Chapter 4
…
Solano Street, Silver Hills
10:23 am
Celia settled the plus nozzle into the Silverado's gas tank at the same time she slid a fraudulent credit card and punching in a pin number. She locked the release into place and listened for a second as the gasoline rolled up the hose and poured into the tank. Making sure that the transaction has time to process Celia easily snapped the card in half and tossed it into the nearest trash can.
"Thank ya, Ms. Jane Wonski. Nice doin' business with ya," she muttered and settled her frame back against the side of the bed. She reached up and casually draped her arms over the edge of the bed and let her head fall back. Her Stetson hat moving and threatening to fall off her head entirely except for being pinned into place between her head and the truck.
Celia shut her eyes and listened to the gas gushing into her tank, humming under her breath. The tune died in her throat at the familiar, predatory growl that rippled over the gas station parking lot. She forced her eyes open and looked around as the sleek black muscle car rolled up. The 1967 Chevrolet Impala was the closest thing to 'home' the Winchesters had ever known, and she was in pristine condition. Exceptional considering that Dean had once had to rebuild the car basically from a scrap heap of twisted metal. Celia watched the Impala cruise up to rest behind the Silverado and listened as the engine died and the doors swung open with a familiar, and almost comforting, creak. The two brothers unfolded and slipped themselves out onto the asphalt and stalked toward Celia. Sam hesitated for a second as Valentine dropped out of the back seat and trotted up to her. Celia shifted one arm down to scratch at Valentine's ears.
"Feelin' better Sam?" she asked quietly, already reading in his pained and sour face that he was not. Whatever 'make-up' argument the two brothers had entered into it was wearing them both down. Dean looked older than his twenty eight years and Sam looked like his spine had bent under the weight of his existence.
"We want a motel," Dean said flatly.
"Oh God…" Celia muttered under her breath and rolled her head back against the truck.
"Celia, you, me and Sam, none of us want to be caught with our pants down, especially by a pack that kills like that," Dean growled, switching on the dominate older brother within.
"We're tired, Red." Sam put in, "We smell like leather and gasoline, including you and we're so stressed out we're not thinking straight--"
"Alright. Alright…" Celia waved at them. "…I don't like it but I'm out voted…pick a place." She turned her attention to the nozzle when the handle clicked and snapped out of place. She pulled the nozzle free, set it back into the cradle and twisted the cap back on before snapping the cover into place.
"Already got one, on the skirts of town. Silver Ring Motel, guy at Target said we couldn't miss it, it's on the same street as the Clock Tower."
"Target?" Celia cocked her head slightly. "Ya got pissed and ran off to Target?"
"I like Target," Sam defended himself.
"What'd ya get at Target?" she asked.
"I got a new machete because mine was bent--" Sam looked pointedly at Celia.
"Sorry…" She shrugged.
"--and we got some other supplies. Rock salt, flu medicine and aspirin, lighter fluid, couple of rosaries, socks…" Dean counted off.
"Damn, ya can just get anythin' at Target nowadays," Celia muttered and pulled open her cab door and letting Valentine jump in to join the other shepherd, Buckshot, in the back seat. "Lead the way."
Dean and Sam nodded and turned back to climb into the Impala, reversing and pulling out onto the street with the Silverado on their tail.
A ten minute drive through the city gave Celia a chance to look around. It wasn't as big as some of the cities they had Hunted in; Cincinnati, Milwaukee, Las Vegas, Saint Louis, New Orleans and others were bigger, brighter and had their own NFL and MLB teams. But Silver Hills was still too much of a city for Celia's taste. Once turned down the street they were looking for Celia's eyes wouldn't leave the brick work and painted exterior walls of the massive clock tower that she knew at one point must have risen well above the rest of the town. Now over shadowed by larger buildings she would bet good money there were a few spirits lingering in its walls. Celia followed the Impala further down the street and pulled into the parking lot of a well kept little motel.
The buildings were two stories with small cat walks and stairs down to the asphalt. The brick building was broken by the red painted doors and the gold numbers. A little neon sign pointed the way to the office and that the Silver Ring was open with vacancies and pet friendly. Good, at least they wouldn't have to stress themselves out trying to keep Buckshot and Valentine under wraps. Celia steered the truck into a spot parked next to the Impala and the three Hunters slid out of their seats, the two dogs dropped to the earth with grunts. Two doors swung shut with thuds.
