#hunting

Imagine leaving home to become a hunter with Sam and Dean.

Author:hogwartsismyhometoo

Word Count: 2,958

Read Part (1) (2) (3) (4)

Y/N

There was something about his eyes. It felt so cliché to say it, but it was true. There was something about the way he looked at me that made me want to do something crazy.

Although really, what was crazier than running off with two guys I barely knew to fight monsters?

I supposed saving a person from a vengeful spirit was one way to form a bond with someone, but that’s not what sealed the deal. I swear, it was his eyes. It was everything: it was the way he treated me as his equal, the way he listened, his thoughtfulness, and his eyes.

“Fan-fiction green,” they’d been described by Supernatural fans. Apparently Carver Edlund’s Dean had eyes just as amazing as my Dean did.

I snorted out loud. My Dean. How easily I’d claimed him as my own.

The now familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine alerted me to their presence. I took one last look around the house, drinking in every detail. Just in case, I couldn’t help but think. But that was ridiculous. I’d come back, of course I’d come back. It’s not like I was leaving forever.

You don’t just leave the life. Dean had said it so many times in the books, and his voice came to me now. His husky, smokey voice warning me that if I left, this could be it.

But apparently I didn’t care if this was it. What life was this? No friends, no family, a crappy job with an even crappier house. My landlord was a jerk and had been threatening to evict me for months now after I’d been late with the payments so many times. It’d just make it easier for him if I left now.

I dragged the two suitcases filled with my clothes and toiletries to the door, then pulled my duffel bag over my shoulder. I’d grabbed only the essentials, everything I’d need to be on the road and nothing more. Everything else in the house I could live without. I’d been meaning to get rid of some of the junk, anyway.

Someone knocked on the door. I opened it, grinning before I even saw Dean’s face. He smiled back, his body slightly hunched over so we were closer together in height. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, apparently content to just look at me.

“Hey,” I said brightly, relieved that he hadn’t changed his mind. “We’re better coordinated this time.”

He chuckled. “Just took a little practice, I guess. That all your stuff?”

“Yup.” I attempted to hold the door open and pull the suitcases outside at the same time, but ended up tripping over the welcome mat, stumbling into Dean. He gripped my elbow to steady me, and I noticed then that Sam was watching the two of us. His expression was serious, but not so much skeptical or annoyed as he was curious and observant.

“Your brother’s staring,” I said, smirking up at Dean.

His face had been tinged a perpetual pink since I’d opened the door. It could’ve been from the early March chill, but somehow I knew it was unrelated.

“Let him stare,” he said, and swooped down without warning to kiss me.

I let myself melt into his touch, one hand drifting to grip the side of his flannel shirt for support, the other holding tight to my suitcase. It didn’t last long, but it warmed me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I bit my lower lip to keep from grinning any wider than I already was.

“You’re sure?” Dean whispered, taking my hand in his own.

I nodded. “I’ve never been more positive.”

He loaded the larger of the two suitcases into the trunk and stuffed the smaller one beside me in the back seat. He rifled through my duffel bag at the hunting supplies I’d collected, nodding with satisfaction.

“You really did your research, he said. “I’m impressed. Of course, there’s still a ton to learn. And we’ll have to get you some better weapons. The knives are good, though they could be sharpened. We have a ton of spare guns and flasks of holy water back at the bunker. We can teach you how to draw devil’s traps, and I’m sure Cas would be more than willing to show you some angel sigils—”

“So Cas is okay then?” I interrupted him. “Last I read, Metatron took his grace.”

“Yeah, Cas is fine,” he tried to reassured me, his smile tight-lipped an unconvincing. “He’s using someone else’s grace right now, so that buys him some time. What do you know about exorcisms?”

“I haven’t memorized it yet, if that’s what you mean.”

“We’ll work on that. For now we can record one on your phone. You have a phone, right?”

I nodded and pulled my cell phone from my pocket.

“Great. We’ll get you added to our contacts. Come on, let’s get going.”

“Welcome back, Y/N,” Sam said, grinning at me in the rearview mirror. He seemed truly pleased to see me in the backseat of the car. It was nice, how easily they’d welcome me into their lives, their home. I knew from the books how choosy Dean was about the people who got to ride in the Impala, and the fact that he’d picked me made my heart pound harder than ever. “I hear you’re a hunter now?”

