The Runt of the Litter

Froid

Anna had tugged the knife out of the dog's chest, wiped the blood on her coveralls, and kept the knife out just in case she needed it, then worked her way carefully back toward the clearing, but she'd been terribly disoriented thanks to her head injury, and somehow, she'd wound up moving in the opposite direction. At least, that was the assumption she was making now that her head had cleared at least slightly, because she didn't recognize any of the woods around her-- not a tree, dead leaf, or snow drift.

So she walked, stumbling here and there, and fixing her scarf every time it blew off her face. She was getting colder and more exhausted with every step and she felt sure that she would reach the end of her reserves of energy long before she found that clearing or anything else that would be useful to her in either finding her brothers or finding a secure, warm place to hole up and wait for them-- or at least regain some strength.

She had a vague, blurred memory from their preparation process before they entered the woods, and she was pretty sure there had been mention of some sort of cabin or other dwelling where they were supposed to meet if things went sideways. But she couldn't seem to get a firm hold on the memory, and thinking about it made her head hurt so that her forehead twisted in pain and she had to close her eyes against it.

She focused instead on how sucky it was that they'd buddied up with two assholes who didn't even really know what they were doing. Not only were they morons, but they were downright mean. Especially that older prick.

()()()

"Never hunted one of those damn things in all your life, have you, kid?"

Anna bristled at Axel Gallagher's remark and turned away from his smug, gray bearded face to take a calming breath. She didn't grace his condescending question with a response. He'd been on her back all morning, and she was dead tired of listening to his bullshit. One more time and she would punch him in his uppity face.

She could feel Dean glancing sideways at her from where he was loading iron bullets into his gun in preparation for the hunt. It was almost as if he was warning her not to speak out of line while simultaneously communicating that he saw what the guy was doing. It was a rounded message that Anna needn't say anything because Gallagher was just being a condescending prick as per usual.

Sam pushed through the door of the motel room with a file tucked under his arm, still sporting his FBI suit. Behind him trailed Gallagher's son, Cade, whose eyes locked on Anna and stayed there even as she tried her best to ignore him and studiously strapped her knife in her boot.

"We about ready to take this bitch down?" Cade asked, and while she hated to think it, Anna couldn't help but feel like that something she could hear in his voice was an effort to impress her. She thought it was gross, really. He was nineteen or twenty, she couldn't remember exactly. Either way, he was far too old for her. And at fifteen, she had no interest in any kind of romantic relationship, let alone with any adult whose father was as much a douchebag as Axel Gallagher.

"Uh, no," Sam answered, shooting the kid a look that said he was crazy if he thought they were near ready to head out. "Look at this, Ladybug," he said, opening the manila folder he'd brought back with him from the police department.

"Something new?" Anna asked, trying hard to ignore the older Gallagher's snort at Sam's nickname for her. She moved to the bed where Sam had laid a couple papers out.

"No, but I want you to see this."

Anna gazed at the two photos next to the list of victims, wondering why Sam had even bothered to bring them back. They'd asked for the local authorities to whip these things up for them, but it had turned out not to be necessary. In the few hours it took for them to be prepared, Dean had gotten word of a facetime call by one of the victims to their family. He talked to them and found out that the call clearly showed a supernaturally sized dog lurking the campsite, but the victim's brother had been resistant to admitting he'd seen it, thinking he would be called crazy.