Faith Against Fate

Bright sunlight cut in through the edges of the blinds. I glanced over at the bedside clock, and for a second I couldn’t even comprehend what the glowing numbers read.

Three forty-five.

It didn’t make sense. It was still sunny out so it had to be the afternoon, but I didn’t go to sleep until after nine the night before.

Surely I hadn’t slept for a whole day?

One glance at the date on my cell phone confirmed it though. I’d been asleep for eighteen hours. My arm was stiff and killing me, but not as bad as before. My joints were creaking and groaning like an old lady’s when I rolled out of bed, and an old bullet wound on my shoulder was acting up. My stomach was painfully empty, and a shower was definitely in order, but all in all I felt so much better than I had in a while. Really, that was how bad my life sucked.

I opened the curtains about halfway, letting the fading sunlight filter into the room. I looked out, observing the scene. In the back of my mind I wondered if I could ever look out a window again without turning it into a situation assessment.

Without my contacts I couldn’t see much, but other than a black car parked about halfway down the lot there wasn’t any sign of life at the small motel. Portsmouth obviously wasn’t at the top of your average American family’s list of things to see before they die, and that was just dandy with me.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes I was almost decent enough to go out without attracting stares. I decided to at least try and find work before I resorted to more…illegal measures. I’d spotted a diner about two miles down the road from my motel, and a couple boutique stores. I didn’t really expect to get hired, but at least I could say I tried.

I threw on the only collared, button-down shirt I owned, a pair of jeans I’d yet to rip, and some pearl earrings that used to be my mother’s. I wore glasses instead of contacts, and after applying a heavy layer of make-up to hide the worst of the bruises and scars on my face, I threw on my old leather jacket and headed outside. I made sure the door was locked tight behind me, and scanned the surrounding area one more time. I had my hand resting on the butt of my Desert Eagle which I’d hidden in the jacket, and it instinctively tightened when my eyes fell on the black car I’d seen earlier.

Holy fuck. There was no way. No way in hell could it seriously be…

Shit. It was. A black, ’67 Impala. Kansas plates.

I drew the gun, careful to keep it along my side facing the empty building so it wasn’t visible from the road. I didn’t believe in coincidences, so it was either a trap set by some desperate demon, or John Winchester had finally come looking for me. Either way, the outcome wouldn’t be pleasant.
I still wasn’t sure that confronting the seemingly innocent car was my wisest decision ever, but I was so fucking sick of running. Whatever, or whomever it was would most likely just chase me anyway, and that was the last thing I needed.

I gripped the gun even tighter, clicking the safety off as I walked past the car, quickly scanning the side of the building for hidden monsters. It was clear.

I circled around the office building, the weapon raised now, but it was clear too. I stuffed it in the waistband of my jeans and closed the jacket over it before going into the office.

“Yes ma’am, what can I do for you?” the old man asked. I took the time to read his nametag.

“Actually, Ernie,” I flashed a wide smile, “I was hoping you could tell me who the other person is who checked into the room a few doors down from mine. I was supposed to meet someone here but I lost their cell number.”

“Oh it was a nice couple from somewhere south of here. Probably not who you’re looking for,” the man winked.

“Actually,” I thought quickly, “that sort of describes who I was looking for. What was the man’s name?”

“Huh, which one?”

“I’m sorry?” I asked, totally confused.

“It was a gay couple sweetheart. Two men.”

My stomach rose to my throat. Sure, it was a little unorthodox as covers went, but I’d learned a long time ago that demons were not afraid to get creative. Honestly, I did prefer them over Winchester, and if I wasn’t about to head into serious battle I might have been relieved.

“What did they look like?” I asked, my tone changing instantly. It was business time, and I wasn’t afraid to employ persuasive tactics on the old man.

“Why are you so interested in them? You know I’ve already told you more than I should have, missy. There’s a thing called pri-”

The sight of my .50 caliber Desert Eagle stopped him midsentence as I held it leveled at his head. I wouldn’t have shot him, but sometimes it just takes a little glimpse of Betsy to get people talking. And yes, she had a name.