“Not quite,” I said uncertainly. “But I’m getting there. I think Dean’s already planning some sort of training regimen.”

“It’ll be fun,” Dean said, sliding into the driver’s seat. He revved the engine and pulled out of the driveway. I had to force myself to stare straight ahead, focus on his shoulders or his hair, so I wouldn’t look back. “I haven’t properly trained anyone in forever. I mean, sure, Cas and Charlie needed a little help sometimes, but they weren’t exactly starting from scratch.”

“We should add you to our phones,” Sam said. “Having your emergency contacts on speed dial is a necessity when you’re a hunter.”

I gave them my phone numbers, and they gave me theirs. I put them both on speed dial, along with Cas and Charlie, who they assured me I’d be working with soon enough.

“I’m really excited,” I said, a little sheepishly. “Thanks for bringing me along.”

“Our pleasure,” Dean said softly. He caught my eye in the rearview mirror and grinned. “It’ll be nice to have someone else in the bunker.”

That was the beginning. The first chapter of a new story. A wonderful story.

Dean

“On your left!” Charlie shouted.

Dean ducked just in time, a knife whizzing by his head and clattering against the wall of the basement. He darted forward, trying his best to slice at the vampire who had thrown it, but missed. Vamps were fast, and she was no different.

He bumped into Sam, and the two brothers pressed their backs against each other, falling into a familiar rhythm. Sam managed to hack one vampire head clean off its shoulders. Dean took one down right before she got a chance to sink her teeth into his skin.

“Y/N,” came Cas’s warning tone, somewhere off to Dean’s right.

“I see him,” she muttered, and swung violently at the oncoming vampire. He went down like a broken Lego tower.

She was a natural, Y/N, and Dean had to force himself not to get distracted by her for too long during hunts. It had only taken a couple weeks of training for her to learn their styles and fit herself right into their routine, like a missing puzzle piece. Charlie and Cas had quickly welcomed her into the family. Charlie was happy to have another girl around, latching onto her like she was her long-lost twin. Cas had become intensely protective of her, never leaving her side for more than a few seconds during a case.

Y/N caught him staring, and winked. Dean felt his heart skip a beat as he beamed at her. How did she manage to look so good all the time? Even now, covered in muck and blood, tank top fraying, the knees of her jeggings ripped wide open, face bruised from the view vamps that had gotten to her, she was gorgeous. Absolutely freaking beautiful, and Dean had to work hard to tear his eyes away.

His staring cost him. One of the vampires managed to tackle him from behind, her long nails digging into his arms as she pinned him to the floor. He struggled against her, knife lying uselessly out of reach. He had enough fight in him to keep her fangs away, but not enough to push her off.

Luckily, Y/N had seen and rushed the vamp, kicking her hard with the heel of her boot. Dean shoved her in one direction, using his leverage to slide out from beneath her grip. He grabbed his blade to finish her, but Y/N had already taken care of it.

“A little slow on the uptake today, eh, Winchester?” Y/N teased him, bumping his shoulder with hers. They were almost level with each other, her in boots with a large enough heel to make a noticeable difference. Just another way she’d proved her worth to them. She was able to hunt just as well with heels. Even Charlie hadn’t managed such a feat.

“I got half an hour of sleep last night,” Dean said defensively. “While I was reading up on the local disappearances, you were getting your beauty rest.”

Y/N made a pfft noise. “Please. You were dozing in your chair while Sam did all the work.”

“You guys, get a room,” Charlie joked, pretending to be disgusted by their playful banter. “We’re going to do one last sweep of the house. You coming?”

Y/N and Dean followed the other three up the basement steps, blinking against the sun streaming through the windows. It took a few minutes for Dean to adjust to the sudden brightness, and he stumbled into Y/N.

“Careful,” she said, gripping his elbow. “Seriously, are you feeling okay?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, nudging her with his elbow.

“We will send you to the car if you two don’t stop flirting,” Sam warned them. “That was the deal, remember? No mush on the job.”

“This isn’t mush, this is war,” Dean protested. “She’s insulting my hunting abilities.”

“That’s because you’re off your game,” Charlie piped up, unhelpfully, from down the hall. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dean grumbled, looking away so Charlie’s grin wouldn’t cause him to break into one of his own. Her smiles were almost as infectious as Y/N’s.

