apartment or saying goodbye to someone like she had originally thought.

In fact, while she sat there, Amy had spent more time thinking rather than anything else, letting the smell of cooked food rumble her stomach while she stared out the window. It was clear that John wasn't much of a talker, something they shared, meaning that he wasn't about to open his mouth and spill his guts over what he had been doing there and what he needed her for. She had overheard him and Joel speaking in the hallway about asking for her help, but as to why was never revealed, leaving that question still hanging in the air, as well as a few thousand others. Though her mind was riddled with things she wanted to know, things that she was curious about, Amy knew she didn't have the gull to ask. John had the likeness of a grizzly bear, and Amy had a feeling that anything she inquired about was likely to put him on the attack. Instead, she did all she could do and silently wondered about him—where he was from, who his family was, if he was married, and so on.

After slumping into the seat across from her and looking more tired than she had ever seen anyone appear, he had ordered a coffee from their gawking waitress and sat forward on his side of the booth, staring at the black liquid for some time. Not saying anything, Amy kept her eyes on him, noticing that he was clearly upset judging by the way he was glaring downward. A long moment passed before he got up to go, dropping a five dollar bill on the table and beckoning for Amy to follow. Doing so, they got in the truck and peeled out of the parking lot, a heaviness filling the cabin of the vehicle that felt suffocating as they made their way hurriedly toward the freeway heading west.

By the time they were on the main interstate, Amy began to feel crushed by the thickness of the air inside the car. Cracking the window a little, she let the cool breeze filter in from outside, whipping loudly at the speed in which they were driving. At the motion, John seemed to relax a little, shooting Amy a sad smile out of the corner of his mouth as she sat rigidly in the passenger's seat.

"You like music?" he had asked after a long moment, waiting until they had passed Arlington Heights to speak.

Uncertain how to answer, Amy had simply nodded. "Yeah, some."

Returning the gesture, John reached forward to punch on the stereo, the sound of a tape overturning in the deck making a clicking noise before starting up. Amy immediately recognized the song as one from Joel's numerous record collections that he had been intent on listening to every time he had taken to fixing something in his study. As he worked on the filing system in his home office or tried to reformat his work computer's hard drive, the sounds of Houses of the Holy or Foreigner 4 could be heard through the closed door. It seemed as though John operated on the same system, jabbing on Physical Graffiti as he drove and letting the music clear the awkward silence that was gathering.

Though Amy didn't know any of the song titles, and only recognized the album by its single, the familiarity with it caused her to relax into the seat, reminded of the times the muffled versions of the songs would play from downstairs, filling the house with the volume. As she thought about it, staring out the window to read the passing signs and peer into other cars as the truck barreled past them, Amy could feel a pang in her heart as she thought about her family. She had no idea how long she would be on the road with John, or even whether or not she would be back in time for school to start at the tail end of August, despite the fact that Joel claimed John had promised, and that uncertainty caused her to long for home. Usually, she hated being in the dark about things, preferring to know approximate dates and times rather than guessing. It helped set up a structure in which she could schedule things, and helped her know what she was doing beforehand. However, she recognized that this trip, or whatever it was, had been spawned out of spontaneity rather than anything else, judging by the way John had shown up an hour before one of the Foresters' major events, and that not even her OCD-like habits could put a timetable on what was happening, or where they were likely to be headed and when they would arrive.

Running her hands through her hair absently, Amy stared down at the frayed ends as they flopped to the side, hoping that she would be able to fix the mangy mess by the time they stopped somewhere for more than an hour. Slumping further into the seat, she pressed her shoulders into the padded backing and waited for the moment they pulled off the road.

Ultimately, that moment didn't arrive until early the next morning. Pulling into a motel not far from what appeared to be a major city, Amy had stirred awake in the passenger's seat to find John gone. Alarmed at first, she had looked around to find him inside a check-in office, talking to one of the guys and putting on a smile Amy had yet to see. Grabbing a pair of keys from the clerk, John had headed out to the truck, not explaining much as he reparked the car outside of a pair of rooms and handing her a key. Looking at the number, she had seen that she had her own room, though what they were doing there was still a question looming overhead. By the looks of it, this was simply a rest stop between destinations, and with John's exhausted eyes, it appeared as though that wasn't such a bad idea. However, as soon as she had gone inside, the adjoining door between their rooms had been propped open as John tiredly lumbered in with a large bag of something resembling crystals. Pouring some of the contents in a line beneath the window after shutting the curtains, then in a circle around the door, he had finally set the sack down to speak, gazing at her as though he expected her to open her mouth and begin questioning him.

