The first night at the motel was different. While Sam and Dean went off on a hunt, I stayed behind. Sam knew it was to get my stuff and get out of the way from Dean, but Dean just thought I was wussing out. Of course that bothered the hell out of me, but I just had to take his jabs and go with it. The motel is about 30 minutes from where the bunker is and I check into a king room with a fake ID and credit card I had stolen a while back. I used to sleep in motels like it was nothing, but after sleeping at the bunker for so long, I felt a little vulnerable.
I lay in the bed that night trying to find ways to fill the silence in my head. The crickets we're quiet that night and I can't remember the last time I haven't heard a toilet run, or a light buzz at a motel. My eyes are opened and staring at the ceiling when my phone pings with a message.
Sam: How's it's going?
Me: Awfully quiet.
Sam: Just feels that way because you don't have Dean spitting profanities left and right doing what he calls research.
Me: Hah. Could be. Just kind of feels weird to be back out on my own again.
I hesitate sending that last text but quickly push the button so I couldn't erase it. I wait for what feels like hours before the phone sings back to me with his response.
Sam: You'll get used to it.
My heart drops a little. I was afraid he'd say something like that. Maybe he wanted me out of the bunker for his own reasons. I put my phone face down on the end table without responding back. I force my eyes closed and let the little sounds of 2 A.M motel goers soothe me to sleep.
I wake up at 7 a.m. The sun is already high in the sky and I roll out of bed, stumbling my way to the bathroom mirror. I rinse my face with water and see a message sprawled on the mirror in front of me after drying off with a rag "you got rusty living in the bunker.. saddle up cowgirl.." it reads on a piece of motel stationary. I smirk just a little at the familiar hand writing of Sam. "asshole" I say pulling the paper down from the mirror and slipping it into the jeans I just slid on.
After getting dressed, I sit around the room for a bit waiting for his return. I'm not sure when he left the note for me but it had to be recently. When it's 8:15 my patience is totally worn and I give in to dialing his number. "When'd you get back?" I ask when the phone picks up.
He yawns his response "a few hours ago.." He gets out.
"Why didn't you wake me?" I ask next.
"You looked peaceful" he says innocently.
I blush a little at his words, not expecting that but decide to call him out on it to hide me being flustered "bull."
"Whatever." He chuckles back "but really, I wasn't exactly as quiet as a mouse coming in and you slept right through it.. Someone's gone soft" he says.
His tone is serious I know I shouldn't make light of the situation. I think about it as well and he is right. It kills me to admit it. But I have to. I didn't even sleep with a gun under my pillow last night. What if something else came in last night "your right. I need to get back on that horse." I finally say realizing how silent I left it.
"Hahah. Right. Well, I'm sure we can find another case soon enough. Hang tight. I'll come by tomorrow." He tells me and hangs up the phone.
I stare at the screen. That was weird. What the hell am I suppose to do until tomorrow? I think to myself, and why the hell did he end the conversation like that? Maybe Dean was around, I think to myself trying to justify his abrupt ending. An hour goes by and my brain won't stop over analyzing what happened. I remind myself I need to find some girlfriends who I can talk to about this kind of stuff. I pull out my laptop, connect to the crappy WiFi and start searching for something to do around the area.
It doesn't take long before something that seems like a case rolls onto my screen. A man and his wife were murdered in their locked 5th story apartment in a town only 2 hours away from here. The cops are trying to call it a murder suicide but their doesn't seem to be any weapon left behind. I grab the keys to my jeep and leave the room quickly.
I get to the police station and take the files easily. Some things never change and I'm starting to feel more like my old self already. I review the files before throwing them into the back of my jeep and driving to the house. The house is still taped off but there are no cops to get around. I slide under the caution tape and open the do not enter tape with a swipe of a pocket knife and enter the horrific scene. As I walk in, the stench of stained blood overwhelms my noise. It wasn't something I've ever really gotten used to, but it feels like forever since I've been around it. I watch my steps as I slowly follow the trail of blood from the front room to the kitchen. I find nothing out of the ordinary in that room so I move further to the bedroom, where most of the blood pool lies. It's obvious where they found the bodies and I quickly scan the room for anything a cop would dismiss as not important. I can't find any hex bags or claw prints anywhere and find myself stumped as to what could have possibly done this.
I keep searching the house over and over. There's got to be something here I'm missing. I move to the bathroom next. I'm searching through the medicine cabinet when I hear the front door creek open. I shut the mirror closed quietly, and quickly jump behind the shower curtain. I grab a hold of my knife and position myself to attack if stays in my grasp tightly as the foot steps move around the home. They occasionally stop, checking kitchen cabinets and bedroom drawers. I start to get impatient and try to force myself to stay calm. I can't just barge out into the room screaming, it could be cops or family members here, and I really don't want to explain those type of actions. An FBI agent wouldn't behave that way, that much I know. As I'm thinking this through my phone buzzes in my pocket. Shit, I think to myself quickly moving to my pocket to turn it off. Just as I silence the phone, the curtain to the shower pulls open and I'm staring at a man wielding a bright silver knife at me.