But the truth was, Dean was off his game. He’d been off his game ever since Y/N had waltzed into his life and demanded a spot in the backseat. Every brush they shared was electric, every smile a spark, every kiss a roaring flame. She was fire and he was burning. It was hard to focus on anything but that.

“Come on,” Y/N whispered, falling back to let the other three walk ahead of them. She grabbed Dean’s shirt, tugging him down a different hallway.

“Where are we going?” Dean asked, not really caring what the answer was.

She waggled her eyebrows at him, lips quirked up enough to make her dimples show. He let her lead him farther away from the group, gazing into the endless depths of her eyes. Down and down he fell into the blue, no parachute or safety net to save him now. He was all in.

“What—” Dean started when she pulled him into a dusty study.

She shrugged, still holding his hands. “They said to get a room.”

Dean wasn’t sure who initiated the kiss. They both collided into each other, the magnetic pull he’d always felt so much stronger. There was a strange buzzing in his ears, a blissful fogginess of ignorance as he lost himself in her. Nothing else mattered right then. He didn’t even care about the pounding of his aching head, the shooting pain in his sliced leg, the bruises on his knuckles. They were nothing more than minor distractions he could push away when he was touching her.

Y/N pulled away, just enough so he could still feel her warm breath on his face.

“What is it?” He murmured, stroking her damp hair. It’d been raining outside before they came in, and she was still wet.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispered, lifted her hand, dragging her thumb across his cheek. She winced when he winced, hissing through her teeth. “Sorry.”

“’S okay,” he assured her. “Just a scratch. No big deal. My leg is worse.”

Her eyes widened when she noticed the dark stain on his jeans, slowly spreading. He remembered when she’d worn that exact same expression so many moons ago in the graveyard of Starryedge, gaping at his chest wound. She’d been so surprised that he’d dismissed his injuries so easily. Surely she was used to it by now, he thought, but she was protective, as usual.

“We need to get that patched up,” she said.

“I’m fine,” Dean said. “Let’s just finish checking the house, all right?”

But he may as well have been speaking in Chinese for all the attention she gave him. She dragged him outside, ordering him to sit down on the trunk of the Impala while she fished the fished the first aid kit from under the passenger’s seat.

“Y/N, you have to stop fussing over me like this,” was Dean’s half-hearted attempt at getting her to listen. “I’ve been on hundreds of hunts in my life, maybe thousands. I can handle a little cut.”

“Dean Winchester, you’ve just been sliced open by a vampire. I think your girlfriend is allowed to stitch you shut.”

He smirked, lifting the leg of his pants obediently while she poured alcohol over the wound. “So you’re my girlfriend now, huh?”

“You’ve only now realized that?” She said sarcastically.

He shrugged. “You never said it before.”

“Not out loud,” she mumbled. “But there are some things that don’t need to be said. Not with words.”

Dean brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting his hand linger against her cheek. She pretended not to notice, though he felt her skin burn hot.

“This is going to hurt,” she said.

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“Ready?”

Dean nodded. He gritted his teeth as she pulled the needle, her movements quick and precise. He held very still and tried not to let on that he was in pain. It would be over in no time, it always was.

“There.” She swiped the needle clean with a cotton ball of alcohol, looking up at Dean with satisfaction on her face. “Try not to bust it open again, okay?”

“Y/N.” He caught her hand before she could walk away, gently leading her back so she was standing in front of him again. He had all these things to say, but the words he could hear so clearly in his head wouldn’t find their way to his lips. He wanted so badly to be able to speak them, express himself as easily as Y/N or Sam or Charlie could, but he wasn’t like that. He didn’t know how to be an artist. He didn’t know how to translate thoughts into words.

“You’re staring at me again,” she whispered.

“What do you mean again?” Dean asked.

She shook her head a little, gentle so her hair barely moved, only a slight motion of the head. Her eyes searched his for something, but he wasn’t sure what. “Back at the restaurant, for our first date. You were staring then, too.”

He couldn’t believe she’d remembered. He’d thought for sure he hadn’t been so obvious, but then again, she was a hunter. Hunters were trained to look for little details, small clues, any sign that could lead to the answer to the mystery.

When he didn’t speak, she continued, “Back then, I thought maybe—maybe you were trying to say something, but you didn’t know how. Then I thought I was crazy. I mean, it was nuts, I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“What did you think I was trying to say?” Dean could barely get the simple sentence out of his mouth. His heart was pounding so hard, he couldn’t get a decent breath in.