"I need you to stay put for a few days," he said after a long minute. "Just until I get back. I'll leave you some money for food. Don't invite anyone inside, not even the maid service. I'll be back soon."

Bunching her jaw, Amy furrowed her brow in curiosity, but didn't ask for more information. Instead, she nodded obediently, wondering what use she could be staying inside a motel while John went off elsewhere. He had said he needed her for something, but still hadn't specified what. Rather than expecting him to explain, she waited patiently, hoping he would give her more details whenever he returned.

Unfortunately, it had been nearly a week since then, causing her to be thankful for the books she had packed in her suitcase prior to leaving her house. As she whittled the hours away engrossing herself in Life at the Bottom of the World by Jacques Cousteau and Rats Saw God by Rob Thomas, she paused occasionally to check her cell phone for messages or to make her way across the lot to the diner sitting at the edge of the motel's parking area. Taking her food to go, heeding John's words that she were to stay inside the room, she returned inside and locked the door before turning on the TV to try to find something decent to watch. After the first few days of the routine, Amy had become comfortable with it, wondering how long it would be before John came back to interrupt it. She was fine staying inside the motel, cleaning up when the space became too messy to handle, and spending most of her time getting her reading list out of the way.

However, by the time Thursday rolled around, the five novels Amy had grabbed on her way out had become finished, leaving her with not much else to do except for stare blankly at the television. Though there was more on during the day other than Springer and Judge Judy, thankfully due to the fact that the motel offered free HBO, there were only so many times she could watch War of the Worlds and Batman Begins before she began to memorize them line for line. Glancing at the clock, Amy could see that it was already past noon, meaning that she either had the option of heading to the diner for food or trying to flip through the TV for something interesting to tune into.

Sliding forward on the bed to mess with the knobs on the television, since the old set didn't have a remote and required hands-on channel changing, Amy jerked the knob to the left and allowed it to correct itself before deeming whatever was on the screen unwatchable. By the time she made a full circle, there hadn't been much there to see, causing her to turn it off out of slight frustration. Sitting with her legs crossed, Amy tapped her fingers against her knees in an absent rhythm as she looked around for something to do, hoping that maybe she had missed a book that had fallen on the floor. When nothing came up, she slumped her shoulders and glared toward the bathroom portion of the room.

The lights were on overhead, shining brightly as a source of illumination in the dark space. Under John's order, Amy had left the drapes closed, not bothering to touch them or look out in case he came back to see them cracked open. Though Amy could tell the guy wasn't one who was likely to explode on her yet, not like Jennifer Forester whenever something went awry, years of having to listen to someone's constant ranting about things being displaced had caused Amy to become cautious of changing things around. There had been a time when she was younger, having been ordered to watch Thomas and Tristan while their parents went out of town, that they had moved the coffee table in the living room back in order to sit closer to the television as they played video games. As soon as Joel and Jennifer returned from Indianapolis, the furniture not having been repositioned, Jennifer had blown a gasket, checking the surface of the polished wood for scratches and dings. Since then, barring a few more related incidents, Amy had been cautious when it came to doing anything against any type of order, expecting to get an ear-full should things go awry.

Clearing her throat and kicking away the memory, Amy let her eyes wonder closer to the television, eventually falling on the door between her room and John's. She hadn't been inside since he had left, wanting to give him privacy despite the fact that he wasn't there, but hadn't been told to stay out. In fact, the threshold between them was wide open, having been abandoned that way after John had dumped whatever was on the floor and leaving soon following. Knowing that it was most likely wrong to enter, and would probably garner her more incensed words than just moving the curtain sealing the window off, Amy couldn't help but become curious as to what was inside. In all honesty, most of that wonderment had stemmed from wanting to find out whatever it was that was shining up at her from the floor, hoping the bag had been left behind with a label to tell her whether or not John had poured something dangerous onto the carpet.