"Keys," Celia called and held out hand.
"I'm staying, Dean can handle it," Sam said, walking around to the trunk of the Impala as the elder Winchester walked toward the office. Sam and Celia could almost see the charm pouring off Dean as he went. Celia helped Sam gathered the Winchester's duffle bags of clothes and then went for her own while Sam packed a smaller duffle full of the usual necessities. A few sawed off shotguns, a couple of hand guns and hunting knives, salt, lighter fluid, ammunition, some pink chalk and a few of Sam's books for study.
Celia walked back around the truck, her own duffle bag slung over her shoulder and a smaller pack of dog food and her own favorite weapons over the same shoulder.
"Can you take this?" Sam asked, holding out the weapons bag. She shifted her own packs a little higher and took it off his hands.
Both looked up as Dean strolled across the parking lot with a grin and twirling a set of keys between his fingers.
"How many ya get?" Celia asked.
"One."
She and Sam both let out disgruntled growls.
"Hey, it's cheaper and easier to keep an eye on each other that way!" Dean defended, holding out his hands and before Sam could offer him a duffle bounded toward one of the sets of stairs and started up.
"Dean! The whole point was to get some room to relax!" Sam barked back, already starting after his brother.
"How the hell is it supposed to be any kind of relaxin' if we're steppin' on each other and the dogs?!" Celia snapped. The two shepherds barked in agreement.
"God. Sam. Celia. Stop bitching," Dean growled. "You guys act like I've never rented a room before. I asked alright. She said they're apartment style: kitchen, den, bathroom, bed room, plenty of space for the five of us. Unwad your underwear. That's why it costs so damn much."
Sam and Celia glanced at each other and muttering under their breaths followed the unlaiden brother up the stairs and onto the catwalk, standing back while Dean unlocked and stepped into their room, 34, and the dogs in after him. Sam slipped in then Celia last, stretching awkwardly to shut the door then flicked on the light.
"Alright…we were wrong," Celia admitted and Dean grinned smugly.
The room could have passed for a loft style apartment, and there really was enough room for the group of five. And luckily the room wasn't one of the more… 'exotic' decors. The Winchesters and Celia had experienced the spectrum of human creativity for a motel room. Everything from disco fever to floral to urban cowboy. The owners of the Silver Ring had stuck with a simple dark red and black color scheme to accent the brickwork and hard woods. Plain, but comfortable furniture, no eccentric art work or wall paper and seemingly clean was more than they could have hoped for. The two Winchesters and Celia all breathed out a sigh of relief. Sam instinctively crossed the space of the kitchen and den area to where two Queen beds were pushed against a wall with a small nightstand and lamp between. The younger Winchester tossed the two heavy duffels onto one. Celia followed him and dropped her own packs and the weapon's bag on the floor between the beds.
Valentine and Buckshot barked and bounded onto the still empty bed and rolled around in the bedding, snapping at each other and yelping before stretching themselves across the mattress and making to go to sleep. The dogs had always had a habit of showing the emotions that Sam, Dean and Celia kept to themselves. Sam didn't restrain himself and fell forward and face first into the burgundy comforter. He let out a groan between exhaustion and ecstasy. Dean and Celia exchanged looks and Celia lighted a hand on the small of Sam's back, leaning over him.
"Ya gonna show--"
"No," Sam grunted, cutting her off. He made an odd wiggle, belly crawling forward until he was totally on the bed, only his boots hanging over the edge. Celia shrugged and looked toward Dean.
"I can wait." He shrugged.
Celia let out a small smile of relief and mouthed a 'thank you' to the elder Winchester; she may have been a Hunter, a rancher and raised by men, but she was still a female. Celia dug into her pack and tugged out her small bathroom kit and grabbed a clean set of clothes before following Dean's nod toward the bathroom.
Dean turned his attention back to his collapsed brother and the two dogs in time to watch Valentine carefully balance on the edge of the mattress before launching off to basically body slam Sam, the man barking and the dog yapping and tugging at Sam's shirt while the tall man tried to curl up and burrow into the comforter and mattress. The elder Winchester shook his head and grumbled something under his breath about sasquatch brothers and mental dogs.
"I'm going to grab some groceries!" Dean barked loud enough that it could be heard in the bathroom as well in the main unit. He looked at the Impala's keys in his hand before grinning and stalking over toward the pile of Celia's gear and carefully extracted the keys from the disrupted clothes. He palmed them and backed away from the duffels.
