One
If there was one thing Dean Winchester hated most, it was waiting. Waiting around for stuff to happen, for the battle between good and evil to rear its ugly head and give him something to fight, maim, or kill. The waiting was the bane of his existence.
Dean stood up and began pacing the small motel room he and his brother, Sam, were currently staying in, barely noticing the tacky green wallpaper covered with frogs on lily pads anymore. The door, painted a muted shade of mint green in what could only have been the owner's demented attempt to blend with the walls, opened and Dean looked up to see Sam walk in carrying a large brown paper bag.
"Finally," Dean exclaimed, yanking the bag from Sam's grasp.
"Jeez, sorry, but I had to go to three different restaurants to find one that was actually still serving apple pie," Sam snapped. He plopped down onto the end of his unmade bed and stared at his brother as Dean began pulling food from the bag.
"You did get the pie, though, right?"
"Yes, Dean. It's in the bottom. I watched the lady put it in the bag." Sam rolled his eyes as Dean pulled a small Styrofoam container out and opened it, a smile spreading wide across his face.
"Yum!" Dean plopped down into one of the two chairs set around the small dining table, both of which were also covered in some form of lily pad motif, and lifted one of the wrapped sandwiches from the pile he had made in his haste to find the pie. He unwrapped it to reveal the bacon cheeseburger he'd ordered.
"Hello sweetheart," Dean cooed before taking a big bite.
He closed his eyes as he chewed slowly, a look of ecstasy on his face. Sam groaned in disgust and flopped onto his back, the bed springs groaning at him as he shut his eyes. Everything was quiet except for the occasional sounds of Dean's loud chewing.
After a few minutes, Sam opened his eyes and turned his head to look at his brother. He watched as Dean shoved several french fries into his mouth and followed it with a few gulps of beer from the six pack Sam had also purchased.
"Dude, you eat like a pig, you know that?" Sam stated, frowning at Dean. He pushed himself back up and ran his hand through his long, shaggy brown hair.
"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Dean asked through a mouthful of food.
Sam shook his head. "I don't think my stomach could handle food right now. Not after having watched you eat, anyway," Sam said.
He glanced around the room, looking for the familiar black bag he carried his laptop in. He spotted it leaning against the side of the room's single dresser, also painted mint green. Sam picked up the case and carried it back to his bed, sliding until his back was resting against the lily pad-shaped headboard. He scrunched one of the limp motel pillows behind him in an effort to get comfortable as he waited for the computer to boot up.
Dean continued to chomp away happily as he watched Sam on his laptop. After a few minutes, his stomach pleasantly full, he burped loudly and finished off his second beer.
"Find anything promising?" Dean asked as he opened two more bottles and got up from the table, strolling over to Sam. Dean handed one of the beers to Sam, who took it absently as he continued to stare at his computer. Dean sat down on his own bed as he waited for Sam to respond.
"So far I've found a series of reports about missing pets in a town just outside Raleigh, North Carolina and an article in a newspaper in Cleveland, Ohio about a man who says he was abducted by aliens." He glanced up at Dean and saw his brother's raised eyebrows. "Don't even think about it. The Ohio guy's a nutcase.
"According to the article, a Mr. Leonard Halstrom, was walking home from his weekly "chess match"," Sam said, using air quotes, "when he was overcome by a bright, white light and the strong sense to go to sleep. Mr. Halstrom claims that when he woke up, in his own bed the next morning, he had a strange cut behind his left ear and no memory of how he actually got home." Sam sighed and turned the computer so Dean could see the picture on the screen. "It sounds more like he was abducted by Jose Cuervo than E. T."
"Okay, so maybe this Lenny guy isn't our kind of thing," Dean grumbled, sipping his beer and briefly glancing around the room, before turning back to Sam. "What about the missing pets? That could be something."
Sam shook his head. "Sounds more like a problem with the wildlife. Some big animal, maybe a cougar, whose food source has become depleted is now munching on Fluffy and Rover." Sam watched as a cloud fell over his brother's face and sighed. "I'll keep looking," he muttered and went back to his search.
Dean nodded and grabbed the remote to the television set perched precariously on the dresser top. He began flipping through the channels, not really in the mood to watch. He needed to keep his mind occupied, to keep busy so that it didn't wander back over the last several weeks. Dean stopped for a brief moment on one of the adult movie channels and heard Sam groan again.
"Please, spare me the horror," he snapped.
"I wasn't going to order anything," Dean grumbled, fighting the sly grin that tugged at his lips. He glanced at Sam, who was glaring at him with a look of disbelief on his face. "I just stopped for a second. Look," he motioned as he flipped the channel, "it's off." Sam glared at him for a few seconds longer, then returned to his laptop.
