Motel Hendry

This is a blog for a fan fictional character in the Supernaturalverse. If you would like to interact with the owner please send Henny a message. She's around cleaning or fixing the place up

[motelhenny]

“Henny? Henny? You here?!” A gruff voice soloed with the tarnished brass bell on the counter. “Henny!”

“What!? Yes! I’m here, where the hell else would I be?” Throwing several tools, including a large monkey wrench that rattled loudly as it hit the chipped, dingy tan Formica counter, Henny came...

[motelhenny]

The place isn’t really much to look at, one of those divey motels that most respectable people wouldn’t dream of checking into. In fact they probably drive by faster, imagining the only people that check in there only want an hourly rate or are the sort they don’t want to associate with. In most...

[motelhenny]

Country Roads

Sad meows followed by a fuzzy gray paw sticking out from the new pet carrier’s door caught Henny’s attention. The roads were quiet now that the towns claim to fame festival was over, making it a stress free drive back to the motel. Of all the things that she knew that went bump in the night the Mothman was not actually one of them. Sure it could be something else, but what had been described and immortalized in statue form in the town square seemed very unlikely. Besides if the hunters didn’t know about it then she wasn’t going to worry. No matter if she believed or not, the yearly festival provided the locals with the money they needed to start their preparations for the on coming winter months and holidays. Granted there were some Mothman true believers but money was ultimately the main reason for the promotion of the local monster. The city council, however, would never admit that aloud.

Absentmindedly her finger played with the reaching paw while she drove. The fall leaves were bright in varying shades of orange, gold and red. The air had that crisp snap of fall with a scent that hinted of smoke from someone’s fireplace. Rounding the second to last bend by the motel, she passed the cozy, grey stone front, bungalow that she’d called home once. Her parents had left the house to them, her and Remy, but since his disappearance she couldn’t keep up both the house and the motel on her own. Something had to give and it was the house. The motel at least supplied her with a source of income, no matter how modest.

Memories swirled every time she passed the place. The Thanksgiving tables, mom and dad would bring home the motel orphans to stuff full of turkey and pie. The Christmas trees either too tall they scraped the ceiling or too wide they took up most of the living room. The July Fourth picnics with the blow up plastic kiddie pool, sparklers and catching fireflies under the big shade trees that seemed to protect the little house. The new owners had started to remake the old place as soon as they’d moved in. Large ferns hung on the front porch over pots of red geraniums. Landscaping was now pin neat with garden beds that had knife’s edge borders and perfectly trimmed shrubs. Even though the house wasn’t theirs anymore, it was difficult not to think how her mother would hate the prissiness of the suburbanites who now lived there.

The sale of the house, however, had afforded her a few opportunities. The first was to fix the old blue soft top Ford Bronco her father had stuffed into the garage, the one he always swore he’d get running.  She’d loved that stupid clunker. She was also able to pay off a good chunk of the loan for the motel but held back enough to start fixing something’s, like bringing the restaurant bar up to code and creating a small studio apartment for herself next to the office. Little by little she would make the motel look less like a place to stop and get murdered and more like an eclectic hide way. Hunters would always be welcome but their stays barely covered the bills, she had to pull in other guests. The hipsters who’d throw money at something just to think they’d found something cool and kitschy. The hunters would adjust so long as she didn’t get too crazy.

Mew

“I know. We’re almost home.” Henny glanced down at the pitiful face squished against the carrier’s wire door. “I’m really sorry about the travel jail Loo, but the vet said that’s the safest way for you to be in the truck.”

Meow, mewow, mew, meow.

“You’re right it sucks, but when we get home you get free run of the place. I promise.” The trip into town was more of a supply run and she’d wanted to get the kitten checked out by a vet. Make sure she was healthy and to get some idea on what she’d need to take on the responsibility of a pet. It was going to be nice to have some company when everyone else went home or off to their next case.

Pulling into her reserved parking space she noted the only other car in the lot was the Impala and sighed. “Guess we didn’t get any new guests today.  Okay little Miss, you stay put while I unload all your new stuff. Shouldn’t take too long.”

Meow

“Need some help with that?” Sam asked, empty ice bucket in hand.

“I’d love it.” She said, struggling to get a container of kitty litter out of the truck. “You know, I never realized there were so many things involved with having a pet.”