"I'm taking the Silverado!" Dean barked, rushing for the door.
"The Hell ya are!" Celia's voice snapped from behind the door and Dean caught the tail end of a scramble at the door. He started laughing manically and sprinted to the truck.
"Dean!" He glanced back to see Celia struggling back into her jeans and yank a flannel button down on over her bra giving up on buttoning it and letting it hang open. The two shepherd's heads snapped up and they launched off the beds to gallop after her.
"See ya, Celia! I'll get you stuff for pancakes!" Dean slammed the door and dashed down the catwalk and stairs.
"Dean! STOP!" she barked, yanking the door back open and taking a massive risk racing barefoot out onto the catwalk, half dressed and without her Stetson hat on. Her red hair was loose, flying around her face. It was the same dark, fresh blood color of her eyes and grown down around her shoulders, but growing from her hair line and curving back over her head was a small set of ram's horns, each just under six inches long and just able to hide under the Stetson hat or a bandanna tied in place. The russet hair, blood eyes and burgundy ram's horns were all gifts from the demon, Shuka Wakan, that had braided itself with Celia's existence for the majority of her life.
She rushed to the railing and leaned over, her eyes locking on Dean as he tore toward the white Silverado.
"Dean! That's my truck!"
He didn't respond, just raced toward the white vehicle and yanked the door open, hauling himself up into the super crew cab, cranking the engine on before he was settled in the seat. The engine choked, strangling in Dean's rush.
"Damnit!" he snarled, he needed more time and flashed his eyes back to Celia.
"WINCHESTER!" Celia raced down the stairs.
"Christo!" Dean yelled at the top of his lungs. Celia let out a choked yelp at the word, tripping at the base of the stairs and crashing hard to the earth.
She scrambled back to her feet, staggering, her red eyes flickering black and animal like teeth bared. Dean flinched, feeling a flash of guilt for using the old trick but he was well aware that he would probably pay for it later and twisted the key, the Silverado thundered to life. The elder Winchester reversed the truck and lurched around onto the street, gunning the huge V8 engine to get away.
"WINCHESTER!" Celia sprinted barefoot across the parking lot with the barking dogs on her heels before she checked her pace, slowed and panting stood on the side walk as Dean whipped the truck around the corner. She stood in the daylight, her face scrunched and chest heaving. She settled her hands on her hips before lifting one to run it over her face and through her hair, yanking at the strands and her horns. Cold wind threatening to blow in the thunder storm making the open flannel slap across her stomach and sides, her jeans, on but still unbuttoned in her rush, shifted and pressed into her skin.
"God fuckin' damnit!" she barked into the street. "Fuckin' WINCHESTERS!"
Valentine and Buckshot barked loudly, grinning and wagging their tails before following Celia back toward the stairs and the room.
...
"Milk ... orange juice ..."
Jen ran her index finger down the long list Wes had hastily scribbled before she left, frowning at some of the requested items that were undoubtedly more sugar than food; she rolled her eyes, grabbing a gallon of milk and then a gallon of orange juice and tossing them both in the cart. "Now where'd I put the ... ?" she mumbled to herself for a second before remembering, and snatched the pen out of her hair to scratch out the drinks on the list and then find what was next. Her brow wrinkled in confusion at the mysterious word:
"Velveeta??"
"It's macaroni and cheese, Jen."
The dry voice snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes instantly, she put on her best sneer as Eric Myers walked closer, folding his thick arms and taking long, lazy steps; he laughed, suddenly holding up his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Hey, I was just trying to help."
"Whatever, Eric ... " Jen sighed, placing her hands on her hips. "What'd you want?"
"Don't guess you'd believe me if I said this was a social call?" He knew how to get to her, using that infuriating, holier-than-thou voice of his, and punctuating the words with a tiny smirk, his dark eyes glistening.
Jen opened her mouth as if to speak, but scoffed instead. "In Marty's Market?" she said, incredulously.