Dean went back to channel surfing, lounging on his stomach with a pillow stuffed under his chin. They remained quiet for a long time, the only noises were from the hockey game Dean had settled on and Sam's typing as he surfed the internet looking for their next job.
Dean was just dozing off when he recognized the ring tone of Sam's cell phone. His eyes flashed open and he turned to watch as his brother scrambled off the bed to where he had tossed his jacket, stumbling on stiff legs, and tried to yank the phone from a pocket of his jacket.
"Hello?" Sam paused and Dean waited, hoping the call wasn't from Ruby, the demon who had been helping Sam develop the powers he had gotten from the yellow-eyed demon, Azazel, while Dean was in hell. He watched tensely, waiting for that familiar look of secrecy to creep over Sam's face, as the woman whispered whatever nonsense she could into his brother's ear to get Sam to go running out the door to meet her. "Hey Bobby!"
Dean relaxed and sat up. Bobby Singer, a hunter and basically a surrogate father to them both, was someone Dean didn't mind hearing from.
"What's up?" Sam nodded and held up his hand as Dean opened his mouth to speak. "Hold on. Let me put you on speaker so Dean can hear too." Sam placed the phone on the table and nodded at Dean, who had gotten up from his bed.
"Hey Bobby," Dean stated as he took the seat opposite Sam at the table.
"Hi-ya Dean. I was just tellin' Sam that I have a job possibility."
"Really? Excellent! What do you have?"
"I actually got the info off another hunter," Bobby said, pausing. Sam shot Dean a curious look. Both men were thinking about the same person: Reggie Connors.
Reggie was a female hunter they had met a couple of months back while in Philadelphia on a job. They had thought the job was just the usual demon killings, but were stumped by the evidence left behind. Bobby had directed them to Reggie, and her home in Maryland, because she was able to identify the strange pentagram Sam and Dean had found at several of the murders as part of a fake ritual known as the Fool's Ritual. It was a trap set by Lilith, the demon who was responsible for sending Dean to hell the previous year and who was currently trying to open sixty-six seals to raise Lucifer from hell.
Reggie helped them fight off a group of demons that Lilith had sent to kill them while they were at her house. She had lost her uncle, Frank Connors, in the battle. Frank had been a hunter in his prime before he was struck with Alzheimer's, and Reggie had been stuck taking care of her last living family member. Dean still carried the weight of Frank's death, feeling responsible for bringing his and Sam's problems down on Reggie and her family. She didn't hold him responsible, and had even gotten angry with him when he tried to take the blame, but that still didn't relieve Dean's guilt.
Dean swallowed back the question he wanted to ask and instead asked the one he knew both Sam and Bobby were expecting from him. "What's the job?"
"Five people have gone missin' in a town called Bridgewater, South Dakota, just over fifty miles from here. Local police originally thought it was just the usual - a man leaves his wife and a teenage runaway-, but now they're not so sure. Reggie did some diggin' before she left and found that there have been a string of disappearances like this every seven years 'cross the States at least as far back as the 1930's. The cycle starts and for five weeks people vanish into thin air. The number of victims is always the same - sixteen people of various ages, sex, and races."
"Do you think it might be vampires?" Sam asked as he retrieved his laptop and started pulling up the local newspaper for Bridgewater.
"It's too ritualistic to be vampires. Reggie thought it might be cannibals, like that family ya stumbled on in Minnesota, but I ain't so sure. Those freaks were huntin' people and takin' them as they needed to, not like this. A specific amount of people disappear durin' a specific period of time? Sounds like somethin' much more sinister." Bobby sighed heavily. "That ain't the only reason I called though. I haven't heard from Reggie in a few days and, although that's not unusual, I'm gettin' kinda worried."
"Bobby, are you saying Reggie is already on this hunt?" Dean asked, glancing at Sam who had the same concerned look on his face. "Alone?"
"Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'. She stuck around for a while after you boys left, but only long enough for her body to mostly heal up. Reggie's one of the best hunters her age that I know, aside from you two, so I had no reason to worry about her until now.
"The last message I got from her was four days ago. Said she was still in Bridgewater and that she had made a major breakthrough on identifyin' what it was that's been goin' on. Since then, nothin'."
"Maybe Reggie was wrong and just hasn't called you again because she's still looking," Sam offered reluctantly. His forehead was scrunched in a look Dean recognized all too well, showing his true thoughts at this unlikely theory.
"I thought about that, but I don't know. I would have expected an update, at least. I tried callin' her cell, but all I get is her voicemail. And when I called the number of the motel she was stayin' at, the clerk said that she checked out two days ago. Now, this might just be noth..."
"We're heading out now, Bobby," Dean cut in. "Sam and I will see you in a few hours."
