It was two in the morning when a 1967 black Impala pulled into the Ryder's Inn parking lot. The area was empty except for two other cars, not that the driver of the Impala minded.
It was a quick process of getting a room, the farthest and least used one of the whole motel.
With a natural strut, the man walked back to his car, driving to the room before the turning the roar off the monstrous machine. All while he walked back, he did not notice a pair of blue eyes staring down at him with somber curiosity gleaming in them.
They continued to observe the man as he grabbed a large duffel bag from his car, constantly looking over his shoulder. When a faint breeze passed, they tilted their head, listening to something unheard by the human ear.
When the man disappeared into his room, the observer shrugged their shoulder before disappearing into the darkness of the early morning.
Dean huffed as he made a careful observation in the room before taking precautions; locking the windows, closing the curtains, baring the door, and spreading salt on all entry ways, including the air vent on the ground.
Once that was done, after placing the duffel on a nearby chair, the elder Winchester carefully reached into his chest coat pocket and pulled out a four-inch figure also known as Sam Winchester, his younger brother who he thought he lost many years ago.
Gently setting the younger and smaller Winchester on the pillow of the spare twin bed, Dean placed one of his shirts over him as a blanket.
Once his brother was set, the larger hunter sighed and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over one of the chairs at the mini table in the attempt of a kitchenette, before plopping down on the unoccupied bed.