What Makes a Hunter

Chapter 1

The bedside clock read 1:36 when Dean was jolted awake. Someone was pounding on his motel room door. He blinked rapidly, trying to steady himself and momentarily forgetting where he was. His legs were tangled in the sheets, the blanket a useless downy heap on the floor. The hunter struggled to push himself off the bed, acutely aware of the fact that whoever was on the other side of the door really wanted to come in. Sliding his gun from under the pillow, Dean stood with some difficulty and tiptoed to the window. He pulled back the blinds ever so slightly to see who was outside. In less than a second he had unbolted the chain, flipped the lock vertical and pulled the door open. Cas swayed on the doorstep, trench-coat filthy and covered in what Dean hoped wasn't his own blood.

"Hello Dean" he croaked, and promptly fell face first into the room.

"Woah woah woah hey what happened, man?" Dean hissed, grabbing the ex-angel's shoulders before he hit the floor and looking around for a place for Cas to sit. The only viable furniture in the room was a rickety wooden chair and and the lumpy queen bed. Dean maneuvered him towards the latter, propped him up against the headboard and turned to close the door. He tripped over the blanket on the floor, smacked his elbow on the top of the chair and swore loudly, recovering himself by grabbing onto the doorframe.

"Cas? What happened?" he asked his dazed friend, pushing the door shut with a quiet click and bolting it.

"Vampire," Cas grunted, then coughed. Some blood came up. He wiped his hand across his mouth and then looked at the bloody smear in complete confusion. Dean flipped the lights on, rubbing his elbow.

He gave Cas a once-over. He was bleeding heavily from a gash in his right side.

"You look like crap," the hunter observed.

"Thank you." came the gravelly reply, along with a surly glare and the faintest hint of a pout. Dean smiled, despite the situation.

"Okay, hang on a second. I have a first aid kit in the bathroom. You wanna get that coat off?" he asked, gesturing vaguely towards his friend. Cas started to wriggle out of the disgusting trench-coat as Dean disappeared into the bathroom. He dug through his toiletry bag, silently thanking Sam for making him overpack despite the fact that it had just been a simple salt-and-burn.

"Can you get your shirt off?" he called over his shoulder.

"I don't think so. It seems to be stuck," came the reply. Dean sighed.

"Awesome." he muttered. "Well I don't have scissors so I have to go out to the car and get a knife."

He stalked out of the bathroom and dumped the first aid kit onto the bed. "Just, uh...stay here, I guess," he said, shoving his feet into waiting boots. He unlocked the door again and stepped out onto the concrete, glancing back once over his shoulder. Cas had his eyes closed and his head leaning against the pillows. The hunter shut the door as quietly as possible, tiptoed down the metal steps to the Impala and popped the trunk.

He was full of questions. Neither he or Sammy had heard from Cas in days. He knew that for a fact because they had discussed it over the phone yesterday. Sam was in Virginia hunting down what looked like a werewolf, and Dean had decided that it would be safe for him to split and take care of a ghost that had been haunting an old church in small-town Ohio. They had assumed that Cas was off doing something hunterly but it was just plain weird that he had turned up wounded in Middle-Of-Nowhere Ohio at the same motel Dean was staying at. It was the only motel in town, but still. There was something up.

Dean selected two knives of different lengths just in case and slammed and locked Baby's trunk. In a moment he was back up the stairs and pulling the motel room door slightly ajar. He briefly scanned the parking lot below to see if anyone was watching which room he went into. No one was. The hunter slipped inside, flipped the lock and bolted the chain, and turned towards Cas lying on the bed.