If the world wasnât well on its way to dying, Dean mightâve thought that someone had just conveniently failed to mention that Montanaâs idea of a little wet weather was the northern equivalent of monsoon season for how hard it was pouring outside. But as it was, being privy to the supernatural and all of its end of the world prophecies made him warier of everything, and a downpour like this? Yeah, definitely not the work of some natural happenstances in the jetstream. This was flat out cosmic crap, and from his spot on the bed closest to the door, he looked out the window, watching with furrowed brows as heavy drops pelted the glass furiously.
He was so caught up in eyeballing the weather that he hadnât noticed the silver Mercedes convertible coup that had pulled in. Nor did he notice the driver. If he had, he wouldâve yanked Adam inside from where he stood on the walk, sheltered by the overhang, and locked the doors up nice and tight. Not that Bela was someone heâd consider âdangerousâ by any means. Just a massive pain in the ass and a trigger happy bitch to boot. An obstacle, rather than a threat. The kind of obstacle he wouldâve rather have stayed dead.Â
But then again, when did any of them ever get what they wanted?
Drawing his attention away from the disastrous weather outside since there was nothing to do but wait it outâor attempt to start building an ark, but it seemed a little late for that nowâhe glanced over his notes to see if he could pin point weather related ones. None of them specifically mentioned a torrential downpour, but there were definitely red flags over what was to come laced throughout the flowery, archaic English, and what he read didnât exactly make him feel better about the deluge going on outside. The possibility of earthquakes and eruptions⊠ash and dust littering the sky, causing blackouts. Real post-apocalyptic shit, and he looked up and out the window again, frowning a bit in worry.
âSon of a bitchâŠâ he mumbled to himself as lightning streaked across the sky. But before he could think more on it, Adam had come huffing into the room, looking surly and a little ego wounded all at once, dark spots from where the rain had picked up and hit him splattering his jacket. Lifting an eyebrow at him for only a moment, now more than used to having a grumpy teenager around again, he went back to the mess that was scattered around him on the bed, rifling through a few pages before finding the one heâd been reading over before the weather related ones took precedence.Â
âWhatâs your problem?â Really, he only asked to be polite, and it was evident given the absent tone to the question, but when the kid launched into his rant about some stuck-up English bitch telling him to shove off, Deanâs attention immediately focused itself entirely on his youngest brother. With a slightly wide-eyed and contemplative curiosity, he listened as Adam described the offender. Surely there was more than one stuck up English bitch in the world, but the odds of a different one of them landing in Montana? In their particular town, at their particular motel? Not very high, so he wordlessly stood up and cast a long glance around the parking lot and as far down the walk way as he could to see if he could spot anything that would point to the woman in question being none other than Bela Talbot.Â
He didnât see her, but his eyes traveled over the silver Mercedes parked next to his Impala, and he ground his teeth together in thought for a minute. If it was Bela, no way did he want that spiteful bitch parked right next to his baby, and with that thought in mind, he turned back toward Adam, telling him to stay put. Without another word, Dean reached for his green cargo jacket, the weather outside far too wet for his leather one, and pulled it on over a black hoodie heâd swiped from Sam. Tugging the hood up over his short sandy hair, he headed outside, using the temporary shelter of the overhang to his advantage while he swept a glance in both directions for the woman in question. There was no sign of her though, so without another moment of hesitation, Dean reached down to pull the lockpick out of his boot, and positioned himself between the driverâs side door and the vehicle on the other side of the Mercedes, making quick work of jimmying the lock open.
Once he was seated inside, the wet from his clothes sinking into and hopefully warping the soft leather seat covers, Dean let his eyes travel over the rest of the interior. It was way too modern and sleek for his own tastes, but not rocket science to drive, and after another brief battle with his lock pick versus the ignition, the engine purred to life and he leaned up with a bright grin, throwing the coup into reverse so he could back her out of the chosen spot. On the off chance it didnât belong to Bela, he wasnât going to take it too far. Just far enough to be out of sight, and a hell of a walk through the rain to find.
Shifting it into drive, he swung the car around the side of the building toward the back, and parked it behind the dumpster. For a second, he debated leaving it running, just to waste some gas as an added bonus. But after deciding that it might take her a little longer to figure out where the hell it had gone if it sat silent in its hiding spot, he shifted his lock pick around again to turn the ignition back into the âoffâ position before he climbed out of the car. Stowing the tool in his boot once again, he jogged back to the safety of the overhang and down the porch toward his car so he could âbusyâ himself with rooting around in it while he waited to see whether the thief would emerge from somewhere or not.
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