Getting slowly to her feet, Amy let her toes dig into the floor as she stood between the bed and the television, debating whether or not to go in. Though she was curious, she didn't know if it was worth breaking trust before it could be built. Heading into the man's room prior to either of them setting up some form of boundaries would most likely lead to her feeling guilty by the time he returned. However, John hadn't been inside his own space for longer than an hour, probably taking the same pre-emptive measures, or whatever that was, with the area around the doors and windows as he had with her room. It was possible, or even probable, that nothing was inside, meaning that her short venture in would lead to nothing but seeing the same single-bed, two-dresser layout of her room mirrored without having been touched and cluttered with luggage.

Swallowing hard, Amy nodded to herself before taking a step forward, walking gingerly as though to prevent the padding of her bare feet on carpet from being heard. As soon as she reached the open doorway, Amy bit her lip and gazed inside, noticing that it was exactly as she had assumed—made and unmixed. The bed hadn't been sat on, the chair not moved, and the drawers still shut. Looking around the room, Amy frowned at the emptiness of it before turning to go.

Ultimately, right as she was about to head back to her own side, something sitting on the small dresser beside the bed caught her eye. Narrowing her gaze, Amy could see that it was a thin wallet similar to the one she used to carry her credit cards and a tiny bit of cash—slight and slim enough to fit in her back pocket. Furrowing her brow and tapping her fingers against the doorframe in thought, she stared at the black leather as it sat open on the table, the glare from the bathroom light preventing whatever was inside from being seen.

Letting out a deep breath, Amy stepped gingerly over the threshold and crossed to the nightstand, reaching forward slowly as though she expected moving it would set off an alarm. Pulling it from where it had been thrown, she glanced down at the ID behind the clear window, seeing the bright blue letters spelling out FBI beside a DMV-quality picture of John. Below was a gold shield with Department of Justice engraved beneath a bald eagle. Biting her lip, Amy gazed deeper into the credentials, noticing that the signature on the badge was scribbled and illegible, though the rest of it appeared legitimate—or as legitimate as she could imagine having never seen one before.

Placing the badge back where she found it, positioning it almost exactly the way it had been lying and hoping John wouldn't remember how he had left it, Amy began to pull open drawers in case there were any other hints as to John's true cause hidden within the room. Curiosity now on overdrive, despite the feeling in her stomach telling her she was in the wrong, she slid open dressers, checked under the bed, and looked through cabinets before turning to scamper out of the room and back into her own. Though there wasn't any sign that John was back, no jangling of keys to tell her someone was trying to open the door, she couldn't help but feel paranoid that he would know she had been inside, as though he had some sort of sense about it.

Sitting against the headboard of her bed, Amy pushed her shoulders into the flimsy wood and crossed her legs again, tapping her fingers absently. The badge explained some things, though not much. If John was FBI and he needed her help with something, it was possible the bureau was reaching out for assistance on a case—albeit that sounded unlikely. What he had said out in the hall inside of the North Shore Hotel was that he was there to protect her and that it was important, which might mean that someone was after her. However, who that could be or why was a mystery. Amy had never had many friends, nor enemies, nor seemed to leave a lasting impression on anyone. If there was a person after her, it wasn't for any reason she could think of—unless it was happenstance, which explained even less. What it did explain, though, was that John had a legitimate reason for picking her up and taking her on a strange vacation. The reason why, whatever it was, was probably going unsaid to keep her from overreacting to the information.

Sighing, Amy reached up to grab a lock of hair, twisting it between her fingers. While she was sure she would be able to swallow whatever was going on without freaking out, she was also sure that John didn't know her well enough to figure that out for himself. It was possible that Joel knew, but Amy was certain that would she ask, she wasn't going to get much more of an explanation from him. This thing, this case, was probably something that was disclosed between the people who had to know—or that's how it was in movies, anyway. But if that was what was happening, why had John disappeared as soon as they arrived in, according to the motel stationary, Minneapolis rather than sticking around. If he was protecting her, then why leave? Unless he thought the semi-circle on the floor was helping do his job for him, then she wasn't there because she needed protection. Crystalline shapes didn't do anything by lie there.

Shaking her head and kicking the thought away, Amy got to her feet and rounded the bathroom to where her shoes had landed the night before. Slipping on the flip-flops, despite it being somewhat cold for summer in Minnesota, Amy reached for her card wallet and room key before stepping over the white line and slipping out for lunch.