Chapter 2 – Avoiding A Bitch-Face
Growling in frustration, Sam slammed his hands down onto the dashboard of the Impala. "Dammit, Dean, we've been out here for hours. Face it, she's gone!"
After salting and burning the bodies, Sam and Dean had jumped into the car and gone after the mystery girl, but she was nowhere to be found. She, in fact, had disappeared long before they had left the house.
Dean pulled over to the side of the road and shifted the car into "park." He sighed and rubbed his face; he was exhausted but wasn't about to sleep at a time like this. "Yeah, but what I wanna know is, where? And who the hell was she anyways? And how'd she get the Colt? And—"
"Dean!" Sam barked, holding his hand up to stop his brother. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. "I get it, okay. I've got questions too. Look, let's just go back to the motel." He peered at the clock, groaning when he saw the time. "It's 5:23…am. I've gotten, like four hours of sleep in the last five days. And you've had even less!"
"I've ran on less fuel before, Sammy." Dean scoffed.
"Dean…"
'Great,' thought Dean, 'here comes the bitch-face and the rant about how "it's not healthy" and "why can't you take care of yourself once in a while" and "you can't save people if you're dead on your feet, Dean!"'
Rolling his eyes, Dean decided save fifteen minutes of his time, rather than listen to Sammy whine. "Fine! A couple hours of sleep and we keep looking. Got it?"
A neon "Vacancy" sign blinked as the Winchesters pulled into the parking lot of the Motown Motel. The small building only had seven rooms to rent out; six were empty. Terry, the night manager, was unsurprised by the lack of customers. Special occasions and holidays were normally what brought people in. Most preferred to stay at the nicer, grander hotels, and, in Terry's opinion, the Motown was a dive. The whole place was grungy, sticky, and all around filthy. Not to mention the bug problems—though he would never say any of this out loud.
The Winchesters parked the Impala and walked into room four. Groaning, Dean flopped down onto his bed and immediately fell asleep. Sam, however, chose to stay up for a few minutes; trying to do what little research he could on the girl. He was, of course, unable to find anything so he went to bed too.
When the boys woke up, Dean relayed the information they had to Bobby, hoping that he might know something.
"So let me get this straight. You boys got your asses saved by a teenage girl, who found the Colt, knew about demons, knew that you wanted it, and you have no clue who or where she is?" Bobby was using his "dear-God-I'm-working-with-a-group-of-idjets-who-wouldn't-last-more-than-a-day-without-me" tone of voice; a tone that had been used surprisingly often as of late.
Dean rubbed his forehead in exasperation as he paced the small motel room. "Do you know anything or not, Bobby?" he sighed.
"Well sure I do; two things, actually." Bobby replied smugly.
Dean suddenly felt very attentive, his eyes lighting up. "And?"
"This girl definitely sounds like a hunter, but she's not one I've ever come across."
Dean nodded. They had figured as much. "Alright…what's the second thing?"
"You two chuckleheads got saved by Buffy, ya bunch of idjets!" Somehow, Bobby's chuckles managed to sound even more condescending than they usually did. Scowling, Dean hung up his phone as angrily as he could—he couldn't exactly slam his cell phone down onto the receiver.
Sam looked up from his laptop. "Anything?" he asked.
Dean gave his younger brother a dirty look before answering. "Nothing we didn't already know."
"Great," Sam sighed. "So what now?"
Dean opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of his stomach growling beat him to it. Rolling his eyes, Sam scoffed. "Of course…"
A tinkling bell greeted the boys as they entered the diner—along with neon lights, black and white tile flooring, white tables and red chairs, and a jukebox in the corner. Pictures of Tina Turner and Madonna adorned the walls and Michael Jackson's Bad played softly over the radio. Sam looked around and tried hard not to double over in laughter.
"Dude," he chuckled. "This place looks like the 80's came here, threw up, and died." He fought a wince as Dean smacked the back of his head.
"Shut up, man," he growled. "I'm hungry!" He didn't want to admit it, but Sammy was right about the place. It didn't even show any good bands, like Metallica or Van Halen.
As they sat themselves down at a table, Sam opened back up his laptop. If they couldn't find anything on that girl, he would look for another job. They might as well stay busy. A woman, who looked to be about in her sixties, came up to them. She had the sweet-little-old-lady-"would-you-like-a-cookie-dear" demeanor.
"Welcome to the Dynamic Diner." She smiled. "I'm Linda and I'll be your server this morning. What can I get you boys?" she asked, her pen poised, ready to take their orders.
Dean answered first, not even bothering to look at a menu. "I'll take three eggs over easy, bacon, ham, sausage, home fries, and white toast. Oh! And a coffee. Black."
The woman scribbled frantically on her notepad and turned to Sam.
"And for yourself, honey?"
Looking up from his computer, Sam smiled at the woman. "Just a coffee, thanks." Linda nodded and brought their order back to the kitchen.
Dean turned to his brother and looked at his laptop skeptically. "Dude, you couldn't find anything on her last night, right? Or twenty minutes ago either! What're you hoping happened in that amount of time?"
Sam snorted. "That's not what I'm doing, Jerk. I'm searching for another job. Listen to this: There have been thirteen unsolved murder cases in Akron, Indiana in the past two weeks! It sounds like our kind of—hey!" He cried out as Dean slammed his computer shut, almost catching his fingers. "What the hell, man?"
Dean glared. "Are you nuts?" he asked in an angry, hushed whisper. He wanted to avoid having to deal with the consequences of causing a scene. "Some chick's out there with the Colt, Sammy—the Colt!—and you want to just leave?"
Sam groaned. "Well what do you suggest we do, Dean?"
Rolling his eyes, Dean scoffed. "We find her, possibly gank the bitch, and get the colt back. Obviously!"
"Really? Wow, man, that's a genius plan," Sam replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "And how exactly are we gonna do that, huh? We have no leads, no ideas, and we don't even know who, or most likely, what she is! How are we supposed to find her?"
Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The fact that they had no clue what to do had him frustrated to no end! However, as Linda brought their food over, Dean was hit with a plan.
She placed a heaping plate of food in front of Dean and gave them each a coffee. "There you go, boys! Anything else I can do for you?" she asked.
"Actually, yes," Dean replied, ignoring the incredulous look he was receiving from Sam.
'What the hell is he doing now?' Sam wondered, hoping they weren't about to take advantage of the sweet woman.
"I'm Detective Hetfield, this is my partner, Detective Ulrich. F.B.I." Dean produced a badge from his coat pocket and showed it to the waitress, Sam following suit. "We were wondering if you've happened see a girl, looks to be about 17 years old and 5'4"? She's got redish-brown hair, about shoulder length. Probably hasn't been in town for too long."
Sam groaned internally. 'Of course. Not even little, old ladies are safe from questioning anymore.'
Her eyes flickered from the table nervously. "Has she done anything wrong?"
Dean opened his mouth to reply but Sam jumped in. If they were really going through with this, he wasn't about to let Dean screw it up. "Oh no, of course not," he assured her. "We just need to ask her a few questions, is all."
"Well…" One glance was all it took for Linda to fall victim to Sam's puppy-dog eyes. "There is one girl…Susie Allens? She came in not too long before the two of you. She's eating, just right over there." Linda pointed to a girl sitting at the bar. Her dark baseball cap covered her eyes and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing a pink tee-shirt and white ripped-jeans shorts. The boys hadn't thought to picture her in colorful clothing, causing them to overlook her when they first entered. Susie was sipping on a milkshake with a plate full of pancakes in front of her.
Yahtzee,the boys thought, smiles spreading across their faces.
They found her.
