FIVE

Rosalea ignored the men's protests as she strode into the men's changing room, sniffing and heading for the cubicles with curtains at the back. She found only one had a drawn curtain and stopped. Sam came up behind her but she stepped back one and bent down to look under.

"I recognise those big-ass boots," she grinned, standing again and opening the curtain.

"Hey," Dean said, his face changing from cautious suspicion to a big smile immediately. She ignored the earthy smell to his grimy t-shirt and the deep scratches on his face as she threw herself at him. She grabbed him in a bear hug, squeezing him tightly for as long as she could. "Woah, down girl," he grinned, and she stepped back to hold onto his arms.

"You really aren't dead!" she whispered hoarsely, aware of the men watching and listening.

"Not as far as I can tell," he grinned. "You alright?"

"I am now," she nodded, then looked back at Sam. "Oh, er, Sam's here too. Your car's outside, he said everything you'd want is in there."

"Cool," he said quickly, letting go of her and looking at Sam. "Did you bring my stuff?"

"Yeah, I brought your stuff," Sam said deliberately, "Don't worry about me, though, I was alright even though I had to ID your body," he added pointedly.

Dean pulled Rosalea to one side gently. "I'm sorry, Sam. Here," he said, putting his arms out, "give me a hug."

"Jerk," Sam tutted, turning away and walking back out. Dean looked at Rosalea, who put her arms round his neck again and held on.

"I am so glad you're not dead," she breathed, before pulling his head round and kissing him.

"Today!" Sam called from the doorway.

"Um, yeah, let's go," Dean said quickly, pushing her to follow his taller brother.

"So where are we going?" Sam asked from the driver's seat, looking in the rear view mirror and watching his brother sort through his duffle on the back seat. Rosalea turned in the passenger seat, putting a hand out and picking up a clean t-shirt. She handed it to him.

"Thanks. We have to go to the motel and find out what started this animal off," he said, lifting the t-shirt he had on and pulling it off over his head awkwardly, the confines of a moving car not the best place to try and get shot of a filthy garment.

"Dean!" Rosalea said suddenly, "What happened?"

He looked down and saw the multiple scratches and welts across his front, some of them scabbed with dried blood.

"Oh yeah, well, that thing was pretty fast," he shrugged, picking up the clean t-shirt. She grabbed his arm suddenly, tutting at three cuts on his left shoulder. She held it still, inspecting the rakes and finding them deep and messy, having been left to bleed and dry all by themselves.

"Those need cleaning. You're going to get a staph infection," she pointed out. He looked at her, pulling his arm from her hold gently.

"After we've found this animal," he said, ignoring her look of disgust and pulling the clean t-shirt on. He shoved all of his things back into his duffle, rooting around for something. "Well well well, my phone," he said, opening it. "Aw, look at that. Sammy was so worried about me, he didn't even call once."

"I was told you were dead, Dean. And anyway, why didn't you call me?" Sam shot back.

"Cos my phone was in Rosalea's room! Don't know if you've noticed Sam, but I've been hiding out in some other guy's stolen t-shirt since the early hours of Saturday morning," he snapped back.

"Alright! Save it!" Rosalea said abruptly. "What we have to do is drop you somewhere while we look at my motel room."

" 'We'?" Dean and Sam both prompted together.

"Me and Sam. You can't go in there," she snorted at Dean, "the place is still being watched by police. Sam, think of a place to hide him. You and me will take a look at my room. Since the police have kicked me out, anything helpful like animal prints must still be in there. Dean, get your jacket on, it's getting cold," she instructed. The boys exchanged a glance via the rear view mirror. "What?" she asked. "Any questions?"

"Can I call you Rosie?" Dean asked with a cheeky grin.

"Sure – if you want a slap," she said with a broad, innocent smile, and he laughed. "Right then. What do we need to look at back in the room?"

Rosalea and Sam crossed under the yellow tape and ducked into the room, Sam surprised to find there was no door to speak of.

"It came through the door," she said unnecessarily. Sam nodded, looking down at the broken up, splintered wood on the floor.

"This is salt," he said suddenly, crouching down and lifting powder in his fingers.

