"Oh darlin', it's just what I've always wanted. Bedbugs, dust mites, and fleas, oh my." Pulling into the parking lot of the closest craptacular motel twenty minutes later, Skye spoke up for the first time since they'd left the bridge. Grabbing her knapsack, she flung open the door, escaping the confines of the car before Dean shifted into park. Sniffing herself, she couldn't tell if the smell had burrowed into her or not. Ugh.
From the looks of it, Sam was just as eager to get away from the all-enveloping stench of dirty river mud, jumping out of the car just a fraction of a second after Skye. Hell, if Dean could have run away from himself, he probably would have.
The buzzer above the officer door went off when they opened it. The three of them filed inside and caught the attention of the front desk manager. Looking somewhere between ancient and dead, the old man's wrinkled face was delightfully unconcerned at Dean tracking sludge into his clean lobby. Shabby, sure, but clean.
Retrieving his now soggy wallet, Dean sighed deeply when it squished, dripping everywhere. A trail of murky water followed as he dug out his credit card and tossed it onto the counter in front of the old man. "One room. Two beds."
"Please," Skyler prompted, the most saccharine smile she could muster pasted on her face. Dean threw a nasty glare her direction at the correction, which she promptly returned with a middle finger.
Turning back to the Ancient One behind the counter, Dean unclenched his jaw enough to sound almost normal. "...please."
Reluctantly picking up the card, the old man held it between two fingers, as if just looking at it could spread the mess around. At least, that was the look he gave before the double-take, "You guys havin' a reunion or somethin'?"
That was more than enough to get the boy's interest, Dean's eyes narrowing as the old man caught his full attention, "What do you mean?"
"The other guy, Burt Aframian, he came in and bought out a room for the whole month."
Struck momentarily speechless, the boys exchanged a look, caught off-guard. She couldn't really blame them. What were the chances they'd just randomly end up at the same shitty motel where John still had a room rented? Okay, so the town was pretty small, but still, it didn't really feel like a coincidence. And the boys were still dumbstruck...
"Yeah, that'd be our Dad." Pushing past Sam and skirting around Dean, she made her way to the counter and leaned against it, giving the old man the sweetest most charming smile she could manage on no sleep and an empty stomach, "Can you tell us what room he's in, please?"
"Sure, no skin off my nose." Dropping their room key and the credit card into her hand, he nodded in the direction of the street, "Room ten, just over there. Can't give you the key though, that's against policy."
She didn't really get the feeling a locked door was about to stop Dean Winchester, or hell, even delay him by more than a minute, "That's alright. We'll head over there later, see if Dad's in for the night yet."
"Hey uh, what the hell he get into, anyway?"
"He uh-" Glancing over her shoulder at the man who was currently doing a remarkable imitation of Pigpen, Skye had to take a second to bite back a giggle before turning back to the old man. Corners of her lips twitching, she kept a straight face when she finally answered, "...he got into a fight with a port-a-potty and lost. He's not the brightest crayon in the box, if you know what I mean."
"Oh yeah, I getcha." Leaning over the counter, the old man lowered his voice, "I had a cousin like that, just not quite right. Ended up puttin' her in a home."
"...now there's an idea."
Okay, closer to three minutes, but still, she hadn't been wrong, a door hadn't delayed Sam much at all. What, did John sit them down one Sunday evening and play 'Pick The Padlock' like it was the Winchester version of Family Fun Night?
Doing her best to avoid that pesky needing to breathe thing, Skye tried not to gag at the revolting smell rolling off Dean as she followed Sam inside. "Jesus, it's like bein' punched in the face with a dead fish that's been left to rot in the sun for a week."
"She's not wrong."
"Thanks so much for that, you're both a positive delight to be around." Pointing out the thin wire that ran just inside the room, Dean shut the door behind them and threw the deadbolt before flipping on the overhead lights. "Watch where you step."
Any comeback that Skye might have had died in the back of her throat as she got a good look at John's room. Her first impression was chaos, but that wasn't quite right. The rows upon rows of newspaper articles and handwritten notes that lined the walls proved that there was some kind of logic to it all, it just wasn't obvious to her. Maybe because she wasn't crazy. Are you totally sure about that? Brushing off the stray thought, she turned to examine the rest of the room. Odds and ends and half-rotten food laid strewn about on every available flat surface. Was that a half-eaten burger just sitting on the nightstand? And why was Dean sniffing it? Gross.
