The diner smelled of thick, artery-clogging grease and bacon charred beyond any form of recognizable food. Truckers and locals sat up along the front counter chocking back the daily special with a resigned zeal. The waitresses' surgically white sneakers squeaked along the chipped and faded red linoleum as they darted between tables, freshening coffees.
She sat in a booth in the far corner, spinning a pencil in one hand as she stared blindly down at the folded newspaper in front of her, pretending to struggle with the crossword. A waitress strode up to her table, a working, wearied smile on her face. "Freshen you up?" she asked nodding toward the half empty porcelain cup on the table.
Startled she glanced up quickly, "Sure," she said indecisively, looking back at the crossword. The waitress filled the cup and waltzed away.
She bounced the pencil between her fingers, growing impatient. She'd been sitting in the diner all morning, waiting. If they didn't come soon she'd have no choice but to leave or she'd start attracting suspicion from the other diners.
Just as she was considering the morning a lost cause, the bell over the door sounded out and two young men entered. She felt a jolt go through her, sure that finally the waiting had panned out. Mercifully, she heard them slide into the booth ahead of the one she sat at. Carefully chancing a glance she saw the one facing her was in his mid- to late twenties with short brown hair and a slight dusting of stubble across his chin - exactly fitting the description she'd been given.
Looking down, she tried to focus on their conversation, but their hushed tones were partially masked by the diner chatter. Still she caught a few words now and then.
"Dean, listen-" one of them spoke sharply before a young blonde waitress flounced over to take their order, cutting him off. That was all the information she needed to convince her to hang tight.
She sat, nursing her cup of coffee, as Sam and Dean Winchester ordered greasy diner breakfasts and spoke to each other in low, conspirators' tones. Eventually she stopped pretending to puzzle over the crossword and stared sightlessly out the dingy window, attempting to catch any further insights into their conversation. Every now and then her straining ears would pick out a word or two, but never enough to make the slightest glimmer of sense.
After a considerable amount of time she saw the boys preparing to leave.
She took a moment to hunt enough money to pay for the food and coffee she had managed to choke back from the wallet in the well-worn bag beside her in the booth, but was careful to keep them in her peripheral vision as they slid out from their booth. She stood and followed the Winchesters out of the diner, her heels clicking lightly on the abused tile. Although she followed them closely she was sure to leave a safe distance between them, though she was aware that Dean or Sam had likely been fully aware of her from the moment she started eavesdropping. They were the golden boy Winchesters.
As Sam and Dean reached the far side of the parking lot they turned to face their pursuer. She stopped dead, keeping the same comfortable distance away from the two young men.
"So you want to tell us why you're tailing us, Sunshine?" the shorter one she took the be Dean asked. She watched as his eyes scanned from her sunny brown hair passed the fitted black jacket and faded blue jeans and back again. Sam stood stoically beside him, distrust in his eyes.
"First, you tell me; are you Sam and Dean Winchester?"
Her eyes followed Dean's arms as he crossed them in front of his chest, watching as one hand disappeared under the leather jacket he wore, no doubt to find a handgun hidden there. "Might be," he quipped.
"What do you want?" Sam asked, surveying her face, "and just who are you?"
"That's going to take some time to explain," her eyes remained fixed on the hand Dean kept underneath his jacket warily, "but this isn't the best place to discuss-" she paused searching for words to describe what she had sought them out for, "what I wanted to talk to you about."
Sam and Dean shared a glance before turning their gazes back at her, not making any motions to happily accept her less than half-assed explanation.
Knowing that it was easier to give a bit more information than to stand there staring at each other she let out a breath, "Theresa Priestley," she said by way of introduction. There was a short pause before she said, a little hesitantly, "And I know Bobby Singer."
"Bobby? Bobby sent you here?" Dean asked incredulously, his look of suspicion growing.
"He didn't send me here," she corrected quickly.
"Then why are you here?" frustration tinted his words.
"Are you - are you a hunter?" Sam asked critically.
"Yes. That hard to believe?" she asked, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice but still sounded snippy.
"Well, no offence, princess, but you don't look the type," Dean's eyes scanned her again, resting on her fashionably feminine heeled boots which were obviously no good for any kind of physical activity.
An ironic, agreeing smile crossed her lips and she nodded knowingly, "Yeah, I know. But that's why I was looking for you two."
The brothers shared another communicative look. Dean's hand relaxed inside his jacket and the distrustful look faded a few degrees from Sam's eyes, though she knew she was far from out of the woods yet. "Well, in that case Theresa, what can we do for you?" Dean's question was loaded with not-so-hidden implications, as was the cheeky smile he flashed her.
Sam subtly nudged his brother, and obvious reprimand to keep focus on more than a pretty face. "What do you mean?"
"Uh-" she paused once again, "like I said, I don't think this is the best place to discuss it."
"Why not?" the keen suspicion entered Sam's green eyes again.
"It's just-" she sighed, dragging a hand through her hair, allowing it to stay buried for a moment before dropping down once more the smack against her thigh. "I don't know what's going on, but I don't want to be overheard by…anything."
"Overheard by anything?" Dean raised an eyebrow sceptically.
"What do you mean?" Sam's tone was much less accusatory though it was clear that his patience was running low with the veiled hints and very much wanted some answers.
"I doubt you guys chose to just detour over to this small time town, so you know there's a job here," she started, putting her hands uneasily into her pockets. Dean nodded his agreement, encouraging her to continue, "But I've been here for over a week, working on it, and something's just not right." She shifted her weight to one side, casting a look around. "Look, I'm really sorry. But there's got to be somewhere else we can talk. Please."
"Yeah, okay," Same said hesitantly, though clearly interested in getting to the bottom of this, especially if it involved the job they had come here for.
"Well, where's a good place? My motel room isn't far. If you guys are good with that, I can lead you there." She had her misgivings about leading them to someplace where she would be vulnerable nightly, but she had heard that they were trustworthy guys, and after this short meeting she was slightly inclined to believe it was true.
Neither of the Winchesters spoke for a moment; she could almost see them weighing the odds in their minds, using the keen sense of self preservation necessary to all hunters who weren't already sleeping under tombstones. Theresa knew how suspicious it probably sounded and were she them she wouldn't be likely to accept such a proposition, after all, she could be some freak with a grudge against them. Hunters weren't exactly the most understanding people and she had a feeling they didn't believe she really was one anyway. From what she understood, there were plenty of people wanting to take a crack at their whole family.
"Alright," Dean agreed gruffly, "Lead us there. We'll follow right behind."
"Thank you," she had been worried that they would refuse to speak with her, and she really needed their help in this one. She was out of options. "See that black Mercedes behind you?" she nodded in its direction over their shoulders, "It's mine."
They both looked behind them at the spotless C300 model. It might not have been ideal, but at the very least it ran well and was pretty anonymous, in that regard it was perfect.
She walked over to her car, passing close by the Winchesters as she did so. Opening the back door she tossed in the bag she had carried with her into the diner. Theresa looked up in time to see Sam and Dean climb into a beautiful '67 Chevy Impala. She looked the classic American muscle up and down, feeling downright, sinfully envious.
After only no more than a moment she noticed Dean watching her admiring his car, a slight smirk on his face. Feeling a little embarrassed at being caught ogling, she opened her driver's side door and climbed in, pulling her keys out and starting the ignition. From the sounds of things, Dean had done the same. The sound of the Impala's engine roaring into life shot another jolt of jealousy through her body. He probably did it on purpose. Which only caused her to grit her teeth as she pulled out.