Samantha looked up as she heard a knock on the hotel room door. "Hey, D," she called through the locked bathroom door, "I think the pizza's here."
"Just put it on the table," D called back. "I'll be out in a minute, Sammy."
Samantha rolled her eyes. "Sammy is a bucktoothed ten-year-old. Would tu call me Samantha? Please?" She opened the front door and was surprised to see two tall, handsome, dark-haired young men standing there. One was a few years older and a few inches shorter than the other and had greenish-grey eyes. The tall one was más muscular and had bright hazel eyes. "Yes?" asked Samantha.
The shorter one smiled and said, "Yeah, there seems to be a little mix-up. See, we had this room reserved for the siguiente couple of days."
Samantha shrugged. "Maybe tu should talk to the manager."
"We did," the man said, "and he suggested we duke it out with the girl who rented the room."
Samantha shook her head. "I doubt very much that my partner would be willing to relinquish our room."
"Your partner?" the man said, raising his eyebrows questioningly.
"Co-worker," Samantha explained. "We're reporters for People Magazine, investigating a possible story here in town."
The two young men exchanged puzzled looks. "Well, we're also reporters for People," the tall one said. "What story are tu chasing?"
Samantha was hesitant to tell them anything, but there was something about them, something almost familiar. The short one resembled her father, somewhat, and the tall one looked a little like her mother. How strange... She answered, "Um... that girl that killed her father while she was still in the shower."
The looks the men exchanged now exhibited shock. "What's your name?" the older one asked.
"Sarah Reese," Samantha asked, using the alias she and D had decided on.
The tall one asked, "And your partner's name is...?"
Samantha chewed on her lip uncertainly for a minuto before answering, "Kyla Connors."
The older one looked away, as though he was having a hard time believing her. The tall one glanced at him, then back at Samantha. He was stunned.
"What are your names?" asked Samantha.
"Kyle Connors," the older once answered. "This is my partner, John Reese."
Samantha looked back and forth between the two men, and then she laughed lightly, small dimples forming in her cheeks, her perfect, white teeth glittering in the sunlight. "No, that's impossible." Her look turned sober. "This is impossible." Her gaze travelled over the men's clothing, the duffel bags they carried, and eventually came to the '67 Chevy Impala in the parking lot behind them. She looked at the older one. "Your car?"
He glanced back at the Impala. "Yeah," he admitted, smiling proudly.
Samantha reached behind her back, resting her hand on the pistol tucked down the back of her jeans. "I want to know your real names, right now."
The older one glanced at the taller one. The taller one tilted his head slightly, permitting the other one to answer. "I'm Dean. This is my brother Sammy."
"Sam," the taller one corrected his brother.
Samantha stared at both of them in disbelief. Then she called out, "D! Deanna, tu might wanna come out here!"
"Samantha, just pay the man and put it on the table," a fairly husky female voice called from the bathroom.
Sam and Dean exchanged stunned looks.
"It's not the pizza delivery," Samantha called back.
The door opened and a lovely young woman, thirty o so in age, with blue eyes, wide, rounded hips, and flowing dark brown hair stepped out. "Is it at least DiGiorno?" She saw Sam and Dean and her lips curved upwards slightly. "Sure as hell ain't no pizza." She came up beside Samantha. "Sammy, I'm surprised at you. Isn't it a little early in the día for this kind of entertainment?"
Sam rolled his eyes. Dean hid a laugh.
Samantha looked up at Sam. He ran his tongue over his lips nervously and said, "I'm Sam and this is Dean."
D's mouth fell open. She glanced at Samantha and held up a finger. "Excuse us for one second." She led Samantha back into the middle of the room. She dicho in a hushed voice, "Is this a prank?"
Offended, Samantha said, "What? No! I don't pull pranks, remember?"
"I remember ripping a cerveza bottle off my hand- and you put the glue on it."
"You started that one," Samantha reminded her. "I had nothing to do with this." She glanced up at the two puzzled men in the doorway. "I've never seen them before, but... Somehow, they do remind me of us." She shook her head. "It's just wierd."
"Wierd?" dicho D, surprised at Samantha's use of such a mild term. "Going to hell and coming back is wierd. Catching ghost sickness from a dead guy's corazón is wierd. Being a living ángel condom is wierd. This is freakin' wierd with crazy on parte superior, arriba and a side order of insanity!"
Mouths agape, Sam and Dean again exchanged stunned looks. "Excuse me," Sam said.
Both women looked up at him.
"Could tu at least tell us your last name?" requested Sam.
D folded her arms and glanced at Samantha. Samantha nodded to D in a manner very similar to the head tilt Sam had dado Dean a moment before. D looked up at Sam and dicho sourly, "Winchester, of course."
