Scream My Name [SUPERNATURAL FANFIC]

C H A P T E R 1

C H A P T E R 1

"I was born on the scene,
Now it runs in my blood,
Yeah, you know what I mean,
When I'm dead and gone,
Will they sing about me,
Dead and gone,
Will they scream my name,
Scream my name."

I softly sang to myself as I dropped my gun and knife into the back of my old Ford pick-up. The tailgate creaked as I pushed it shut.
My fingers traced the side of the truck as I stumbled towards the door. The door groaned as I opened it and hopped in, earning another grunt from the truck.
My fingers fumbled around the stereo system, my index pushed firmly against the audio button.
"96.8, music for the independent mind." The radio blasted, and I quickly turned down the volume, my head and skull throbbing.
There was a pause before music flooded my ears, and I placed the key into the ignition, the old truck roaring- or sputtering- to life.
I drove out of the old, gravelled-over abandoned parking lot, glancing at the dusty and breaking-down warehouse behind me.
I am so glad that this stupid hunt was over. I hate Wendigos with a burning, fiery passion. Don't get me wrong; I hate every monster out there, but Wendigos are the worst.
They killed my dad, and damn near my brother and I. My mom was on a business trip to Boston that week, and my dad decided that it would be a great idea to bring his son and daughter on a hunt.
It's a sad way to die.
The song changed to Back In Black by AC/DC. My fingers thrummed against the steering wheel as I braked at a red light. Just as the light turned green, some jackass behind me honked. I pressed the gas, glancing in the mirror at the car behind me.
So the jackass drives a 1967 Chevy Impala, huh? A douche with style. Then, that douche speeds up and passes me, cutting me off. I honked and rolled down the window violently, poking my head out.
"JACKASS!" I screeched.
A hand came out of the Impala's window, a loud-and-proud middle finger glaring at my face.
I brought my head back inside the truck, my eyes rolling as I quickly rolled my window back up. My hands clutched the steering wheel.
I leaned my head back, rolling my shoulders into the soft fabric of the seat. I peeked at the clock on my dash, my eyes widening. 10 o'clock at night.
I pulled into the parking lot of my motel, parking in front of my room which was room 7. I pulled the key from the ignition, letting the rumbling of my truck die out.
The truck gave a pleading groan as I step down from inside, slamming the truck door behind me. My hand was shoved inside my pocket, rummaging around for my room key.
"Finally...," I muttered as I felt my fingers wrap around the tiny key.
I brought the key to the lock, twisting it sharply. I quickly locked my truck and pushed the motel room door open, the smell of old cigarettes and whisky invading my nostrils.
I threw the key on the little dinette table and looked through the tiny fridge that was in the corner of the room.
I groaned and slammed the fridge door shut. I grabbed the key and angrily opened the door, shutting it behind me.
I sauntered over to the vending machine outside, but I stopped in my tracks, about 5 feet away from the vending machine. My eyes narrowed into a squint as I made out the outline of a really tall man. Was it a man? Maybe a gigantic woman with short hair?
"Uh, hi, there..!" A voice said.
"Howdy..?" I replied, and I confirmed that it was in fact a really tall man with long hair. Or just a really manly woman.
I began walking towards the guy, and I could sense that his body was stiff with tension. There was a thick, metallic scent in the air, and it wasn't his cologne.
The flickering light above the vending machine lighted up our faces, and I smiled warily. The guy gave back a weak smile, wiping away something red from his lips. He pocketed a small flask, and quickly nodded. He turned around and began speed walking back to his room, which was room 3.
I watched him as he anxiously unlocked and opened his room door, sneaking in quietly.
I hummed as I sniffed the air, the smell sticking in the air, not fading. The scent suddenly hit me like a brick to the face.
That was a very distinct and familiar smell.
"Demon's blood," I whispered, "that guy was drinking goddamn demon's blood!"
My adrenaline started to pump as I quickly shoved $1.50 into the vending machine slot and pushed the buttons B2. The Coca-Cola rolled out and I grabbed it. I opened it, taking a long swig as I stared at room 3's door.
My mind swirled angrily like a tornado. I don't know what to do. Should I confront him? Knock on the door, maybe?
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, pushing the 'on' button. My eyes glanced to the time. It's almost 11 o'clock. I shouldn't knock on their door.
No. I'll confront him in the morning.
I sucked in a deep breath, the cold from the can seeping into my fingers. I turned around on my heels and started to walk back to my room.
I stabbed the key into the lock, turning it and unlocking the door. I shut the door behind me with my foot, tossing the keys onto the tiny dinette.
I drained the Coke into the sink, the sugary taste still lingering on my taste buds.
I threw the can into the trash bin and shuffled over to my bed. I dove into the old, dingy comforter, the smell of cigarette smoke and something unrecognizable stung my nostrils. I wrapped the quilt around me, snuggling in further.
It's been a long day; a Wendigo hunt and finding out that a guy a couple doors down drinks demon blood.
Next thing I knew I was snoring away, drool pooling around my mouth.

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