Work Header

Salads and Sulfur

Chapter Text

Oscar couldn't exactly say he was disappointed. He hadn't really wanted to find them still there when he went back to check their room. He watched from one of his entrances to the worn down motel room as the maids (the real maids this time, not witches pretending to be the help) quickly cleaned up. They didn't do the best job, but even so Oscar sighed as the last remains of the discarded pizza went into the large trash cart. That stuff had been delicious.

Oscar pursed his lips. It'd be better to put the pizza out of his mind. He'd probably never eat that well again. After all, he didn't think Sam and Dean would be coming back anytime soon. Dean was the only human Oscar knew of that would freely give him food like that.

The maids argued overhead in Spanish, some laughter in their voices indicating that they weren't really fighting. It was the same routine as always. Oscar listened in and out, catching some words here and there as he waited for them to finish up. They always had a lot to say about harmless, innocuous things.

Needless to say, it was much less alarming than the last time Oscar had eavesdropped on this particular room.

Last time, he'd witnessed a couple of witches sneaking into the room to plant a dangerous magical bundle behind the bed. It targeted Dean Winchester, the hunter staying there, with a curse. Oscar had been unable to just leave the guy to a fate like that, but he'd also been unable to do anything about the hexbag. Until Dean had caught him, of course, in one of the most terrifying moments of his entire life.

Of course, meeting Sam, Dean's little (very little) brother, had helped clear up some of Oscar's worries. Some of them.

Sam was a whole four inches tall, which was very impressive for the little folk that lived in the motel's walls. Oscar's highest hope was three and a quarter inches, entirely underwhelming compared to Sam and his colossal brother. But at least they'd been nice.

And then, they figured out that Oscar happened to know what a hexbag was already. Dean, paranoid hunter that he was, had reacted to the news by dangling Oscar by his shirt over the table. That was the other most terrifying moment of Oscar's entire life. They worked it out in the end, but that human was scary when he wanted to be.

When one of the maids mused about how muy guapo Dean was, Oscar could only roll his eyes.

Finally, they were gone. They'd made the beds and done a cursory cleaning of the bathroom area. They didn't even vacuum today. Oscar smirked, hoping that would mean he'd find crumbs left over from the human's food. Living in a motel like this one, with very relaxed cleaning services, was an absolute Godsend for people like Oscar. It was hard enough to scrape by without someone going and picking up all the crumbs they needed just to survive.

He waited several extra minutes to make sure they were gone before slipping out of the vent. Oscar’s eyes flitted this way and that, and his cloth shoes didn’t make a sound as he crept along the wall. He scanned around for things he could take, musing to himself that this was his plan just the day before when he’d been in the room.

Right before the fake maids came in and ruined his day, of course.

Oscar’s sweep of the room wasn’t as fruitful as he’d hoped. He found some crumbs here and there, and he even found a bit of salt leftover from Dean’s absolute arsenal of it; this he bundled in cloth so he wouldn’t lose it.

When he made his way around to the nightstand between the beds, Oscar tilted his head curiously. The books that had blocked off the shelf underneath were still set up. Oscar remembered hiding in there and finding that Sam’s “room” was underneath, hidden from view.

He couldn’t help but wander right up to it, hoisting himself up onto the shelf with kicking legs and a grunt of effort. The space had seemed so much like a normal room, with Sam’s bed and desk tucked tidily away. Oscar peered over his shoulder at the wide expanse of the real motel room before creeping up to the opening.

It wasn’t as he remembered it when he’d attempted his mad dash past Sam, only to have a hand wrap around him completely. The terrifying moment was still fresh in his mind, but the scene was very different. There was no bed, no desk, and no bag of Sam’s clothes. There was certainly no Sam there either.

But there was an entire wrapped granola bar and a business card nearly Oscar’s length propped against it.

Oscar huffed and rolled his eyes. This was why the books were left up; so the maids wouldn’t notice the card and the food Dean left behind. Oscar crept up to it and knelt to read the blocky, handwritten note. He sighed in resigned frustration almost right away at how it began.

Oz, if there’s ever any trouble, call the number on the other side of the card and Sam and me will come help. -D.W.

Of course, even after he’d already left, Dean couldn’t get past the stupid nickname he’d picked out for Oscar. Oscar eyed the card skeptically before moving it aside to get a better look at the granola bar.

It was more than his weight in food. That didn’t take much, but still. The granola bar was bigger than Oscar was, and could easily account for weeks of meals. The only issue would be dragging it back home. It was a minor problem considering the reward.

“Thanks,” he muttered aloud, before setting to the task of bringing food home, dragging the business card along, too.

He doubted he’d ever call, but the thought was nice all the same.