She bit her lip and glanced down, hands slick with sweat in his. “I thought—I thought you were—no, I shouldn’t say this.”

He squeezed her hands, gently, but firm enough to tell her that she could go on.

She took a deep breath and looked up at him again. “I thought there was something in your eyes. I thought you were in love with me.”

He could see the worry and the doubt etched upon her every feature, from her wide eyes to her lower lip caught between her teeth to the slight tremble of her hands. He leaned forward so their foreheads were pressed up against each other.

“You weren’t wrong,” he murmured. “I loved you then, I love you now.”

She began to shake in earnest now. She gave a hearty sniff, a fat tear trickling down her dirt-stained face, carving a path that twisted and curved.

“You know,” she said, voice wobbling. “I really believe you’re the greatest thing to ever happen to me.”

Dean’s lips twitched, corners quirking up into the very same smile he’d smiled at the diner all those months back. It seemed like decades ago. “Right back at you, kid.”

They were still kissing when the others came out. They didn’t notice until there was a collective groan and Sam said, “Seriously, you guys, do we need to separate you two?”

Imagine saving Sam and Dean on a hunt.

Author:hogwartsismyhometoo 

Word Count: 3,540

Read Part (1) (2)

Dean

“Hi,” Sam said, taking the initiative. Dean was a little surprised—he usually started conversations with the locals—but then again, he wasn’t. Sam had always gotten excited when he entered a library. The mere site of books was enough to brighten his day. Where Dean was more comfortable in a bar or a diner—his thoughts wandered to Y/N for the third time that morning—this was Sam’s element.

The librarian—a red-haired girl with horn-rimmed glasses and a nametag that read “Brittany”—smiled at Sam. “Hey. Can I help you?”

“If you can show us where the newspapers are,” Sam said.

Brittany laughed a little before realizing that Sam wasn’t joking. “Really?” She said. “You wouldn’t rather use the computers? They’re free to the public, you know.”

“The newspapers are fine,” Sam insisted. “But thanks.”

Brittany shook her head, but said, “All right, if you’re sure. You can follow me.”

She led them through a twisting maze of bookshelves and reading nooks, Sam’s eyes widening with each step they took. Dean smirked at his little brother, suddenly stricken by how young he looked in that moment. It was a nice change from the usual determined, serious scowl he wore during hunts.

“There you go.” Brittany drummed her fingers along the top of a flimsy wire rack carrying maybe a dozen newspapers. “Papers from the past week or so. You can keep them, if you want. No one reads them, anyway.”

“Uh, you wouldn’t happen to have some that are a little more … dated, would you?” Sam asked hesitantly.

Brittany narrowed her eyes at him, letting her gaze flicker to Dean briefly. “How dated?”

Sam shrugged and looked over at Dean, asking him silently for an answer.

“Two years?” Dean suggested.

“I have a whole bunch stacked up in Courtney’s office,” she said. “She uses them for the storytime crafts, but they aren’t sorted or anything. It’s impossible to find anything specific, if that’s what you’re here for.”

Dean resisted from making a sarcastic noise or comment. The word “impossible” just encouraged him further.

“That’s fine,” Sam assured her. “You think we can spread out at a back table somewhere?”

Once Brittany had helped the two brothers get settled in the basement/kid’s section, they got to work. Sam slapped a stack of papers at least a foot high in front of him, flipping through the pages right away. Dean sighed at the number of boxes around them, feeling disheartened. This was going to take a lot longer than he thought. He pretended not to notice how quickly the clock spun closer to seven.

Dean suggested taking a break around two for some lunch at the diner, but he was shot down immediately by Sam, who tossed him two Slim Jims from his pockets. Dean muttered something under his breath about rabbit food when Sam unwrapped a granola bar, but continued to work in silence after that until six.

Dean tossed what seemed like the thousandth paper aside, watching it slide across the table and land with a thwumpon the ground. “Man, I’m going crazy. I don’t know how much longer I can sit here.”

“You’ll be fine, Dean,” Sam mumbled distractedly.

“I’m serious. I can’t sit still. I have to do something, something productive.”

“Like go on a date?”

Dean felt his whole face flush, glaring at Sam when he looked up at him, grinning.

