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As soon as we walked into the interrogation room, I froze. The man sitting inside was Chris Chambers. I hadn't seen him in two years, and I hadn't ever planned on seeing him again. His head tilted to the door, he seemed shocked to see me too. Sam, behind me, immediately noticed my discomfort, as he nearly slammed into me after I came to a standstill. My mouth fell open a tiny bit, and my mind couldn't think, wouldn't work, but I knew there would be policemen watching and I needed to act normally.
I flipped around, taking a step back to allow Sam into the room. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he passed me, and I turned to him and his brother next. "I'm sorry, agents, I uh- forgot something in the car. I'll be back." Without even giving them a chance to respond, I walked out, shutting the door behind me.
I took two deep breaths, pulling myself together before I headed off down the hall at a brisk pace. I took a right turn in the lobby of the police department and headed straight out the front doors, not looking behind me as I made a beeline for the Impala. It was only when I had reached her, and hoisted myself up to sit on the trunk, that I could even begin to relax. I must've looked silly, sitting on the back of a car in a police department dressed in my fancy blazer and skirt, but I couldn't care less.
I tried to breathe easily and put him out of my mind, hoping that Sam and Dean would find a way around the fact that Chris was my ex, and he definitely knew I wasn't in the FBI, wasn't even nearly old enough to be in it. Then again, maybe he'd have the decency to not mention that he knew me, but I doubted it.
The boys were only in the station for fifteen minutes before coming out again. Sam was talking to Dean, urgently in a low voice, but it all seemed to go in one ear and out the other with Dean. My guess was confirmed when, as they reached me, Dean threw his arms out exasperatedly and asked, "What the hell was that?" as Sam clenched his jaw and huffed in annoyance at his brother.
"I knew that guy," I said matter-of-factly, having managed to compose myself. "And I didn't think it'd be a good idea for me to be in there."
"Yeah, it wasn't. He freaked out and started accusing us of being fake feds. We had to put the sheriff through to Bobby just to get him to calm down. Nice going with checking names," he scolded me, opening his door and sliding into the car, shutting the door even as I went to speak.
I stopped the words and only sighed, hopping off the car and ignoring Sam's concerned expression as I slid into the backseat. I folded my arms over my chest and glared out the window, refusing to offer more than one-word answers to the brothers. It wasn't my fault I hadn't checked the names. It had never been an issue before.
We soon pulled up to the motel of the week, and I snatched my duffel out of the trunk the second Dean opened it, heading for the office without another word.
I heard Sam whisper-yell, "Dude!" at his brother and a solid thud that sounded like Sam smacking his brother on the back of the head, followed by a muttered complaint from Dean. I ignored it, getting two rooms at the office as usual, but this time requesting them as far away from each other as they could get, rather than right next door.
When I returned to the Impala, I handed Sam their room key, pointing to their room at the far end of the motel. "You're 2, down that way." I then rotated to point to the other end of the motel. "And I'm 26, that way. Text or knock if you need something."
Dean finally spoke up. "Well why the hell are they so far apart?"
I shrugged. "Must've been the only two they had available."
We all took a look around the parking lot, which contained the Impala, the old sedan of the office guy, and an outdated truck.
Dean looked back at me, shaking his head. "Yeah. Sure they were."
I only shrugged and without further ado, took off for my room. It was small, full of suspicious stains and smells, just like any other motel I had ever stayed at.
I took my time getting unpacked, and changing into some comfier clothes. After that, I didn't really know what to do, but since the boys hadn't texted me for help, I settled into my bed and turned on the tv, flipping through channels lazily. I finally settled on an old spy movie with Cary Grant and James Mason, but I was only half paying attention. The other half of me was trying to push memories with Chris to the back of my mind, where they refused to stay now that I had seen him again.
Not enough time had passed when a gentle knock came at my door. I sighed but rolled off my bed, opening it without even bothering to look through the peephole. It was Dean, surprisingly enough.
"What do you want?" I asked in the bitchiest voice I could muster, making no move to invite him in.
"Looks like Sam was right," he muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing," he spoke up. "Look, I don't know why you freaked out on that guy or whatever, but I'm sorry if I pissed you off. Now do you wanna come help us with the hunt or not?"
I pursed my lips together, considering his offer. "Mhhm, not really. You sound like you're in a bad mood, and I'm watching a good movie."
He huffed, glaring at me. "Okay, you win. What do you want from me?"
That took me by surprise. I considered it. "Foot massage. And don't ever bring that guy around me."
He groaned, but finally said, "Okay, fine. You gonna invite me in or should I rub your feet from here, your highness?"
I bit my lip as if I was considering it. He seemed to catch on. "C'mon!" he said, throwing his hands up.
"Fine, you can come in. But you can leave the highness label on there if you want."
I let him past me and shut the door behind him, returning to the bed and lying down on my stomach. I patted the bed behind me, and Dean hesitantly got on before kicking his boots off. He sat directly behind me, and I bent my knees so my feet were up in his face, even grazing his chest once.
"Please tell me these are clean socks," he said as he took my right foot in a firm hand and began rubbing.
"Just put them on," I confirmed before sighing in contentment at the feeling of his hands working their magic. I wasn't sure if he had learned by experience or what, but Dean was amazing at massages. I had initiated them, offering him a shoulder massage once when he came home sore from a hunt, and it was only natural that he'd repay the favor for me. It had gotten to be so common for us that Sam stopped making crude jokes when he came home to find us piled on the couch, one of us rubbing all the tension out of the others' back or shoulders or feet or head or legs or wherever.
"So what's up with the guy anyway?" Dean asked, breaking me out of my relaxation.
I was about to shrug the question off, but instead I set my shoulders and decided to answer it honestly. I hadn't really talked to anyone about him, but maybe it'd help to share it with someone. Even if that someone was the famously insensitive Dean Winchester.
"We had a bit of a thing my senior year of college. Except it really wasn't a thing. We hooked up a lot, and meanwhile I of course fell in love with him. He kept telling me we should keep it a secret because it'd keep it hot, and just be easier that way, and because I was so in love with him, I believed him and went along with it. But the whole time, he was just using me. I even gave him my virginity one night." I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I let them come, taking a deep breath to steady my voice before continuing. Dean still rubbed, but I could feel the change in the air between us. He was shocked I was getting this deep with him, and I was too, but it felt good, it felt right. "Anyway, a few weeks after that, he suddenly told me he had never loved me as more than a friend, and he moved on with another girl really quickly. It crushed me. Did then and still does." A shaky giggle escaped my mouth. "That was two years ago, and it's gotten a lot better, but when I think about it too much I just- I still can't handle it well. I really loved him; I just don't think this is the sort of thing you ever get over, you know?"
"I know," Dean murmured, and before I knew it, he had left my feet and laid himself next to me, head so close to mine our foreheads almost touched. He stared at me with an entirely displeased frown on his face. "I'm sure you've been told this, and you know, but for what it's worth, he doesn't deserve you or your suffering. You're better than him. I'm sorry, we should've warned you. He's never going to lay even another eye on you."
"Thanks," I said genuinely, sighing as I wiped away the tear remnants. I think it did help to talk about it.
"You gonna be okay?" he asked, his eyes searching mine for reassurance.
"Yeah, I'm good. Sorry, I just don't talk about that, like, ever."
"I'm sure." He knelt back on the bed after giving me a soft kiss on the forehead.
"You're not trying to get out of my massage, are you?" I teased, and he let out a chuckle.
"Of course not." He moved back to his position, taking my other foot in hand and falling back into our comfortable silence.