"All right. See you boys in a bit," Bobby said and hung up. Dean began tossing clothes into his duffle bag and Sam followed suit after stuffing his laptop back into its bag. Sam continued to glance at his brother as they packed.
"I'm sure she's fine, Dean," Sam said, standing just outside the small green bathroom, watching as Dean stuffed his toothbrush into a bag with other toiletries before tossing that, too, into his duffle bag.
"Yeah, you're probably right." Dean nodded absently as he skimmed his eyes over the bathroom, making sure he got everything he needed before flipping off the light.
They finished packing, loaded the trunk of Dean's pride and joy - his 1967 Chevy Impala - before doing a final once-over to make sure they weren't leaving anything behind. Dean shut the motel door and he and Sam climbed into the black car. The engine roared to life as Dean peeled out of the parking lot in a cloud of gravel and dust.
Sam sat quietly in the passenger seat staring out the side window, watching the trees pass by in a blur. Dean had cranked the radio up and a newer AC/DC song blasted from the speakers, the base thudding through Sam's body. There had been something between Dean and Reggie, a connection that both of them had fought during the four days they had been with her. Sam had gotten the feeling that things had developed a bit more than Dean would ever admit.
It was strange watching Dean be so protective over someone other than him and Sam stole another glance at his brother. Dean was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music, his face a mask of false calm. The song ended and the deejay cut in announcing a three minute break for commercials. Dean grunted and flipped the dial in search of some more music.
After going through several channels and finding them all in various stages of commercial breaks, Dean jammed down on a knob, turning the radio off. The silence that followed spoke volumes of what both brothers were feeling.
"Why the hell did she think she could work a job like this alone?" Dean suddenly snapped, slamming his hands against the steering wheel and causing Sam to jump.
"It's not like she's never worked a solo hunt before, Dean. She's been doing the job for almost as long as we have." Dean turned to look at him, his green eyes like daggers. Sam blanched and hurried to continue. "I'm sure she's fine, man. She's a good hunter."
Dean scoffed and turned his gaze back to the road ahead of them. "Yeah, but that doesn't make any of us indestructible," he muttered. Dean pressed on the gas and the speedometer's needle inched past eighty.
They pulled up in front of Bobby Singer's faded blue and white house shortly before midnight, having made the approximate six hour trip from Trenton, Missouri to Sioux Falls, South Dakota in under four. As Sam climbed from the car, the front door swung open, and Bobby stepped out onto the porch. Sam waved at the older man as he walked up the steps, Dean close behind him.
"Hey Bobby."
"You made good time," Bobby commented as he held the screen door open for them. They entered the cluttered living room, piles of books and mountains of papers scattered everywhere. Bobby motioned for them to have a seat and Dean lowered himself onto the beat up couch, navigating around a strange red box on the floor next to the only currently clear piece of furniture: the coffee table. Sam sat down beside him and leaned forward to get a better look at the box.
"Is that a hex box, Bobby?" Sam asked, squinting at the strange carvings etched into the wood. He reached his hand out to touch it and Bobby smacked it back.
"Yeah it is and don't touch it. I ain't sure what's inside is completely contained." Bobby threw a heavy black cloth over the box and picked it up, holding it as far away from his body as he could as he carried it out of the room. He came back a minute later, carrying three bottles of beer. Bobby handed one to Sam and Dean each and flopped into his usual spot, a faded grey arm chair. "Sorry about that, Sam," he stated, before taking a sip from his beer.
"Can't be too careful, I get it," Sam said, shrugging. "The cloth you used to pick it up? What was that?" Sam asked curiously.
"A blessed piece of a Tibetan monk's robe," Bobby answered nonchalantly.
Sam sipped at his beer and nodded at the man. "Where'd you get it?"
"Who cares?" Dean snapped. Bobby and Sam both turned to look at him. He sat on the edge of the couch, his bottle of beer open, but untouched, a look of agitation on his face. "Sorry," Dean mumbled when Bobby cocked an eyebrow at him.
"S'okay. I understand. I already told you I'm worried 'bout her too." Bobby reached over and pulled a folder from under a small pile of books. He handed it to Dean. "That's everything Reggie found on the cycles before she left." Dean flipped through the papers inside, skimming over the various newspaper clippings and notes in Reggie's neat handwriting.
"You said she left you a message the other day? Do you still have it?" Dean asked, handing the folder to Sam.
"I do actually." Bobby got up and strolled into the kitchen. Dean followed after him, leaving Sam to read through the contents of the folder alone in the living room.
The kitchen was just as cluttered as the living room and had the faint aroma of stale pizza hanging in the air. Dean's stomach rumbled hungrily, but he ignored it and went to stand next to Bobby, who was playing with his answering machine. After a few messages from customers about parts for their cars, Bobby finally found Reggie's message. "If it hadn't been sandwiched between two business calls, I probably would've deleted it by now," the hunter stated, before pressing play.