“No,” Dean spat, utterly flustered. Sam pressed his lips together, probably to prevent laughter from slipping out. “That’s not what I—I didn’t mean—shut up.”

“I get it,” Sam said, unfolding another newspaper. “I’d be excited, too. I mean, she’s definitely pretty.”

Pretty? Dean though. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

But Dean didn’t say things like that out loud. Definitely not to his brother, who was already teasing him mercilessly about what he thought was simply a crush. But the word “crush” didn’t seem to apply to the way Dean felt about Y/N, but “love” seemed too strong for someone he’d only met yesterday. He wished there were something in between, some word that could describe the sparks of blossoming flames he felt in his stomach.

Dean cleared his throat and tried to sound gruff and manly as he said, “Yeah, man, she’s hot.”

Even though Dean couldn’t see the satisfied smirk on Sam’s face, he knew he was seeing right through this facade, this sad attempt at normalcy. Nothing about this was normal.

Don’t get attached, Dean had to remind himself. You get one date, you owe her that. Then you cut all ties and drive away.

He could not let her affect him like this. Because once this case was shut, he’d leave, just like he always did. That was just the way it was. Put out the fire and pack the bags, that was the routine. Anytime he tried to change that, he only ended up hurting more people around him.

When Dean started bouncing his leg up and down around six-thirty, Sam sighed and slammed another stack of papers on the table.

“Go,” he said.

Dean didn’t need to be told twice.

Six-fifty-five. Dean had just turned onto her street when Sam called. Dean threw his head against the back of his seat in frustration, taking deep breaths when he answered.

“What?” He snarled.

“Katie Forester,” was Sam’s greeting.

“Fantastic,” Dean said dryly. “Let me know when she’s taken care of.”

“Dean, I need your help.”

“With what?” Dean pulled over a few houses down from Y/N’s, just in case this argument didn’t end the way he wanted it to. “You’ve done plenty of salt-and-burns by yourself before.”

“Yeah, but not with a spirit like this. I think she’s evolved into something more dangerous than we’re used to. Please, just help me dig up the grave.”

Dean closed his eyes and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, itching to just hang up and drive a few more yards toward her driveway.

“Fine,” he spat. “But you so owe me one. Or three.”

“Absolutely,” Sam sighed, obviously relieved at your choice. “Meet me at the graveyard.”

Dean hung up and tossed his phone unceremoniously onto the passenger seat, groaning a little. He tried not to picture what she was wearing right now, tried to keep the memory of her eyes looking into his shoved way back into a distant corner of his mind. He hoped she’d understand or at least give him the benefit of the doubt when he didn’t show up that night. He wished he could tell her how much it was killing him not to have the chance to take her out and walk her home and, maybe, if the date had gone well, kiss her goodnight.

Y/N

It was seven-thirty when I finally gave up hope. I should’ve known he wouldn’t come. Why did I keep doing this to myself? Why did I keep setting myself up for disappointment? Three guys “just passing through” had asked me out in the past month–the diner was a popular rest stop–but not one of them had followed through. Why did I think Dean was going to be any different?

But I’d read enough of the books to know what Dean was like. He may have liked to play around with the ladies, but he didn’t stand them up. He didn’t cheat on them or make promises he couldn’t keep. He treated them right.

Stop it, I chastised myself. That’s just fiction. None of it’s real.

All the same, I couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe something had happened. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he got lost.

Before I lost the courage and changed my mind, I grabbed my keys from the kitchen table and went outside.

I took the back roads on the way to the motel. It was quicker that way, and I didn’t want to waste any more of my time waiting than I already had. I hoped that’s where they were staying and that I wasn’t just making assumptions. It was the only place in town where they could be staying really, but still. I didn’t know if they had family. For all I knew, they could be staying with an aunt and uncle or grandparent somewhere nearby.

Sam and Dean don’t have any family, that annoying little part of my brain consumed with Carver Edlund said.

Shut up, the other part snarled. They’re just stories.

Something caught my eye, a flash in the darkness, and I slammed on the brakes. It was cold outside, but the heaters were blasting, so the windows were all fogged up. I squinted and rolled down the passenger’s window. A blast of frigid air hit me in the face, goosebumps rising on my arms. Then I heard a scream.

“Sam!”

