Love Never Dies (SPN Fanfic)

Pilot [4]

Sam paced, holding his phone, and sat down on the bed.

A voicemail message was playing. "Hey, it's me, it's about ten-twenty Saturday night..." Jess said on the message.

Dean, clean again, came out of the bathroom and grabbed his jacket. He shrugged it on one shoulder as he crossed the room. "Hey, man. I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?"

"No," Sam told him.

"Aframian's buying,"

Sam shook his head "Mm-mm,"

Dean left the motel room. He got the jacket the rest of the way on as he crossed the lot. He looked over and saw a police car, where the Motel Clerk was talking to two Deputies.

The Clerk pointed at Dean, who turned away and pulled out his cell phone.

***

Sam was sitting on the bed, still listening to the message.

"So come home soon, okay? I love you," Jess said.

The phone beeped.

Sam looked at it and pressed a button, then put it back to his ear. "What?"

"Dude, five-oh, take off," Dean told him.

Sam stood up. "What about you?"

"Uh, they kinda spotted me. Go find Dad,"

***

Dean hung up the phone as the Deputies approached. He turned and grinned at them "Problem, officers?"

"Where's your partner?" Deputy Jaffe asked.

"Partner? What, what partner?"

Jaffe glanced over his shoulder and jerked his thumb towards the motel room.

Hein headed over there.

Dean fidgeted.

"So. Fake US Marshal. Fake credit cards. You got anything that's real?" Deputy Jaffe questioned.

"My boobs," Dean grinned.

Hein slammed Dean over the hood of the cop car. "You have the right to remain silent..."

***

Sheriff Pierce entered the room, carrying a box. He set the box on the table at which Dean sat and went around the table to face Dean across it. "So you want to give us your ream name?"

"I told you, it's Nugent. Ted Nugent," Dean lied.

"I'm not sure you realize just how much trouble you're in here,"

"We talkin', like, misdemeanor kind of trouble or, uh, squeal like a pig trouble?"

"You got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall."

Dean looked away

"Along with a whole lot of Satanic mumbo-jumbo. Boy, you are officially a suspect,"

"That makes sense. Because when the first one went missing in '82 I was three," Dean sassed.

"I know you've got partners. One of 'em's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing. So tell me. Dean." The Sheriff tossed a brown leather-covered journal on the table. "This his?"

Dean stared at it.

The Sheriff sat on the edge of the table. He flipped through the journal: it was filled with newspaper clippings, notes, and pictures, just like what was on the walls of John's motel room. "I thought that might be your name. See, I leafed through this. What little I could make out-I mean, it's nine kinds of crazy."