"Salt?" she asked, walking over to her TV. She spotted the stuffed armadillo toy on the floor and smiled slightly, picking it up and sitting it back on top of the set.

"Yeah, it's ah… Well, sometimes Dean has live rounds in his gun, sometimes salt," he said thoughtfully. "Did you see him shoot at the animal?"

"I saw the first shot. It kinda went straight through it," she said. "Must be some gun your brother has."

"No… Perhaps the animal was a spirit. The first bullet went straight through cos Dean didn't have time to take out the live round. The next round must have been a salt packet," he mused, standing again.

"He shot it with salt?" she asked, confused. "Why?"

"It's not a real animal, Rosalea. It's a spirit."

"You mean a ghost?" she asked, then laughed suddenly. "He shot at a ghost? So how did it kick the door in? Why did it kick the door in? And how did it kill the guy out on the road? With foul language?"

"Sometimes they can make parts of themselves solid for as long as they need to do whatever it is that they need to do," he shrugged. He pulled the EMF meter out of his pocket and crouched over the salt. He switched it on and it started whining straight away. "Yep. He shot a ghost alright."

"Oh really," she asked flatly, then simply watched Sam read the lights and dials. "Wow. You're not kidding about this, are you?" She took a deep breath, then sighed it all out. "What the hell. So… how can we track this ghost thing?" she asked, beyond caring.

"First we need to find out why it only attacked your room," he said. "Maybe it's after you."

"Me?" she gasped. "Why me? I've been here two years and never been attacked by a ghost animal before. Mind you, never took a man like your brother home, either," she mused to herself.

Sam looked at her quickly. "What do you mean?"

"Well… nothing. Just… I don't make a habit of picking up strange men," she said quietly. She looked at Sam, then sighed. "Because he made me laugh," she admitted guiltily. "Honestly, Sam… I'm divorced with no kids, no family except a sister who doesn't speak to me… He's the first guy that has made me laugh out loud in a long time in this crappy, dead-end job. Ok? So stop looking at me like that," she said desperately.

"Like what?" he asked, surprised.

"Like you feel sorry for me! If anything, I'm the one taking advantage of him. He just needs some recognition, some appreciation–" She stopped abruptly, covering her face with her hands. "Oh God, listen to me. I'm sorry, Sam. You're his brother, you must be screaming on the inside 'shut her up'!" she huffed.

He smiled slightly, shaking his head.

"Really… it's fine Rosalea," he said quietly. "We don't meet many girls like you, either," he smiled, turning away to look round the room again. "You sure like your soft toys," he remarked, sweeping the EMF meter over the jumble of dust-covered toys.

"Oh, I know. There's a funky old shop in town, I like to look through the antique bears and stuff in there sometimes."

"I get the bears," Sam said thoughtfully, "and I get the elephants, and the dolphins… but why the armadillo?"

"Oh he's not mine," she said. "There's one in every room."

"Every room? Why?" he asked.

"This is the Armadillo Inn," she said deliberately. Sam 'ah'ed and looked sheepish for a second. "The boss thought it would be fun to have a soft toy of one in every room."

"Right."

"Dean hates him," she grinned, turning and walking to the TV, picking up the plush toy and pushing at its nose slightly. "First thing he did was push him off the TV."

"That's one thing I wouldn't argue over," Sam smiled. "Not exactly a looker, is he?" He paused suddenly, something coming back to him. "Wait – you said there's one of these in every room?"

"Yeah, every one."

"There wasn't one in – yes there was," he interrupted himself. "So… where is it now?" He turned and ducked out of the room through the tape, going round to room eight and opening the door slowly.

He walked in and Rosalea followed him, just as Sam's phone started to ring. He pulled it from his pocket as he walked to the TV.

"Yeah?"

"Sammy. You done yet?" Dean asked. "Woah! No! Left! Left!" he shouted suddenly.

Sam pulled the phone away from his ear slightly so as not to be deafened.

"Dean? No, we're not done yet, and I have some questions for you," he added.

"Ok, shoot – go! Go! Come on, man!" Dean shouted again.

"Dean! Stop what you're doing and pay attention!" Sam called shortly, casting Rosalea a glance. She pretended she wasn't smiling.

"Sorry man, watching the basketball," Dean allowed. "Not much else to do in a sports ground."