“Please! Please ma’am don’t shoot me! I have three kids and a wife…”

“Just tell me what they look like, give me the key to their room, and nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

“Alright! Just please don’t kill me.” He reached into his pocket and passed a set of keys across the counter. “The one with the green ring around it is the master key. They’re in room 112. One of the guys was really tall, like seven foot, had long brownish hair…you know, like the kids wear now a days, and the other was maybe my height, six foot, with like, a crew cut or something. Both looked a bit rugged, kind of young. And that’s all I remember! I swear!”

“Names?”

“They signed them in the guestbook,” he gestured towards an open book on the counter, “but they called each other different ones. I think, Sal and Don or something like that.”

“And it was just two of them right?”

“Yes, just the two,” Ernie nodded vigorously.

I looked in the guestbook, and scribbled across the lines were two names I didn’t recognize.

“Alright then. Thank you for your cooperation. Now, for your protection and mine, I’m going to have to ask you to step in that restroom over there please,” I motioned towards the door marked “men.”

“No, no please, please don’t kill me!”

“I’m not!” I replied forcefully, “these men are dangerous though, and I don’t want you or the police getting in the way. Now give me your cell phone and get over there!”

The man took his phone out and handed it to me, and then, with his hands raised, walked over to the single bathroom and stepped inside.

“Please don’t be afraid. I’ll let you out as soon as I can, but until then keep quiet,” I said, and slammed the door in his face. It opened outward, so all I had to do was shove the filing cabinet in front of it and I was good to go.

Now all I had to do was waste a couple of demons. My day just kept getting better and better.

It was all quiet outside, and the car hadn’t moved. I scrambled over to it, using the gleaming black metal as cover while I tried to figure out the best entry method.

I could always lure them out, but then they’d be expecting me. I could wait around all night, but that would just give them time to plan, and for backup to arrive. Busting in with guns ablaze while screaming Latin exorcism prayers always did the trick, but I usually came out a little worse for wear, and I was already injured.

But no matter what, I figured I wouldn’t leave this fight unscathed, so I just had to suck it up and go with what I knew. There wasn’t time for clever little traps or waiting around. They were going down tonight if it killed me, and I shivered when I realized how true those words rang.

“Breathe Faith, just breathe,” I tried to calm myself. Another thought had been nagging at me, a question left unanswered. How had they gotten the Impala? I couldn’t tell if it was the original, but if it wasn’t it was damn close. Down to the little army man stuffed into the inside of the backdoor.

Had they taken John’s beloved car away from him? Had they killed him? Were Sam and Dean…?

No. Angry red blotches spotted my vision as I thought of them lying on the side of the road somewhere, and my decision was made. Those demons were going to fucking talk before I released them from this world, and then they were going to suffer.

I darted from my position beside the car and placed myself flat against the building, just to the left of the door to room 112. I stuffed the key in my pocket and rapped on the door.

“Maid service!” I called out. I heard shuffling, and I tensed up. This was it…

“We’ve already had maid service today,” a muffled voice spoke from just on the other side of the door.

“No English,” I replied, “maid service!”

“No maid service!” the frustrated voice replied, still without opening the door. I wanted to hit something. But then, why hit something when I could just shoot it?

“Okay,” I answered, stepping in front of the door, “no maid service for you then,” and I opened fire on that door, my bullets penetrating easily. I slipped another clip in quickly, made swiss cheese of the lock and door handle, and kicked it open. I was subsequently met with a barrage of gunfire, so I was forced to duck down beside the entrance and the outside wall covered me.

“What the fuck is going on?” I heard one of them call out in an unfamiliar, deep voice. “Are you hit?”

“Son of a bitch! She hit my shoulder God Damnit!” the other answered, and I thought I felt my heart skip two whole beats. That voice was familiar, and even though it had been close to nine years since I’d heard it, Dean’s voice was unmistakable.

A gay couple…

Two men…

Youngish…

The Impala…

Oh shit.