It was around midnight when they made it to a motel, just enough time to grab showers and a few hours sleep before morning. Unlocking the door, Skye flipped on the overhead lights and had to do a double-take at the hideously bright orange wallpaper. Geez, she wasn't sure anyone sane would actually be able to sleep in here with that glaring at them. Good thing none of them were quite sane.
This was only the second motel she'd been in, like ever, but they were already starting to all seem eerily similar. Dated wallpaper, worn carpet, little table with a couple of chairs. Dresser, TV, two queen beds and an outdated bathroom. Yup. All was accounted for.
Tossing her leather bag onto the table, she left the door open behind her. The boys were behind the car, grabbing weapons from the trunk. Or at least that's what she assumed they were doing. Eyeing the two beds, she wondered how this was going to work out. Last time Sam had gotten his own room, wanting some privacy to deal with Jess's untimely demise with the help of entirely too much Jack. Then, of course, she and Dean had each had their own beds. Now there were three of them and they hadn't discussed the logistics.
Eh, whatever. They could have the beds. Certainly wouldn't be the first time she'd slept on the floor. She'd gone years, off and on, without a bed to sleep on. Just a pallet on the floor. It was no big to her. Rifling through her backpack, she grabbed the little travel bag of toiletries and some clean clothes before claiming the first show.
Opening the trunk, Dean propped it up with a sawed-off shotgun. Not the safest of practices, but he'd done it a hundred times and doubtless would do it a hundred more. Looking over his shoulder he frowned, a noise or the sense of being watched making the back of his neck crawl. If there was anything there, though, he didn't see it.
Appearing around the side of the car, Sam stood next to him, looking irritated. Part of him was cranky that they were waiting to go out to Blackwater but admittedly, part of him was also cranky that the two of them had kept him waiting in the car so long he'd dozed off and then hadn't mentioned a word about what they'd talked about. Whatever had been discussed, Skye had obviously completely forgiven Dean and Dean didn't seem to be giving a second thought to the weirdness that had started the whole thing in the first place. Whatever. He just wanted to get on with it. To get out there and find his father and neither of his two companions seemed at all concerned about it, "We can't let that Hailey girl go out there."
"What are we gonna tell her?" Stuffing his large green duffle bag with weapons and supplies, Dean spoke without bothering to look at his Sam. Grabbing a revolver, he checked it, "She can't go into the woods because of a big, scary monster?"
"Yeah." He meant it too. Sam seriously wanted to tell Hailey she couldn't go into the woods because of a big, scary monster. Because that tactic ever worked.
"Her brother's missing, Sam. She's not just gonna sit this one out," Shaking his head, he grabbed the duffle, considerably heavier now than it had been, "No. We go with her, we protect her. We keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend."
"So finding Dad's not enough?" Everything about this was just complete bullshit. They should be looking for Dad. They should never have stopped to chat with Hailey. They shouldn't be involved in looking for Tommy at all. They were never going to find their father if Dean kept dragging his feet, helping every Tom, Dick and cute girl that fell into their path. A part of him knew how uncharitable that line of thought was. Hell, with Skye around, Dean wasn't giving anyone else a first look, let alone a second. A larger part of Sam was just angry. All the time. Moving the shotgun that held the trunk open, Sam slammed it down, narrowly missing Dean, the undercurrent of anger in his voice clear. "Now we have to babysit too?"
Giving Sam a long penetrating look, Dean didn't say anything, disappointment flaring briefly in his eyes.
"What?" Sam snapped
"Nothin'," Dean gave a half-shrug, expression unreadable as he threw the duffle bag into Sam's arms with more force than necessary. Turning his back on Sam, he walked away, heading into the motel room to check on Skye.
He found her laying on her stomach on a pallet she'd made on the floor between the two Queen beds, eyes closed, hair still damp from a shower. Must have been a quick one, he hadn't been outside that long. He heard Sam walk in behind him, slamming the door shut and locking it before disappearing into the bathroom. Shaking his head, he managed to drag his eyes away from where Skye's bare leg stuck out from under the duvet cover she'd stolen from one of the beds. The girl definitely had a dancers legs.
He'd actually seen her dance once, aside from the infrequent tango lessons she insisted on. She hadn't known she was being watched at the time but...she was good. She was real good. And she hadn't been lying when she'd said she was incredibly flexible…. Clearing his throat, he wrestled his thoughts back where they should be, claiming the bed against the far wall as he stripped off his leather jacket and the dark blue button-up, leaving him in jeans and the gray t-shirt that was Skye's favorite. Not that she'd ever told him as much.
Kicking off his boots, he collapsed onto the bed, head pillowed on his crossed arms as he lay on his stomach examining the human-shaped lump on the floor, "You can have the bed, you know."
No response from the pile of fabric.
"I know you're not asleep."
"Shut up, yes I am," she turned to face him, eyes still closed, unknowingly mimicking the position he'd taken on the bed.
"Seriously, take the bed," grinning, he was unable to resist the suggestion, "Or we could share it, there's plenty of room."
That got a snort out of her, not the most flattering of responses, "Would I trust you with my life? Yeah probably. Would I trust you with my virginity? Fuck no."
"Wait, you're a-"
"Goodnight, Dean."
Grinning, he flipped over onto his back.
She trusted him.
Probably.
...awesome.