"Great. Right, listen. You shot this thing. Did you get a good look at it?" he asked.

"Not really – I thought it was one of them shifter things. First it looked like some kind of animal, then it looked like a guy in a bear suit, you know, like a really crappy Hallowe'en costume kinda get-up. I had my gun but it wasn't loaded right – I forgot the first round was a live one."

"Uh-huh, we got that. The other six?"

"All salt packets. Got him straight in the eye," Dean said proudly. "Took all of 'em to get him to split. Then I heard him down the hall."

"And you ran after him?"

"What are you, an idiot?" Dean snapped, and Sam raised his eyebrows, surprised. "No I did not. I got my jeans and boots back on, then I jumped out the window, it was quicker."

"You stopped to get your pants on?"

"You think I'm just gonna run around wearing nothing but my amulet? I didn't want to get arrested that much," Dean countered sarcastically.

"Right, so anyway… you followed it?"

"I ran across the car park but couldn't see it. Then I heard this screaming and your usual spirit-animal-attack crunching sounds, so I followed it. Found it gouging organs out of poor Dead Dude by the side of the road," he said.

"Nice image," Sam replied, looking at the TV again and around slowly. "And then?"

"It turned on me, made like Wolverine. Think we both got a bit scratched up. I shot at it with salt till I was out, but then it just plain vanished. I waited but it didn't come back. Then that guy was moaning and begging, and… well, he wasn't going anywhere but down and I didn't want him to go the hard way," Dean allowed. Sam nodded to himself, closing his eyes briefly. "I loaded a live round and I ah… I shot him."

"You were carrying live rounds?"

"What can I say, these pockets in my jeans ain't for ballast," he said quietly.

"Fine. The gun?"

"Kinda lost track of it… I must have dropped it – what's that phrase – 'fleeing the scene'," he said uneasily. "Did you find it? It's got my prints on it and there's a matching round in the dead guy."

"No. You also dropped your fake driver's license, dumbass," he said disapprovingly. "That's why they asked me to ID the guy. Funny though, he actually matched your description." He paused, thinking about it. "Anyway, the police have your gun now. And like you say, it's got your prints on it – not Paul Rodger's, Dean Winchester's. Do you realise what that means?" Sam asked patiently.

"We're gonna get flagged by the FBI. Jesus," Dean spat, and Sam sighed.

"Um, one more question before I figure out how we're going to get out of this one," Sam said lightly, and Dean waited.

"What?"

"Was there an armadillo on the TV set when we came in?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, where is it now?" he asked.

"How the hell should I know? Maybe it got up and walked away," he said flippantly, then sniffed. "I shot at it. Hated it watching me, man."

"You shot at it? With what?" Sam demanded.

"With the plastic suckers I found in the bureau," Dean said, amused. "Don't worry Sam, I didn't plug the little weasel with salt. Kinda wish I had, though."

"Why?" Sam asked, not even paying attention as he looked down the back of the TV, finding the armadillo.

"Just hate him. Felt like he was watching us the whole time," he said, shivering with revulsion. Sam heard it down the phone and smiled.

"Well don't worry, he's just a stuffed toy," he said, lifting it to look at it carefully. He sniffed slowly. "Wait, what did you say you shot it with?"

"Plastic suckers, like kids' dart things," Dean said. "Why?"

"Nothing… But… this one smells kinda funky. I don't think it's a toy," he said slowly. "I think it's a real stuffed dead armadillo."

"That's just gross!" Dean protested. "Who the hell puts a dead animal in a room? Just what do these out-in-the-boonies people do?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised just what they do do," Sam said, then clamped his mouth shut in mortification, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily as he shook his head.

Dean laughed suddenly. "Dude, you said 'do-do'," he grinned.

"What are you, five?" he countered, but he couldn't help smiling. "Look, we're finishing up here. Looks like we have some armadillo lore to look up."

"And who is 'we'?" a voice said from the door.

Rosalea and Sam looked over quickly. Tall, weedy Officer Mason was standing in the doorway, flanked by three policemen. He smiled serenely at them both.

"Afternoon, Mr Kirke. Or rather, Samuel Winchester. So tell me… where is Dean?"