Dean Winchester’s worn boots clacked against the cracked sidewalk, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of work. He was tired, really tired, but he couldn’t afford to stop. Sammy was counting on him. He’d barely had a chance to catch his breath before he spotted a, family-owned motel on the corner. The sign was a bit flickery, the paint chipped, but with the “help wanted” sign up front, he’d hoped that maybe he wouldn’t be turned down again. Dean’s fingers curled into his jacket pockets as he approached the place. The door chimed as he entered, a middle-aged woman stood behind the desk, scribbling something on a clipboard. Her tired eyes glanced up as Dean stepped in.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone polite.

Dean hesitated for just a second before stepping forward. “Yeah, I’m looking for work and figured I’d shoot my shot. Any chance you need a hand around here? I can do just about anything: fix things, clean up, whatever you need.” She paused for a moment, studying him. Dean shifted his weight, trying to look as dependable as possible despite the exhaustion weighing on him. “I’ve got a younger brother to take care of,” he added. “Just need some cash to get by. I work hard. I swear.”

The woman seemed to soften a bit, her expression shifting from skepticism to curiosity. She put down the clipboard. “How old are you?”

“21,” Dean said, his eyes never leaving hers. “I can do odd jobs. Yard work, maintenance… whatever you need, ma’am.”

She tilted her head slightly, as if weighing his offer. “We could use someone to do some maintenance around here. It’s not glamorous work, but it’s steady.”

This was exactly what he needed. “I can do that. It’s perfect.”

She regarded him for a moment longer, before nodding. “Alright. You stay out of trouble, and we’ll get along just fine.”

“Got it,” Dean said, offering a tight smile. “You won’t regret it.”

The woman gave him a small nod, “You can start tomorrow. 7 am sharp… I’ll have my kid show you the ropes. Don’t be late.” Dean nodded, a sense of relief settling in.