[EP] What a nice surprise

[st_andingtall]

"Eugene Thompson," repeated the Innkeeper, when Sam finally broke down and stopped searching for the wheelchair guy to ask. "One moment, please. Do you need any--"

"No. I have plenty of towels." What the heck was it with the towels, anyway? Sam shifted his weight to his other foot and tried not to screw up his face too much. The guy was just doing his job. Even if that was literally all he could do. "Um, but thanks."

"You're welcome." The Innkeeper did something that was probably smile, but Sam couldn't have described it, or his face for the life of him. "Ah, yes." He tapped a finger against the rounded black monitor screen that was as almost as old as Sam. "Mr. Thompson has checked out."

"Huh?" Sam's felt the surprise overtake his face and he had to work hard to plant his hands at the edge of the counter instead of reaching across to grab the guy by the collar. "I thought you said we couldn't leave."

"That is correct."

"But Flash--"

"Flash Thompson has checked out."

"How does that even make--" Never mind. The lyrics of Hotel California came to him. "So, you're saying he's dead and I should look for his ghost?"

"I have no record of His Ghost."

Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Okay, yeah. Thanks."

After he'd stalked away from the front desk, Sam dropped into one of the round red leather booths in the Copper Cafe and pulled out his cell...which was absolutely fucking useless and he still forgot half the time. "Great. The Innkeeper's useless. Flash has 'checked out'. And I can't text anyone to tell them about it."

Oh yeah. Life in the days before instantaneous communication sucked. And blew.

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[st_eampunk]

Molly had finished up her daily exploration of the surrounding area, looking for any way out. She was convinced that since there was a way in, there had to be a way out. No opening was one way. The common denominator just hadn't been found yet.

She was on her way to her room when she felt a wave of frustration. It was almost like white noise to her now with everyone here. Everyone was frustrated, but this was different than the usual that she felt. Maybe because there were fewer people around, or maybe that is was fresh. Was there a new arrival? Her curiosity got the better of her and she followed the feeling from the hotel lobby straight into the Cafe.

It didn't take long to figure out where the emotion was coming from as she saw Sam hunched in a booth glaring at his cell phone. At least she wouldn't kill it, since it seemed to already be dead, so Molly approached.

"Hey. Feel like some company?"

[st_makemeastone]

River was curled up in the adjacent booth. Well, okay curled up was a misnomer. She was under the table. There was some curling up required to make that happen.

She had a stack of paper, and was methodically folding bigger squares into smaller squares and gently tearing them part so that she also had a stack of squares about 2 by 2 inches.

And there were left over bits because the paper wasn't square to begin with and there were curls of paper, strips left over laying about and in her lap.

Sam probably couldn't seem any of this, but the ripping of paper was audible periodically, as was River muttering quietly to herself.

"Four by five. Twenty. Fifty. One, two, three... I keep losing count."

[st_raighttovampire]

Caroline still wasn't sure about Sam. He was undeniably hot but he was also, she was sure, a hunter. Still, he'd just solved a mystery. From her table where she habitually put herself (near the door between it and the coffee), she listened to the conversation at the desk and when Sam had sat down, launched herself out of her chair and over to his booth.

"Did I hear that right? The guy with the wheelchair checked out?"

[st_arkcrowblack]

"Checked out?" The words were barely more than a whisper, but fervent in a way Snow White hadn't been in weeks... months, if she really thought about it. Her black eyes were bright with something too fierce to properly be called hope, but about the only thing that could stop her from her important missions of (hopefully simultaneously) avoiding people and finding food, it was a sign of some hope of getting the fuck out of here.

And Sam wasn't so bad, she supposed.

[st_ableandbar]

Hair still damp from the shower, Lindsey sat in a booth in the cafe, his feet propped up on the opposite seat. There was a beer on the table, condensation forming on the outside of the glass. He was reading a paperback, and every few pages or so, he'd reach for the glass and take a swallow without looking away from the page.

It might've looked to some like he was oblivious to everything around him, but he was more than capable of multitasking in actually desperate circumstances. So he saw when the Winchester guy came in, and he heard what he said. "Somebody checked out?" he asked, still reading but not hiding the curiosity in his voice.

[st_udious]

Henry wasn't exactly an expert of The Faces of Sam, but that certainly didn't seem to be a good one. He wasn't sure if he should be saying anything. After all Sam and Dean did tend to be a unit and there hardly seemed to be any sense in forcing his way into that. Still...

He wasn't close enough to hear Sam muttering to himself though he could tell the young man had spoken. No. No, he couldn't just leave it. If there was something he might be able to do to help, even if that something was to just be an ear, well, he had to offer.

"Do you mind if I ask what's troubling you?" he said once he was close enough to Sam to speak at a reasonable volume without feeling like he was invading the young man's space.