"I don't think he's been here for a couple days, at least."
There was no way he could possibly know that from sniffing a stale McDouble. Was there? Either way, still gross.
Examining the lines Dean had avoided stepping on, Sam took a knee, picking up what appeared to be a sea-shell before tossing it back down. "Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried, trying to keep something from coming in."
Curiosity warred with some serious misgivings as she stepped further into the room. This was all absolutely crazy and she was so far out of her depth she could no longer see land, but she had to admit it was certainly interesting. What the hell was all this?
"Someone wanna lend me the CliffsNotes on all this?" She was itching to reach out and touch everything, to satisfy her curiosity about all the weird knickknacks and books scattered everywhere. To prevent herself from giving in to the urge, she wrapped her arms around her stomach as she tried to examine every flyer and news article at once. Okay, curiosity was definitely winning, "Maybe startin' with the salt and shells?"
"Salt wards off spirits; it's a purifying element. Like fire, they can't cross it." Stepping up closer to the wall, Dean inspected what appeared to be a handwritten missing person flyer before glancing back over his shoulder at her. "And cats-eye shells are typically used to ward off the evil eye."
"Is there, like, an encyclopedia about this stuff somewhere that I could get my hands on?"
"Maybe Sammy can make you up a required reading list."
"...seriously?"
Adroitly avoiding traps, salt, shells, and whatever else littered the floor, Sam stepped carefully across the small space to join his brother by the far wall. He took in the dozens of newspaper articles and flyers that Dean had been studying for the last few minutes. "What do you got here?"
"Centennial Highway victims, looks like." Taking half a step back, Dean frowned, tapping the corner of one of the larger missing person posters and leaving a dirty smear behind. "I don't get it though. I mean, different men. Different jobs. Different ages and ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"
Not bothering to answer, Sam let his eyes wander slowly along the pages, skimming the copious amounts of information his father had put together before the words 'Woman in White' caught his eye. Taking a step closer, he took a good look at the pages pinned directly beneath the black-on-white letters. Staring back at him was the article from The Jericho Herald and the smiling face of Constance Welch. "Dad figured it out."
"What do you mean?"
Moving out of his way so Dean could take a closer look, Sam stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, nodding toward what he'd discovered. Or rather, what his father had discovered. How had Dad figured it out, putting all the puzzle pieces together so fast? Sam wasn't sure whether to be kind of proud or exceedingly frustrated and finally settled for something in between the two. "He found the same article we did. Constance Welch is a Woman in White."
"Why, you sly dogs." Looking up at the pictures of the missing men staring back at them, Dean shook his head at the lot of them before turning back to Sam, little puffs of dirt rising in noxious clouds as the river mud started to dry and flake off his skin and clothing. That was hygienic. "Alright, so if we're dealin' with a Woman in White, Dad would've found the corpse and destroyed it."
"Maybe she has another weakness."
"Dad would want to be sure, he'd dig her up." Because that was such a fun part of the job, digging up corpses, dousing them in salt, and setting them on fire. But hey, whatever worked, "Does it say where she's buried?"
"Not that I can tell. If I were Dad though, I'd go ask her husband, if he's still alive."
"Why don't you see if you can find an address." Wrinkling his nose as he dislodged a cloud of dust, Dean waved a hand in front of his face to clear the air, "I'm gonna go get cleaned up. Hey Tink…" Turning around to address the girl, Dean's voice trailed off and Sam looked up in time to see an inscrutable expression on Dean's face. "Nevermind."
Glancing around to see what Dean found so amusing, Sam couldn't help but smile. He hadn't even noticed when Skye had cleared off the bed and curled up, though it certainly explained why she'd been so quiet the last little while. From what he could tell, the girl was out cold, her braid curled around a shoulder and a hand tucked under her cheek. Now wasn't that the cutest thing?
"Hey Dean," Speaking up before Dean could step into the bathroom, Sam shrugged a shoulder at his brother and gave a half-smile as he dredged up an apology. Better to clear the air now, none of them needed any more tension around them than there already was. "About what I said earlier about Mom and Dad… I'm sorry."
Holding up a hand like Dean was afraid Sam would try to hug him, because that was going to happen, Dean smiled, "No chick flick moments."
"Alright. ...jerk."
"Bitch."