“Looks like it.“ Sam chuckled warmly. Leaving the ice bucket on the hood of the truck, he took the bags and container from Henny like they were made of air. “Then again, are you sure you didn’t cornered the market on cat supplies.”

“Well, I had to make sure I had everything. This old thing runs great but isn’t exactly the best on gas. Trips to town are not a daily occurrence.” Henny took the cat carrier and its meowing passenger and headed to the door. “Besides some of that stuff was just too cute to pass up.”

She pulled the keys out and unlocked the door, a powerful gust of cold wind ran straight at her. Usually in a person’s mind they image themselves one of two ways when presented with just such a situation. Either they think themselves a badass and able to dodge an unexpected hit and land on their feet or they image that they could be a delicate Disney princess and fall gracefully to the ground, landing in a composed position of femininity.   Henny had a feeling she didn’t do either, letting out a surprised cry, she fell back and the world went black.

She woke up in her apartment with what sounded like a motor boat next to her ear, the worried faces of Dean and Sam hovering at the end of her bed and the angel with fingers on her forehead.

“What happened? “  She started to sit up dislodging the motorboat when Loo rolled down her pillow.

“Hen, you okay?” Dean put a big brotherly hand on her ankle, sitting on the end of the bed.

“You hit your head on the asphalt when you fell.” Sam sat on the other side. “Cas fixed ya up.”

“Thanks.” She reflexively touched her head. “I fell? Felt more like I was pushed.”  As Loo rebounded from her pillow tumble she climbed onto Henny’s lap. That was when she remembered that she’d had the pet carrier in her hand when she fell. “Oh Loo! Are you okay?” She picked up the kitten and cradled her tightly.

A meow and purr told her all was forgiven for incident.

“I’m sure the cat is fine. “ Dean smirked but turned the conversation back to Henny. “What you do mean you were pushed?”

“Simply that. Pushed, shoved, tossed, propelled harshly, run over, whatever descriptor you want to use. It felt like a really cold tornado. Sam, you didn’t feel anything?” She looked to Sam to back her up but could tell by the look on his face she was the only one who felt it.

“Sorry Henny I didn’t.” He gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Ok, I know I’m not crazy. That really did happen. Something pushed me.”

“We believe you.” Dean nodded reassuringly. “Has this ever happened before? Maybe after your parents died or Remy disappeared?”

“No. That was the- “ She stopped short. Behind Dean she noticed for the first time the pictures of her family were off kilter and the glass was smashed. Casting an worried eye around her home it felt like a punch to the gut. All the things she’d found or made for her little apartment to create something warm and homey were smashed, torn and up ended. The color had to have drained from her face and looked to be on the verge of passing out cause she only vaguely heard Dean tell Castiel to stop her from getting up.

“What happened to my home?!” 

[motelhenny]

Motel Henny - The Gray

The dark creeps in early in the Fall. One day you still have a warm late summer night and you can see when crossing the parking lot to the little bar that also served as a place to get a fairly decent meal. The next day just after sunset its cold enough that you have to throw on an extra heavy cardi and need a flash light just to get a few feet.  The only other light came from the little porch lamps her father had installed years ago, they cast shallow and dim yellow puddles of light in front of each door but left the rest of the lot in the dark.

It didn’t help that tree’s that had been growing around the old motel for decades drenched the parking lot in an inky darkness even earlier than most places. When it was built in the 1970’s it was the only motel on the road to a national park, people who didn’t want to have the camping experience would stay a night maybe two before moving on to the larger more tourist type towns. As time passed, fewer tourists stopped as the hotels down the road got nicer. That was when the hunters found the place and claimed it for themselves.

Her parents came to realize these hunters didn’t track the usual prey. This lot found the things that went bump in the night, day, afternoon – whenever and took care to send it back to where ever it came from. They befriended a few, Bill Harvelle and John Winchester most notably, but many others darkened the doors of the motel as word of mouth traveled.

Dean was eight and Sam was four when Henny and her brother first met them. At six, Dean was the epitome of everything Henny thought was cool. Her brother, Remy, thought differently when he saw Dean carve his and Sam’s initials into the wood support beam near the restaurant their mother ran. So much had changed since that summer night.  Every night she ran her hand over that beam as she crossed to the bar. The initials were still there, over time she’d added her own, as her brother and others who passed through marking down that they once existed in that time and space.