It was Dean. I knew it was. He shouted his brother’s name just like I’d imagined he would while reading the books. Then my stomach dropped, like I’d missed a step going downstairs. There was only one reason for Dean to yell like that, panic and fury bursting from him as if someone had punched it out of him.

Just stories, I reminded myself.

But maybe not. All stories had to come from somewhere, right?

Dean yelled for Sam again, followed by an urgent command of some sort, though I couldn’t make out what it was over the erratic beating of my heart. Was I brave enough for this?

In the end it didn’t matter, because both boys were shouting now, and whatever war was raging out in that cemetery, they were losing. Someone had to help them.

I left the keys in the ignition, barely remembering to shift the car into park before leaping into the harsh night air. It was a good thing I’d chosen to wear flats instead of heels. Running through the slick grass in a dress was hard enough. I slipped several times before reaching them.

I gasped audibly. Sam and Dean were each lifted at least a foot off the ground, pinned against a large oak tree. A shimmering, gray, ghostly young woman held a pale hand in the air, trembling in their direction. Their legs were kicking out at nothing, and they clawed at their throats as if attempting to pull imaginary ropes from their necks, choking.

Sam saw me first, eyes widening, face turning blue.

“Y/N!” He managed to choke out.

Dean saw me then. I thought he was going to pass out right there from shock. His lips moved in an attempt to say something, but all that came out of his mouth were helpless, gurgling noises. I had to do something.

The woman followed their gaze to me. She bared her teeth, shooting me a glare that made my legs shake. Her thick black hair was wild and hung in strings around her hollow face, skin a sickly, translucent white. There was no life behind those eyes, not that I expected there to be. Confronted with the evidence now, there was no denying it. The stories were real.

Which meant that I was standing feet away from a vengeful spirit with nothing to protect me.

“Iron,” I gasped, not trusting my voice to stay steady enough for more than a few words. “W-where’s your iron?”

Dean pulled one hand away from his throat to point to a spot in the grass next to a pile of dirt. They’d dug up someone’s grave and smashed the coffin open, but the abandoned canister of salt and gallon of gasoline lying next to it told me that they never got a chance to finish their job.

I stumbled forward, darting past the ghost to the pipe sitting on the ground. It was heavier than I’d expected, but that could’ve been due to the fear and adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’d barely straightened up to take a swing when I thrown backward into a nearby tree. The breath was knocked out of me, black spots dancing in my vision.

Sam and Dean shouted something, but the words didn’t register as the woman flickered and vanished only to reappear in front of me. I was utterly frozen with terror. I felt my feet leave the ground, legs dangling in the air. My throat constricted. I tried to call for help, but no sound would come out. The panic in my chest wasn’t helping, either. The ghost’s hands were coming ever closer. The sight of her long, pointed nails and bony fingers did it for me. I found the strength to lift the heavy pipe and swing it at her head.

That seemed to do the trick. Her form blurred into a swirling cloud of fog before disappearing completely. I slid down the trunk, crumpling in a heap on the ground, coughing as my lungs expanded with fresh air. I pushed myself into a standing position, turning in frantic circles. Where had she gone?

Then I saw Dean charge her with a pipe of his own a few yards away. It was a losing battle, I could tell just from the way he was waving his weapon around. They were both obviously tired. They must’ve been at this for a while, moving as if each step were a struggle, sweat shining in the moonlight on their foreheads.

Sam lunged for the container of salt, but the spirit noticed and rushed at him, hands wrapping around his throat. He choked and struggled, flailing arms knocking the salt out of reach. “Dean!” He sputtered.

While Sam and Dean tried to hold off the ghost on their own, swinging the pipe aimlessly and getting slammed into trees, I flattened myself on the ground. I inched slowly forward, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I stretched out a shaking hand. Just a few more feet and I’d have it.

There. My fingers brushed the container and bumped it closer to me. I shook it over the grave, wincing when I caught sight of the corpse. I hadn’t been prepared to see a dead body tonight.

After the salt came the gasoline, and now I was getting nervous. The boys were trying to keep the girl distracted, but she was fast and strong and they looked exhausted. I didn’t have much time to get this done.

The can of gasoline was heavy in my limp arms, but I managed to douse the coffin and the girl with it. I set it down, careful not to spill any on the grass or myself. The last thing I needed was to send the whole place up in flames.