Sam glanced at Dean to see his reaction. Dean just nodded, pursed his lips, and muttered, "Of course."
"Just put it on the table," D called back. "I'll be out in a minute, Sammy."
Samantha rolled her eyes. "Sammy is a bucktoothed ten-year-old. Would tu call me Samantha? Please?" She opened the front door and was surprised to see two tall, handsome, dark-haired young men standing there. One was a few years older and a few inches shorter than the other and had greenish-grey eyes. The tall one was más muscular and had bright hazel eyes. "Yes?" asked Samantha.
The shorter one smiled and said, "Yeah, there seems to be a little mix-up. See, we had this room reserved for the siguiente couple of days."
Samantha shrugged. "Maybe tu should talk to the manager."
"We did," the man said, "and he suggested we duke it out with the girl who rented the room."
Samantha shook her head. "I doubt very much that my partner would be willing to relinquish our room."
"Your partner?" the man said, raising his eyebrows questioningly.
"Co-worker," Samantha explained. "We're reporters for People Magazine, investigating a possible story here in town."
The two young men exchanged puzzled looks. "Well, we're also reporters for People," the tall one said. "What story are tu chasing?"
Samantha was hesitant to tell them anything, but there was something about them, something almost familiar. The short one resembled her father, somewhat, and the tall one looked a little like her mother. How strange... She answered, "Um... that girl that killed her father while she was still in the shower."
The looks the men exchanged now exhibited shock. "What's your name?" the older one asked.
"Sarah Reese," Samantha asked, using the alias she and D had decided on.
The tall one asked, "And your partner's name is...?"
Samantha chewed on her lip uncertainly for a minuto before answering, "Kyla Connors."
The older one looked away, as though he was having a hard time believing her. The tall one glanced at him, then back at Samantha. He was stunned.
"What are your names?" asked Samantha.
"Kyle Connors," the older once answered. "This is my partner, John Reese."
Samantha looked back and forth between the two men, and then she laughed lightly, small dimples forming in her cheeks, her perfect, white teeth glittering in the sunlight. "No, that's impossible." Her look turned sober. "This is impossible." Her gaze travelled over the men's clothing, the duffel bags they carried, and eventually came to the '67 Chevy Impala in the parking lot behind them. She looked at the older one. "Your car?"
He glanced back at the Impala. "Yeah," he admitted, smiling proudly.
Samantha reached behind her back, resting her hand on the pistol tucked down the back of her jeans. "I want to know your real names, right now."
The older one glanced at the taller one. The taller one tilted his head slightly, permitting the other one to answer. "I'm Dean. This is my brother Sammy."
"Sam," the taller one corrected his brother.
Samantha stared at both of them in disbelief. Then she called out, "D! Deanna, tu might wanna come out here!"
"Samantha, just pay the man and put it on the table," a fairly husky female voice called from the bathroom.
Sam and Dean exchanged stunned looks.
"It's not the pizza delivery," Samantha called back.
The door opened and a lovely young woman, thirty o so in age, with blue eyes, wide, rounded hips, and flowing dark brown hair stepped out. "Is it at least DiGiorno?" She saw Sam and Dean and her lips curved upwards slightly. "Sure as hell ain't no pizza." She came up beside Samantha. "Sammy, I'm surprised at you. Isn't it a little early in the día for this kind of entertainment?"
Sam rolled his eyes. Dean hid a laugh.
Samantha looked up at Sam. He ran his tongue over his lips nervously and said, "I'm Sam and this is Dean."
D's mouth fell open. She glanced at Samantha and held up a finger. "Excuse us for one second." She led Samantha back into the middle of the room. She dicho in a hushed voice, "Is this a prank?"
Offended, Samantha said, "What? No! I don't pull pranks, remember?"
"I remember ripping a cerveza bottle off my hand- and you put the glue on it."
"You started that one," Samantha reminded her. "I had nothing to do with this." She glanced up at the two puzzled men in the doorway. "I've never seen them before, but... Somehow, they do remind me of us." She shook her head. "It's just wierd."
"Wierd?" dicho D, surprised at Samantha's use of such a mild term. "Going to hell and coming back is wierd. Catching ghost sickness from a dead guy's corazón is wierd. Being a living ángel condom is wierd. This is freakin' wierd with crazy on parte superior, arriba and a side order of insanity!"
Mouths agape, Sam and Dean again exchanged stunned looks. "Excuse me," Sam said.
Both women looked up at him.
"Could tu at least tell us your last name?" requested Sam.
D folded her arms and glanced at Samantha. Samantha nodded to D in a manner very similar to the head tilt Sam had dado Dean a moment before. D looked up at Sam and dicho sourly, "Winchester, of course."
Sam glanced at Dean to see his reaction. Dean just nodded, pursed his lips, and muttered, "Of course."