 She kissed her finger and traced over the crookedly carved RB. “Miss you little brother. Where ever you are don’t think for one second I’ve stopped trying to find you.”

A tiny gray stray wandered around the corner, spotting a human it made a beeline for Henny’s feet and started winding its self between her legs.  The sudden feeling of something tugging at the legs of her jeans made her jump. She nearly fell over the stray, who gave her a look that offered no apologies.

“Jeez Louise! You scared the crap out of me!” Henny looked at the pleased face of the kitten. “Where the hell did you come from?” Picking up the bit of fluff she cast a look around to see if a momma cat or someone was looking for a lost kitten. It was a fairly odd place to find something so small out on its own it couldn’t have been alone long. It was a wonder the scruffy little thing hadn’t become food for other wildlife in the area.

“Well, you’re kind of lucky to find this place. Let me guess you want something to eat.” She scratched behind one of its furry little ears and got a purr that vibrated its whole body as a response. “Alright then, dinner it is.”

Flipping on the dining room lights, she set the kitten down on the old stained oak hostess desk. While her new friend got comfortable in the red plastic basket she used for the old checks, Henny made her way to the kitchen.

“Before you ask what’s for dinner, is it going to be more than just you and me tonight for something to eat? Cause I don’t wanna make a bunch of food just to throw it out and waste your money. Rather have a pay check.” Claude Bock was a large man who’d showed up one day told her how much her cooking sucked and took over the kitchen. Granted they never served many plates on any given night but to waste product was a big no no and she knew Claude would not want to prep a lot of food if no one was showing up to do anything but alcohol.

“Well, I doubt  Aggie’s gonna be around. But Dean and Sam are here. They brought a friend, not sure if he eats though.” Henny grabbed a pair small glass bowls, filling one with water and scavenged for something to put in the other.

“Tell’em all we have is meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Not gonna make any special salad for the rabbit food eating big one.“ He threw two bread pans full of a meatloaf mixture into the oven and began to work smashing already cooked potatoes. “And what are you looking for in there?”

“Something to feed the kitten I found.” She sniffed the chicken Claude had cooked a few nights ago, deeming it okay she started pulling it into kitten bit size chunks for the second bowl.

“A kitten? Where’d you find that?”

“Outside.  It kind of found me I guess.” Picking up the bowls she pushed open the kitchen door with her butt and found Sam and Castiel sitting at a table but the window and Dean behind the bar.

“Keep it out of my kitchen.” Claude yelled.

Yea, yeah.” As soon as she dropped the bowls on the stand the grey fluff jumped face first into the one filled with chicken. “You guys are early. Don’t think anything will be ready for another forty-five minutes. Claude made meatloaf and is refusing to make rabbit food.”

“Sounds great, you got any beers back here? “ Dean asked rummaging through everything.

“Yes, in the cooler as usual.” Henny sighed. “Why do you ask when you know where they are? They’ve been in the same place for more than 20 years.”

“One of these days you’re gonna rearrange this place just to fuck with me, aren’t you?” Dean grabbed four beers and handed one to her.

“Thanks.” She took a swig of cold beer. “At the rate I’m going updating this place it’s going to be about two decades from now.” 

“What is that?” Dean stopped to look at the ball of fuzz who was now happily drinking its water one paw in the dish.

“Are you so out of the loop of normal that you can’t recognize a kitten?” Henny gave him a look of disbelief.

“Where’d you find a kitten way out here?” He asked setting the beers down and reaching into his back pocket.

“It just appeared. Can’t have been out there long. Think someone may have dumped – HEY!” She watched as Dean splattered a clear liquid all over the kitten. “Dean did you just throw holy water on my cat?”

“Your cat? Look I’m not taking any chances Hen. We check in and suddenly you find a cat just wandering around?” Dean shoved the flask back in his pocket.

“Yes, my cat. I could use some company out here. Not like people hang around here long. So what you think there’s a big conspiracy to spy on you using kittens.” Henny punched him in the arm then cuddled the stunned meowing kitten against her for protection. She followed Dean to the table. “Look, you scared her. You need to apologize.” She held the kitten close enough to Dean’s face for it to reach out and place a tiny paw on his nose. 

