The Statue of the Corpses

Chapter Two

The shiny, jet black Impala pulled up beside a roadside diner on the corner. A faded sign hung from the screen door, letting anyone who was passing by know that the place was open. "The Nothing Fancy Diner" was painted in red letters on a white wooden sign over the door. 

"Homey," was all Dean commented, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. He winked at Sam before his smirk broke into a crooked grin.

As the pair exited the car, Sam rolled his hazel eyes and allowed a small smile. He shut the car door behind him firmly as Dean did the same. The dusty gravel crunched under their boots as they walked over to the diner.

When they reached the screen door, Sam noticed there wasn't actually much screen left. Some holes were patched up with duct tape, but over the years it had been torn and rusted until there was little still holding it together.

Dean pushed past Sam to swing open the door and proceeded to step in, not bothering to check if Sam was following or not.

The inside of the diner looked more like a small country house that had been adapted into a diner. There was a long counter on one side, and on the other side there was a line of booths. Behind the counter a kitchen could be seen. It was small and cluttered with dishes. Somewhere within the grease and soap bubbles from the sink, the chef was back there cooking.

The diner was bustling with noise, although it seemed to be all routine. All the regulars were old men lined up at the counter. They all talked over each other, trying to get their story or joke heard. Dean guessed they told the same stories and jokes every day. In the back, the chef could be heard yelling over the sizzling grease, trying to simultaneously have conversation with the customers while also cooking. An older woman, the single waitress, weaved around the tables to pour coffee into people's mugs when needed.

Dean came to a halt when he noticed the sudden stillness of the room. All the old men had lifted their heads to size up the two young men walking in. An awkward silence hung over the room as all eyes remained glued to the two men dressed in suits.

"Hey, how ya doing?" Dean grinned, attempting to break the ice. The old men stared for another minute before hesitantly turning back to their conversations. The clinking of dishes returned as the chef returned to cooking and cleaning.

Dean raised his eyebrows and shot a look at Sam. The brothers slid into a cushy booth, Dean on one side and Sam across from him on the other.

The only waitress in the diner scurried over to their table. She had short, fading blonde curls on her head, and big hoops dangled from her ears. Her wrinkled skin was stained with a bad fake tan.

"What can I get you boys?" she asked as she pulled out a pen and paper.

There were no menus, but that was expected. Everyone who came here knew exactly what was on the menu, and they probably ordered the same meal every day. Dean glanced up at the chalkboard over the counter, which listed the breakfasts available.

"I'll have the special with a side of bacon... And a coffee." Dean glanced up at the waitress' name tag as she scrawled down the order in her notepad. "Thanks, Debbie."

She glanced up towards Sam. "And what will you be having, hun?"

"Just a short stack. And make that two coffees please," Sam replied, offering a polite smile.

"Coming right up," she murmured as she finished writing down the order. Debbie then glanced up and smiled at Sam, letting her green eyes run over him. "Say, are you two cops?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dean answered, pulling out his false badge. "FBI. I'm Agent Jefferson, and this hunk here is Agent O'Neil." Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder as Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh, I just love a man in uniform," Debbie winked at Sam, leaning on the table slightly. Sam grimaced but managed to flash her a weak smile.

Dean bit back a grin until Debbie left the table to get their orders in. He laughed, and Sam groaned, knowing what was coming.

"You're getting back in the game, Sammy," Dean joked. "Good for you." Sam rolled his eyes once again and kicked Dean under the table.

When Debbie returned with their steaming plates of food, she refilled their coffees and stayed by their table to talk. She was all over Sam, laughing hysterically at anything that came from his mouth or shamelessly winking at him every few minutes.

Dean snickered a bit, unable to contain the amusement coming from his brother's discomfort. Debbie glanced over at the older Winchester for the first time.

"You're not so bad either," Debbie smirked.

Dean's green eyes widened, and he choked on his food.

"Stop your flirting, Debbie! They're too young for you!" One of the old men from the counter called. Debbie flushed and yelled back at him to shut up.

When she turned back to Sam, the two brothers had cleaned their plates and were wiping their greasy fingers on their suit pants.

"You're not leaving already, are you?" Debbie gasped, getting ready to refill their coffees again.

"Well, I'm gonna have to split you love birds up," Dean sighed, standing up. "We have important business to attend to."

"Are you investigating the death of that boy...what was his name? Bobby Evans?"

"Robby," Sam corrected, his interest peaking a bit. "Robby Evans."

"Oh, I heard about the accident this morning. It's awful. So many teenagers have been dying up there."

"So we've heard," Dean muttered.

"You know, I think they ought to put up a fence. Or stop teenagers from getting up there. But boys will be boys, you know? I suppose they can't stop kids from getting up there. It's a shame..."

"Do you know about the other accidents?" Sam raised an eyebrow and shifted forward a little in interest.

"Oh, yeah. You hear about them all. News spreads fast here. It started with that Tommy boy. I forget his last name... Bryan...?"

"Bryson," an old man at the counter offered.

"Oh yes, Bryson. Tommy Bryson. I remember now. It was a shame. It really shocked the whole town. And it shook up his friend who was with him. It's a shame. The boy hasn't been the same since... And his family... They're all broken up since their son's death..."

"Well, thanks for breakfast, Debbie. We have to head out and work on the case. But we'll see you 'round."

"Don't be gone too long, boys! Especially you, Agent O'Neil." Debbie winked.

"You know he won't," Dean grinned. "Could barely drag him away from you."

Debbie giggled and waved as they headed back to the car.

"What do you say, Sammy? Head back to a motel and work your magic with some research?" Dean grinned, opening up the car and climbing into the driver's seat.

"Yeah. Let's find out more about Tommy Bryson. Where it all began..."