Reckless [Dean Winchester]

1. "Move Away."

1. "Move Away."

There's got to be some place to hunker down in for the night. There has to be. I'm not going back. What is there left for me there, anyway, besides painful reminders of what I failed to do?

Though there's no wind blowing, the temperature is a little too cool for my liking. Though I've endured many cool nights, my body isn't immune to them. I wish it was.

I keep to myself and avoid any eye contact with any passersby. Not that there are many at this time of night. Most are driving, not even taking a chance of walking by themselves. Those are the smart people. They know better than to be by themselves when they don't know what goes on at night.

A car strolls on by. Fortunately for me, there are no puddles they can hit to splash me. I'd probably welcome it anyway. It would maybe help my appearance some.

I've looked at myself in some store windows. First judgement by anyone would be that I'm someone to not cross. Well, they wouldn't be wrong. I'm not someone to be around.

I keep my tired legs moving by focusing on a new shelter. There has to be some place, I repeat. Some place. A streetlight flickers above me.

After hours of passing by people in places with much better lives than mine, I come across a promising sight: a motel parking lot. To many, it wouldn't be that big of a deal. But to me, it's one hell of a big deal. It's a better place than where I've been lately.

The desolate parking lot gives off a creepy air. Of course, I'm no stranger to creepy atmosphere. It doesn't bother me that much, not compared to an atmosphere that I can smell the danger in. So far, I don't see anything that would lead me to feel threatened. Still, I feel for the homemade shank in my jacket pocket. It's my only means of protection. If anyone tries to get me, I'll make them think twice about it.

The motel's sign gives me some lighting on top of the streetlights. I don't really bother to read the sign, as I really don't care that much about it. There are few cars as I walk deeper into the lot. I'm stuck in a debate. I could just pick a lock on one of the doors and bunk in an empty room for a few days for free as long as I kept suspicion away. Though the chances of that were pretty high, for some reason, my mind tells me to pick a different direction. You're already low, why not go lower? I eye up some of the cars around me. I purse my lips.

There's not a hell of a big selection.

I take my time to car shop. Rest in one, and then hotwire it and drive away in the morning. I would easily do it right now, but I'm physically wiped out. I don't want to drive off only to crash the stolen car later.

Though I'm not a big car fanatic, one in particular catches my eye. Though it's probably older than me, the car looks in mint condition. The lights don't give me much to go on, other than it's a dark navy color-or black, four doors. To me, it's a bed. A bed that I have to break into to sleep in.

I quickly decide to pick the back door instead of smash one of the windows-I want to be smart about this. A few times, I look around to make sure nobody is looking my way. I begin to wonder who would own this kind of car. Probably an older person, possibly a guy. Someone who's going through a midlife crisis maybe? No, that'd involve a newer, expensive car. This car is probably neither of those things.

Once I hear the victorious click, I mutely pull the door open and clamber inside, shutting the door a bit louder than I want to. I freeze for a long minute then relax when nobody comes to investigate. I let out a breath and fall back against the backseat. Hmm, comfortable. This'll do. Tomorrow, I get to work.