I fumbled around in the darkness, fingers probing the dirt for a box of matches or a lighter. When I didn’t find anything, I looked up at Sam and Dean. They were both jerking around on the ground, gritting their teeth and grunting against the effort to draw in a breath.

But Dean noticed me. His green eyes found mine in the dim light and he went still, hand drifting to his pocket. He tossed something small my way and I caught it. A lighter.

Click, hiss, whoosh. It took barely a second to set it all on fire. The woman jerked away from both boys, shrieking. Something sparked at her feet and soon her whole body was consumed in smoke and ash and burning red. I shielded my eyes against the site as she grew brighter. Then she was gone, all at once, leaving behind only the crackling of the fire behind me.

Sam and Dean slowly pushed themselves into sitting positions. They were silent for a long time, gazing at their surroundings, then at me. I felt my face flush, and I busied myself with brushing dirt from my dress.

“Um, so–” Sam started, blinking rapidly. He looked at me, then at Dean, then at me again. “That was–”

“Unexpected?” Dean finished for him, finding his voice. He almost seemed angry, though I wasn’t sure at what. “A close one? Insane? Why didn’t you tell us you were a hunter?”

“What?” I said defensively. Why was he mad at me? “Why didn’t I tell you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought you were a normal girl with a normal life!” Dean said, both he and Sam getting to their feet. They towered over me once again.

“I am!”

Now it was his turn to blink at me, mouth parted so his lips formed a small ‘o’ shape. “Come again?”

“I’m not a hunter.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I didn’t even know this crap existed up until last night. But it would’ve been nice to have had a heads up. I asked you straight up at the diner yesterday if I had anything to worry about, and you said no.”

“Because Sam and I were taking care of it,” he argued.

I snorted. “Clearly.”

“How did you find out, anyway?” Sam asked, hunching over a little so he wasn’t quite so tall. It hardly made any difference.

I shrugged. “You two were acting screwy. Something didn’t add up, so I did a little digging.”

“Digging?” Dean said.

“Yeah. Once I figured out that Coulson and Wetton were rock stars, not private investigators, I found out who you were.”

They stared at me, bewilderment plastered on their faces.

“The books?” I said. “The Supernaturalseries,Winchester Gospels, whatever you call them?”

Dean swore under his breath several times, cursing a guy named Chuck, whoever he was. Sam just looked annoyed.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Dean said once he’d finished his muttered rant. “We would’ve gotten it under control. You could’ve been killed.”

“But I wasn’t, and I just saved both your asses.”

Sam’s lips twitched and he said, “You know, Dean–”

“Nope.” Dean held up a hand to silence him, giving his head one firm shake. “Zip it. Y/N, you don’t have any training–”

“Oh please, if it weren’t for me you’d be dead. Could you just shut up and thank me already?”

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek, studying me carefully. I felt myself burn up under his steady gaze, but I wasn’t able to look away. I was mesmerized the way someone’s mesmerized by a car crash or house in flames. There was something dark there, something dangerous, but also something kind. The good, the bad, the secret, it all meshed together to form this man, this magnet that was drawing me closer to him.

“How about you make it up to me?” I finally suggested. “For me almost getting killed.”

“What do you have in mind?” Dean said suspiciously.

I shrugged again, a grin creeping onto my face. “We never got to go on that date.”

Dean ducked his head to hide his smile, but I saw it. Even though I couldn’t see his lips, I could see his happiness. It brightened his whole face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. I noticed Sam smiling at me, too, the way a brother might smile at a younger sister.

“What do you say?” I prompted him.

“I’ll go get cleaned up,” Dean said, gesturing to the mud on his clothes. I noticed a darker splotch amongst the earth, something reddish.

“Is that blood?” I said, stepping forward for a closer look.

“It’s nothing.” Dean shifted his leather jacket so it covered the stain on his shirt. “It happens all the time on hunts.”

It pained me a little, how easily he brushed something like that off. Like he’d merely stubbed his toe or burned his tongue. But I nodded and didn’t say anything else.

“Do you know where Nico’s is?” I asked.

“Is that the Italian place on Sycamore?”

“Yeah. Best pizza in town.”

Dean’s grin rose up on one side, a sideways smiled that made my stomach drop again, this time for entirely different reasons. “I love pizza.”

“Meet you there at eight.”

Dean got started on filling the grave back up, and I passed Sam on the way back to my car. He caught my elbow before I could leave and turned me around.