“Sorry Henny, last case was shape shifters.” Sam grinned at her tormenting his big brother.

“Really? And you thought holy water would be the way to go?” The kitten now had Dean’s nose between both its paws. “Louise is still waiting for her apology.”

Castiel reached out and gave the kitten a little scratch. “She likes that name.” He gave an approving slight smile.

“You can communicate with animals?” Henny was surprised by the thought.

“No, she’s purring.” His hands dropped back in his lap and continued to watch the interplay.

“Of course.” Henny chuckled. “Still waiting Dean.” She knew he’d break. If she had to stand there all night with that cat in his face she would, and he knew it.

“Fine alright. Sorry, just get that four legged dust bunny out of my face.” He feigned irritation throwing up his hands and pulling back to take a drag on his beer.

“Order up!” Claude called from the kitchen window.

“Sam do you mind, my hands are a little full.” Henny gave Dean smug “I win” grin and settled in the open space at the table. Louise tucked herself into a pool of oversized cardi, deciding all the food and excitement earned her a nap.

“Sure thing.” Glad to give a friend some assistance, Sam grabbed the plates and served the table for her.

Over the next several hours while Claude served any of the bars regulars, Henny sat and listened to the stories the boys were willing to share. Never once did she think those things would touch her life more than the stories they told.  

[motelhenny]

Room 10 Bathroom Fix

“Uugh, why are you being so stubborn you piece of crap?!” After finally clearing the disgusting amount of matted unidentifiable hair from the P-trap, and not vomiting, Henny had partially stuffed herself back under the bathroom cabinet fighting with the possibly stripped pipe. Except for her exasperated grunts and groans the room was quiet.

It was an unsettling surprise to feel something touch the exposed skin just above her jeans. Instinctually she kicked out with as much power as she could in that awkward position. Whatever had touched her grabbed her leg and pulled her out of the dark veneered press wood cabinet. Her head banged against the cabinet door as she ended up on the tile floor. Hold onto the heavy wrench, she was still poised to strike.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m not going to hurt you.” The angel in the shabby trench coat unceremoniously dropped her foot.

“What the hell!?!” Henny yelled, thankfully untensing she let the wrench fall to the side but not get very far. She heard some not so nice things about the angel brigades and no one had told her this angel was any less a dick then the others. There was no way she was going to get caught off guard with this one again.

“No, not hell.” He watched her get off the floor.

“Ya, ya, whatever Angel boy. Next time keep your hands to yourself.” Henny tried to push the escaped strands of hair out of her face and back into the messy bun.

“You’re a hunter. What are you doing here?”

Henny gave him a confused look. Did the angel really think she should be out there fighting monsters and hunting things?

“Your tattoo, its anti-possession, hunters usually have those.”

Her hand automatically touched the tattoo on her hip and realized that was the exact spot he touched. “That?  My parents knew John and a lot of other hunters. It was kind of mandatory when I turned 16. But, no, not a hunter, that is not my gift to the world.”

“Your gift?” This time is was the angel who looked confused.

“Yes, my gift.” She started cleaning up. It was almost time help out at the small motel bar. If she left Claude on his own, there would be some not so happy customers. “I believe, and this is my personal opinion, that everyone has a gift or talent or purpose they bring to the world. Over time it can change but the overall purpose is still there at the base. My gift, at this moment, is to provide a shelter for people who aren’t exactly in the mainstream of life.”

The angel processed what she said, looking off in the distance while she finished cleaning.

“That’s lovely.” He finally said.

“Thanks. You know, we haven’t actually met yet. The guys are so bad at introductions. I’m Henny.” She wiped her hand on her jeans and stuck it out.

“I know.” He looked at her hand then awkwardly took it to shake. “I’m Castiel.”

“Of course you do.” Henny smirked. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you Castiel. So, did you come in here for something? Dean and Sam need anything?”

“No, I was just –“ he paused, “watching.”

“Watching. Okay, well let the guys know the bar’ll be open in an hour, not sure what in the kitchen yet but I’m sure it’ll be edible.” She waved on the way out the door.  

[motelhenny]

Check in Room 12

“Henny? Henny? You here?!” A gruff voice soloed with the tarnished brass bell on the counter.  “Henny!”

