Killing Sam Winchester (Sam Winchester FANFIC)

Chapter 3 - Instinct

He brought me down to his motel. It was chilly that night, the wind screaming as soon as we began making our way over there. I wish I could have stayed in the car, the warm toasty heater would do me good. But I need to get the job done, even though Reba denied this idea.

"So what brought you to the sunny town of Lewistown? There isn't much here." He remarks, stuffing his hands in his coat pocket. I'm alert, the way he positioned himself, the way he moves and walks. I stay cautious, my eyes flickering back and forth. I feel the blade in my boot, a comfortable feeling. 

I'm trained for this, to notice the stutter in somebody's voice, the shrug of shoulders or the darting of eyes. I need to know if they're lying or not, know when to strike. It's just an instinct I always had and it kept me alive til now.

"Just passing through." I answer, quickly sweeping my eyes over the parking lot of the motel. Everything seemed to be perfectly placed. Too perfectly placed. I stop instantly and Sam turns around to face me. He easily towered me, dwrafing me in my five and eleven inches size. 

"What's wrong?" He asks, raising his eyebrows, inquiring for my hesistate posture.

"I," pausing, I let my gaze sweep a second time. I shake the feeling a second time but continue on, eager to see their temperary living space. "it's nothing nevermind."

"Alright c'mon, it's getting cold out here." He waves me over and we quickly cross the streets. The road are completely deserted, which gave me the creeps. The better I'm inside the better it is for me.

We enter the motel, turning down a narrow red carpeted hallway with dying lights. Ten sets of doors follow the hall. Sam stops at number twenty-five, sticking the keys in and turning the knob. He enters the room. Floral patterns scatter the walls, two sets of queen size bed taking up a side of the room while a small, bulky TV took the other. We entered in a small kitchen, the table scattered with papers and a laptop.

I'm curious, stopping a little to lean in and check out the main article. Paige Taria Death, 1973.

I frown, questions running through my head, but Sam interrupts them, making me jump. Why was I so shaky? "Sorry for the mess." He scurries, moving papers and shutting his laptop and shoving them in his duffel bag.

"No it's fine." I say moving off the carpet.

But I can't move.

"What the...?" I exclaim.

"I knew it." Sam retorts, pulling his phone out and dialing a number. "Dean, we got her."

My head spins, the instinct to run clear as a bell. I should have run. How could I trust the person who I'm suposed to kill?

He hangs up and stuffs the phone in his coat pocket, pulling the chair from the table and sitting down. He grabs an old, dirty book bound with leather and sets it on his lap. "Welcome demon."

"Demon?" I snort, bending over on my hands and knees. I let the laughter pour through me, feeling good to release. I'm hysterical, sounding crazy. "You think I'm a demon? Those things are just myths to mess with your head." I tap my forehead.

"Fine." He jerks his head, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. "Prove it. Get out of the Devil's trap."

"Fine." I grit my teeth together and begin to walk. Again, I hit this invisible glass wall, but there was nothing there. It sizzles, tickling my forearm. "Sam, get me out of here."

"Why are you here?" He interrupts, his face falling into seriousness. "Who sent you? Lucifer?"

"Who the hell is Lucifer? What are you blabbing about?" I'm confused, my whole body tense.

Somebody comes in. I turn around to face a man. He's shorter than Sam, his hair that stood up and a smirk across his face. His gaze travels over my body, the large coat making his shoulders broad and large. I recognize him instantly. Dean.

Sam approaches his brother, leaning in and whispering something in his ears. They both stare back at me, their eyes like needles. "So?" I throw my hands up in the air, crossing my arm.

Dean pulls a small cylinder from his coat pocket. I could hear the slushing of a liquid inside. Suddenly, something cool drenches my body head to toe. I spit up water, my eyes glaring at Dean's and Sam's. "I just took my shower, thanks. Can I go now?"

Both of them exchange a nervous look, unsure of who I am anymore. 

I swear if they don't let me go now, they're both dead to me.

"So?" I urge, crossing my arms.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Dean responds, closing the cylinder and giving his brother a shaky look. I groan.