Reggie's soft voice floated out of the tiny speakers and Dean's stomach flip-flopped. "Hey Bobby. I'm just checking in," Reggie said. "I'm doing fine. In fact, more than fine. I think I might finally be on to what's been going on out here, but I'm not completely sure yet. As soon as I know more, you will. Hold on..."
There was some background noise which Dean couldn't identify and Reggie paused. Her voice came back sounding slightly amused.
"Sorry about that. I've gotta go, so I'll talk to you later." There was a click as she hung up and then a message about a man looking for a carburetor for his 1993 Camaro started and Bobby hit the Stop button on the machine.
"That's it. I ain't heard from her since."
"Can you play that back?" Sam asked from the doorway. "I couldn't hear the whole thing from the living room." Bobby played the message again while Dean played with the lid of his bottle, spinning it on the countertop. "Sounds like someone was talking to her, didn't it?" Sam asked, pushing the message again and fast forwarding to the end.
"Maybe," Bobby hesitated. He shrugged and tossed his empty beer bottle into the garbage can beside Sam. "Maybe I'm just bein' paranoid. Reggie could've just finished up in Bridgewater and moved on."
"And didn't call?" Dean asked.
"She probably just forgot. It's not like she's required to keep me informed."
"But Reggie knows you're keeping an eye on her. And I don't really think she would forget to call," Sam said. He looked from Bobby to Dean and back again. "Dean and I are going to go out there and check it out."
"Maybe I should go with ya?" Bobby suggested.
"No. I think it's better you stay here, in case we need anything," Sam said, giving the man a warm half-smile. Bobby nodded, but the expression on his face said he didn't entirely agree with the idea.
"I guess we better hit the road then," Dean stated, swinging his car keys around his index finger as he leaned against the counter. He pushed himself off and clapped Bobby on the back. "We'll call you when we get into town." Sam put his beer, which was only half finished, down and led the way out of the house, back to the Impala. Bobby stood watching them as they drove off, his expression troubled.
Sam laid the folder across his legs and shone his penlight at the article on top. It was dated the week before. "It looks like Reggie faxed this last one to Bobby from the motel she was staying at. Robbie Marsten, sixty-eight, disappeared on Highway 81. His truck was left idling on the shoulder. No signs of a struggle or foul play that the police could find. He seems to have just vanished into thin air."
"People don't just vanish."
"Yeah, I know, but what else can they say?"
Sam sighed and turned off his penlight, closing the folder and setting it on the seat beside him. He turned to look out his window, the trees barely visible under the inky, starless sky. Sam's eyes began to grow heavy and he closed them, letting the steady rumble of the engine lull him to sleep.
It felt like he had barely dozed off when Dean was shaking him awake. "We're here," Dean grumbled. Sam blinked his eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them as he felt Dean get out of the car, the driver's side door creaking loudly before Dean slammed it shut.
It had begun to rain lightly, a steady drizzle pinging against the windshield. Sam pulled the collar of his jacket up against his neck as he got out and headed around to the trunk. Dean was already inside the motel office, getting them a room.
Sam pulled open the trunk and lifted the bottom up to reveal the hidden compartment beneath which they stored the various weapons and items they used to hunt. Not really sure what they may need, he grabbed a duffle bag and just started loading things inside it. Sam was just wedging one of the sawed-off shotguns into the bag when Dean came around the side of the car, a motel key with a teepee hanging from it, in his hand.
"I paid for the room for a week. Let's hope we won't have to be here that long," Dean grimaced. They made their way to the room and opened the door. The inside was just what they had grown to expect from the out-of-the-way, fleabag motels they tended to stay in.
The entire interior was done in Native American themes; the walls were covered with a tacky beige wallpaper that was dotted with pictures of Indians dancing around bonfires and standing next to teepees. The coverlets on the two beds each had a large picture of an Indian riding a wild bronco, holding on for dear life as the animal tried to buck the brave off.
They barely paused as they entered the room and Sam dropped the heavy weapons bag onto the small beige dining table by the window. Dean yanked the curtains, which were also covered by pictures similar to the wallpaper, closed and dropped his duffle bag onto the bed closest to the door, as usual.
"We should probably just try and get some rest tonight," Dean said, yawning loudly as he shrugged out of his brown leather jacket.
Sam nodded, yawning as well, and dropped onto the empty bed. He kicked off his shoes and slid back on the bed, his eyes already closing as he yanked the pillows from under the coverlet and bunched them under his head. He heard Dean moving around the room and saw the bathroom light go on through his eyelids before exhaustion completely overtook him and he fell asleep.