"Fine." Eric's jaw twitched as he grit his teeth, and his eyes took on a hardened look. He was on the job. "Those people at the crime scene this morning, one woman and two men, have you seen them? The woman was a redhead--"
"I know who you're talking about." The recent memory of the woman easily incapacitating Eric and then stalking off with the men beside her flashed in Jenns mind, and with it returned her confusion over the whole incident; she and the other Rangers had watched as the mysterious woman handled Eric, not seeing the knife she held to his throat till the last second before she let him go and moved on. Shock kept them all momentarily paralyzed, but by the time they had returned to the Clock Tower, words were flying and speculation had begun ... no one knew who the outsiders were, Wes had lived in Silver Hills all his life and had never seen them. It wasn't as if the classic Impala was easy to miss, either, something that Lucas had mentioned almost immediately, the admiration in his voice evident.
"No," Jen said, finally, "I haven't seen them."
Eric hesitated, as if gauging Jen's reaction to see whether or not she was speaking honestly, at last, he nodded. "Well ... if you do happen to see them," he said, "give me a call--" he tapped his morpher "--this is Silver Guardian business, no need for you to get anymore involved than that."
Jen couldn't resist. "Sure you could take them?" she asked.
Eric growled, his cheeks flushing just a little red as he whirled around and stormed out of the market, leaving Jen to chuckle for a second, then grow quiet as she thought of the visitors once again: Were they in alliance with Ransik? Responsible for the murders? There were so many questions, and no answers. Jen shook her head, she wasn't going to figure anything out musing over the situation in the middle of the aisle so she continued on her way, searching for the so-called 'velveeta' in the dried goods section. Rounding the corner with her head bowed, she nearly plowed right into the solid figure of a denim and leather-clad man, who had his eyes focused on the shelf full of boxes of pancake mix; he jumped in surprise, immediately taking on a defensive posture and piercing Jen with his gaze.
"Sorry," Jen said, softly.
The man grinned in a charming way, his green eyes suddenly twinkling. "Oh, no problem. You can bump into me anytime." He settled back into a more relaxed stance and Jen noticed a six pack of Lager beer tucked under his arm and a torn open package of beef jerky balanced in his grip. The way he chewed heavily told Jen that he hadn't bothered to wait for check out to dive in.
Jen inwardly rolled her eyes. "Uh, sure ... excuse me." The stranger blinked as if surprised, but stepped aside and allowed her to walk on, her eyes scanning the shelves full of unfamiliar packages, till recognition dawned on her and she spun around. "Hey, you were at that crime scene this morning!"
The charming smile disappeared and the man's face grew cold, like steel. He looked like he wanted to bolt, but knew there was no escaping the cramped situation; Jen pushed aside her cart and walked forward so she was closer to him, but he took a step back, clearly uncomfortable with the invasion. But Jen wasn't about to let up.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"I don't see how that's any of your business," the man snapped, "What were you doing there anyway? Research for your school paper?" He raised an eyebrow, his voice taking on a condescending tone that boiled Jen's blood.
"I had more business being there than you, that's for sure." Jen met his eyes as she crossed her arms, putting on her toughest, military commander demeanor. "You're not FBI."
"Oh really?" the man laughed, but Jen caught the brief glint in his eyes that showed surprise... and perhaps a little worry.
"Oh really," Jen echoed, "FBI agents don't drive around in fancy, classic cars that get less than fifteen miles to a gallon and a work truck. And they don't assault local police officers."
"Listen, lady... I don't know who you think you are--"
"I could say the same about you."
"What are you... nineteen? I don't have to explain myself to you!"
"Well then, you can explain yourself to the cops!" Jen turned and started to bring her morpher up to her mouth, but it bleeped loudly before she could do anything; the man behind her stepped up to her side to get a better look at the contraption.
"What the hell is that?" he asked, suspiciously.
Jen shouldered her way around him, heading for the exit as a cell phone started blaring "Smoke On The Water" and the man answered with an alert: "What's up?" She wondered for a moment what it was, and how they were getting calls at the same time, but brushed aside her thoughts and hurried outside, around the corner of the building, then spoke to the tiny image of Wes: "What's going on?"
"Jen, there's something going on downtown. Meet us at the movie theater."
"What is it? A mutant?"
"I don't know yet. Just hurry up!"
Jen let out an exasperated breath and hit the button on the morpher to cut the communication, she held up her arms and began the morphing sequence: "Time for--" only to cut off abruptly when the doors burst open and the man she'd been speaking to a moment ago ran out his arms empty, hopping in the Silverado and gunning the engine quickly. He tore off in the direction of downtown, tires squealing and smoke billowing out of the exhaust; Jen narrowed her eyes, watching as the vehicle disappeared, her curiosity peeked. But without another thought, she morphed and took off running...
TBC