“What!? Yes! I’m here, where the hell else would I be?” Throwing several tools, including a large monkey wrench that rattled loudly as it hit the chipped, dingy tan Formica counter, Henny came eye to pretty much the bicep of Sam Winchester trying to get back into the front office.

“Need a room Henny.” Dean hit the bell a few more times to punctuate his statement.

“Really? You don’t say.”  She moved the bell out of Dean’s reach. “Wondered what else could possibly bring the Winchester’s and friend to my corner of the world.” If she’d rolled her eyes any harder they probably would’ve escaped her eye sockets.

Sam and Dean, even their father when she was a kid, were part the regular crew that used her little out of the way motel to recoup and research between gigs. In a weird way she’d almost grown up with them. The once or twice a year visit was like seeing your cousins at holidays or family reunion. There was a familial type of bond, they could share stories and jokes but there could still be that awkwardness that would leave them searching for something to talk about.

For years she’d heard the rumors about their angel friend, this was the first time he’d shown up in her lobby. Looking past Dean she watched him for a second. He gave off a weirdly intense vibe in that could possibly read either serial killer or creative genius way.

“Come on, sarcastic doesn’t look good on you Hen. Room 10 open?” Dean rushed her along.

“Jeez bossy, no it’s not I have to fix the sink.” She took a pair to keys out of the old wood cubbies behind her. “Take 12, just put in a new TV. Don’t break it.”

“Thanks.” Dean gave her his charming trademark smile and hustled to move the Impala into the parking space in front of the room.

“Thanks Hen. You need help with that sink?” Sam offered.

“Nah, I’ve to it. But if I find something bigger then a really gross hair ball I’ll call ya.” She smirked, grabbing the tools leading the way out the front door. Walking between Sam and the angel she felt positively pocket sized.

“So how have things been going here?” Sam asked.

“Not bad, usual suspects have been rolling in and out. Saw Garth about a month ago. He seems to be doing good.” She shrugged. Stopping at a once glossy black door she took out her master key ring. The number 1 flipped upside down as she popped the door open and leaned against the frame.  “What about you guys? Everything okay?” Her head tilted to one side giving him her best I’m listening face.

“Yeah, yeah, just the usual stuff.” Sam waved away any concerns she should have.

“Sure.” Henny gave him a knowing smirk. Eventually she would hear the stories. Every hunter that came through made a nightly stop at the motel bar and told her, under the influence of alcohol, things that made her check the closets or under the bed at night. “Well, this is me until I get stuff fixed. I’ll see ya later Sam. Angel guy.” She waved and headed back to the bathroom and its sink parts on the floor. 

[motelhenny]

[motelhenny]

Welcome to Motel Hendry

The place isn’t really much to look at, one of those divey motels that most respectable people wouldn’t dream of checking into.  In fact they probably drive by faster, imagining the only people that check in there only want an hourly rate or are the sort they don’t want to associate with. In most cases, they wouldn’t be wrong.

Sure the place has been around since the 1970’s. Its old white stucco has been stained by a 15 year drip from the rain gutter. There is a permanently fogged window glass in the panel next to the always finger smudged glass door. The fritzing neon sign that more often than not says MO   L has faded from a once cherry red to an unappealing pink. It’s only got about 15 rooms, each is clean but the carpet is frayed in almost exactly the same spots and out of date wall paper but the Magic Fingers is always operational and they are good on hot water. None of that surface stuff really matters though.

It’s the family that’s owned it for decades and those who are their real clientele that are important. Henny, she doesn’t let anyone call her Hendry a name she acquired from her grandfather, is the latest to take the reins.  She’s a tough cookie doesn’t take crap from anyone, has to be with the people she deals with. Her long black hair is usually up in some sort of pony tail or messy bun to keep it out of her way. She thought about cutting off once but the idea of losing the one thing that makes her feel remotely feminine is something she can’t deal with. Her armor, faded and sometimes holey jeans that get matched to a variety of shirts from vintage rock bands to warm flannel plaids to something dressy enough out to the most hip bar. There is no need to be overly fancy when you have to be on call to clean a room, fix a toilet or check in one of the familiar faced guests. 

That’s me, I’m Henny. My parents are dead and my brother is missing. I’m the last of the family to run this place. It’s not much but its mine. My guests are a special breed, they hunt. Mine is the place they find when they need a sanctuary.

Welcome to Motel Hendry.