“Hey, thanks for helping us back there,” he mumbled, low enough so Dean wouldn’t hear. “Dean won’t say it, but I can tell he was impressed. Hell, I’m kind of in awe of you right now.”

I let my gaze flicker to my muddy feet at his compliment. “Thanks. But I didn’t really know what I was doing. I just kind of let my instinct take over.”

“Sometimes instinct’s better than any training you could’ve gotten,” Sam said. “You’d make a good hunter.”

“You think?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You’ve definitely got the guts for it.”

I let his words sink in, turning circles in my head. You’ve definitely got the guts for it. Now that I wasn’t in life-threatening danger, I felt my lips curve into a small smile. It had been kind of fun. The thrill of it all, heart pounding, breathless, it was just like riding a roller coaster. I’d always loved amusement parks.

Maybes and what ifs swirled around me on the way home, and it wasn’t until I pulled into the driveway that I realized I’d taken their pipe with me.

fuckyeahcharacterdevelopment:

muttluver:

roachpatrol:

wallycaine:

friendlytroll:

dear fiction writers: 

as far as I know, there is no large carnivore who would abandon actively eating a killed meal to chase live prey. chasing and hunting live prey is a risk, as a healthy live creature has the capability to injure a carnivore, or tire it out through the chase. If there is, say, a giant pile of dead bodies to eat, which abandoning would allow other carnivores or scavengers to steal and eat instead, it makes no sense at all. 

please stop doing that thing

The sole exception I can think of is if the large carnivore thought the live prey was another carnivore or scavenger, and was chasing them as a threat display to ensure they didn’t steal the dead bodies. Even in that case, though, it would only be a short, mock charge followed by returning to the pile if the opponent fled. With possibly whatever the animal’s equivalent of “and stay out” would be. 

Another thing: most carnivores don’t like to fight. They have to mug something to death for every single meal, they have to stay in top shape while conserving their energy. Meanwhile, herbivores have plenty of extra energy because they eat stuff that comes out of the ground and doesn’t fight back, and they often live in big social groups, so they’re better at handling stress and more used to having to actually come to blows with other animals to get their way. 

So like, a zebra will try kick your ass just to see what’s up. A tiger won’t do shit unless it’s damn sure it can take you. I’d rather come face to face with a cougar than a stag— have you seen videos of what happens to hunters when a stag catches a dude on the ground? the stag tears the dude apart. Not even to eat him. Just because the stag didn’t like what was going on and decided it was time to curb stomp a motherfucker. 

So if you’re deciding what kind of Big Scary Animals to have be a threat, like, forget wolves and lions and eagles and velociraptors. Go drop in a moose.

This is why loud noise can scare bears away. It’s a threat display that normally convinces them that the charge isn’t worth the effort.

-Exception:  

If a carnivore is Not That Hungry it might drop something dead to chase something that is doing Extreme Prey Behavior– but it’s not going to be seriousabout it. I’m thinking of things like a domestic cat that chases birds and mice for kicks. Honestly, I think that the t rex in Jurassic Park was a good example of predator behavior– she abandons something difficult (like the kids in the jeep) for the bright shiny thing she has been conditioned to understand means food (tightpants math guy with the flare + gruff dino man with flare). For the rest of the film, she chases things that run, and then quits and chows down once she has something. This has been one of my biggest beefs with the later JP films, especially Jurassic World– rather than the scares coming from being treated and stalked like prey by animals, the scares are based on monsters killing and eating randomly. (And what’s with the treatment of all the herbivores as good and gentle? Herbivores will fuck you up because they got scared or because you pissed them off and those are the two primary emotions of large herbivores– they won’t eat you, but they’ll still trample you).

+Addition:

The predators that aren’t snipers (like cougars or herons) tend to test individuals in a herd– they want to gauge your health and willingness to fuck somebody up before they commit to you as a target. If you stare them down with your cold dead eyes and gear up to wreck their shit they’ll piss off unless they’re completely desperate. (Like I said, the main emotions of prey animals are Time To Fuck Shit Up and Time To Run). 
So, I’m desperatelytired of all these people running and screaming away from wolves and velociraptors and bears oh my. 

Consider:

How much scarier fiction could be if predators acted like actual predators that can be intelligent and patient and are pressing around the edges of your party to find weakness and fear. 

amazingride:

amazingride: