Well, fuck.
Not only had Dean well and truly lost sight of the people he was chasing, they had basically fucking disappeared right in front of him. There was literally no place for them to have gone—no side doors into the buildings on either side, no back parking lot to escape to.
Nope, there was definitely something witchy going on with those two.
Dean swallowed his frustration—letting loose now would have meant punching a cement brick wall, which never ended well—and did the only thing he could think of: go back to the Impala, head to the motel and regroup.
It was a long walk back to the diner parking lot, and by the time he got there, Dean was too hungry to waste time finding another place to eat. He went in, ordered the dinner special without even bothering to look at what it was, and ground his way through the platter of chicken-fried steak, potatoes and greens without really thinking about it.
He stared down at his plate, not even remembering that he'd eaten. There was a gnawing ache in his belly that didn't have a thing to do with food. He didn't even want the free slice of pie that came with his meal.
He'd made the mistake of sitting down. While he was moving, full of adrenaline and the thrill of the hunt, he could keep himself going. Ignore the gaping wound in his soul where his brother should have been. Now all he could do was sit there, not drinking his coffee, just keeping his hands around the mug like that heat was the only thing keeping him alive. Eventually the coffee got cold on him, and the waitress began to give him pointed looks when the dinner rush started coming in.
Dean left another twenty on the table under the pie, and left.
By the time he pulled up in front of the door to his motel room, the sun had long since set; the only remaining illumination in the sky was a dull yellow stain of light pollution on the horizon. It was fully overcast, a complete 180 from just about 24 hours ago, when he'd gone into the bar down the road from his motel to get as drunk as he could.
They'd given Sammy a hunter's funeral, him and a couple other hunters who happened to be in the area—all pretty much strangers, really—and Dean had driven aimlessly until he'd reached that rundown motel on the state highway, just at the edge of this podunk little town.
He honestly would have driven longer if it hadn't been for the bar being so nearby. But both places were just past the county line, and the moment Dean found himself in a wet county again, he'd picked up the keys for the motel and driven back to the bar with the intention of getting well and truly shitfaced.
And look how well that turned out. He couldn't even have one goddamn evening of grief without nearly getting killed by some fucking devil-spawn of a monster.
The sky now was a heavy gray, flat and low and oppressive. The blanket of cloud seemed ready to smother him the way it dampened the light of the moon and stars.
There would be no moon-shadows to warn him of attackers tonight.
Warily he looked around, scanning the shadows for anything even remotely suspicious. The parking lot was deserted; barely anyone stayed in this run-down place at the best of times, and it was the off-season around here: too late for the summer lake crowd, too early for deer hunting.
Dean pulled a sawed-off shotgun out from under the front passenger seat, checked it was loaded, and swung open the door to the Impala before swinging himself up and out of the car. Cautiously he crept towards the door to the motel room, moving slowly and almost silently across the pavement.
The dim light from the streetlamps near the motel lobby were just bright enough to illuminate the salt lines he'd placed in front of the door and windowsill. Both were completely undisturbed. He listened for a moment before turning his key in the lock and heard nothing. With a grunt of approval, Dean clicked the lock open.
He hoped to Chuck he'd left a couple of beers in the room's kitchenette fridge, because he was going to need them. He was so ready to be done with this damn day.
He pushed the door open and switched on the light, only to come face to face with the two Brits.