Hunters

Friends in a Motel Bed

* May's POV *

We pull off at a motel that is only a couple exits down from the reststop. It's a secluded and tiny building, only one story, and a giant motel sign that seems bigger than the whole place hangs facing the highway. It's lit up a dull yellow with huge black letter spelling out motel, but the 'l' light is broken, so it just says mote. The whole places screams 'horrible stay' honestly, and the peeling blue paint makes it look like shit. I feel an ember of anger grow, but dismiss it quickly. This isn't anyone's fault, but that doesn't help the homesickness and fear. I want my bed so bad, and I just want my life to be normal again. I want to hug my mom and talk to her about this. My life is just so desolate now, with no friends but my fucking math teacher. Pathetic.

I'm just mad at that man for some reason. Gnawing anger rises somewhere deep inside me, and I just can't shake it off. He's connected to my parents dying. I know it. Somehow, someway, I know it. And I hate him for that. When I can't blame anyone else, I'll blame him. Whoever killed my parents ruined my life, and if Sam can make them pay, then I won't leave his side.

The Impala comes to a stop and I hop out of the car, heading to the back to get my bag.

"Whoa whoa whoa. Only the professionals get access to the back, sweetie," Dean winks at me. His deceivingly nice smile is flashed at me, and I cross my arms over my chest. He can be such a dick. Maybe if he wasn't so fucking attractive and charismatic I would hate him.

I hear the patter of Lucy's paws on the asphalt behind me as I head toward the main door. A porch light is on outside each room, and the gold glow creates an eeriness that casts over the whole area. Why do I feel like rapists stay here all year round?

Sam motions for me to follow him after he grabs my bag along with his from the trunk of the Impala, or Dean's "baby" as he so fondly calls it, but Dean stays behind a minute to collect his loose things and put them his duffle. It only crosses my mind for a minute that I should be concerned when I hear metal clanking in the trunk, but I shake it off. I have to trust these guys if I'm going to get anywhere. Staying in this motel with no questions asked can be my first act of loyalty. My shoes noisily scrape along the pebble-filled parking lot, brining me to Sam's side. He looks down at me and smiles, and that makes me feel a whole lot better about this. As long as I'm with Sam, nothing can hurt me. If someone really is pursuing us, he'll take care of it.

The dirty glass door swings open with a squeal of protest as we step inside, and a man is sitting and reading a magazine by the dim lighting in the chair at the front desk. The 'open' sign flickers a little, and I try to swallow my increasing resentment.

"Hi," Sam smiles slightly, and the man looks up.

"What can I do for you, man?" The man smiles back. I see his eyes and cover my mouth, trying not to laugh. They are bloodshot and red, and the man smiles a large, lazy grin. This man is obviously high, no questions asked. When you've been going to public school all your life, particularly when one school was in LA, you pick up on when people aren't sober.

"One room please. Two beds, and if there's a room with a couch, that'd be great," he says, giving the man a weird look. Sam then taps his long fingers on the desk next to the guy's computer, and the he nods. He shuffles a little and looks around the desk for something, finally giving a blank stare to the computer and wiggling the mouse to turn it on.

"Oh. Okay. Yeah. One room. Sorry man, I don't even work here. I'm just covering for a brother, yknow," the guy laughs, and Sam doesn't look amused. The guy continues to have a fit of giggles as he clicks around the computer, having to stop momentarily to laugh.

"That's nice of you. Can I just have a key?" Sam says, and I giggle too. He looks down at me and smiles, rolling his eyes at the guy. I don't even have to ask to know he's done this a million times.