In all my years, I would have never expected to hug Dean Winchester with such fervor, or for him to hug back. It wasn't the first time of course, but this was different. This was... well, rather than watching him fight for his life, he once again nearly died in front of me. This time, it wasn't even by the hand of some villain - it was by his own.
Despite the longevity of the case, the goodbye hadn't lasted long at all. Andy's replies were short, clipped, although meaningful. He appreciated our efforts in helping him, in believing him, but he was still processing the thought of having just killed his brother, who he had known for maybe ten minutes. I didn't envy him.
My mind raced, no coherent thought quite sticking before it was gone. The Impala roared, the passengers seat warm beneath me. For what must have been the hundredth time that hour I cast a quick glance over my shoulder at Andrew. He hadn't said a word since the end of the case, his eyes locked on something outside the car window as trees rushed past.
I shrugged back into my seat, shoulders pressed firmly against the back and tensed enough that I thought I might strain something. No one had spoken since we said our goodbyes. That was normal for most hunts, and I assumed the conversation would pick up again soon. Dean would put on some music and start singing along atrociously enough that we would all laugh, or Sam would start geeking out about some new monster or lore he had found.
I zoned out after a while, lost in my own thoughts, a nail between my teeth chewing it to a stub. I hadn't bothered to ask where we were going, hadn't registered that we had essentially ditched the stolen Subaru. Few things other than my thoughts and the unsettling silence registered with me.
I flinched at the feeling of a warm touch on my knee and followed the calloused hand's path to Dean. He glanced every few seconds between me and the road, a look of worry on his handsome features.
"You OK?" he murmured quietly, soft enough to not disturb the silence of the car. Truthfully, I wasn't sure I'd have been able to hear him if I wasn't a monster. I dropped my gaze and stared blankly at his hand before nodding.
Dean frowned and withdrew his hand, placing it back on the steering wheel. Neither of us were quite sure how to press the conversation. I knew he understood my anxiety, why I was so... stiff. He almost died by his own hand this time. How he was so calm after that, I would never understand.
Dean didn't understand it either. Like usual, he was ignoring it, refusing to process what had happened - well, everything but one thing.
"Your eyes are still yellow," he mumbled out again, casting another glance in my direction. I froze in surprise then quickly clamped my eyes shut and shook my head.
"Sorry," I replied just as soft, eyes still shut tightly. Maybe if I stopped thinking about it, they'd return to their normal color. I jumped once more as his hand grasped mine, dwarfed in comparison to his.
"Don't apologize," he answered, less of an order and more of a plea. I had nothing to apologize for, and he was trying his best to convey that. My cheeks flushed, but I didn't remove my hand from his grip.
---
The next few hours were totally silent. No music, no talking, not even a sigh. After a while, it became more comfortable than unnerving as everyone processed the night's events.
The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon when the Impala pulled off the main road and onto a dirt path that I recognized almost immediately. I hadn't bothered to ask Dean where we were going, the thought had never crossed my mind.
The Roadhouse came into view, towering over everything around it, although that wasn't hard. The land was barren aside from a few scattered clumps of grasses. The once neon sign was faded in the coming morning, the sky dappled blue and gray. There were fewer cars and motorcycles around than there had been a few days ago, although that didn't surprise me.
Before the Impala had even rolled to a complete halt, everyone had their seat belts off and were almost out the doors. It was routine now for Dean to finish with the car while everyone else pulled their baggage from the back of the car. I had hardly stepped out of the car before Sam was tossing my backpack towards me.
The engine fell silent as Sam handed a duffle bag of what I assumed to be weapons towards me. Everything would need to be cleaned once again, an act that I found therapeutic now. I still didn't agree with the weapons humans raised, but I had to admit that cleaning them was rather satisfying, especially for relieving adrenaline.
Sam lead the way into the bar, Dean and Andrew dragging behind. I followed close behind Sam, my pack slung over my shoulder and the weapons bag in hand. The bar was as dim as ever, with its faded light bulbs and dark furnishings. It wasn't nearly as dark as Ash's office, that much I was thankful for.
A wave of relief swept over me as Ellen stepped out from a back room, a towel tossed over her shoulder and a welcoming smile on her face. "That was fast," she called out and stooped down behind the bar to grab something. A pair of keys flew across the room and landed neatly in Sam's hand. "There's two rooms for you all, get some sleep. You look like you need it," she called.
She didn't have to tell any of us twice. The four of us traipsed slowly up the rickety stairs and found our room numbers, side by side as they almost always were. I dropped the bag of weapons in the first room at the foot of one of the rickety old beds before disappearing into my own room. Once again, no one said a word and the door shut softly behind me. In my own room, Andrew lay face down on the blankets, silent and stiff. I didn't bother trying to stir him and instead shut off the light and crawled under my own covers.
---
I woke some hours later with the sun high in the sky. It was early afternoon, and light filtered through the thin curtains and onto the dusty floorboards of our room. Andrew still laid motionless, curled on his side. I couldn't quite tell if he was asleep or not, and I didn't want to bother him with checking.
I slipped out from under the covers, my bare feet touching the cold boards. I wasn't quite sure when I had taken my boots off - it was all a haze, everything after entering the bar. With a slow stretch and a quiet yawn, I stood from the bed and padded to the door.
The hallway was dark, no lights on. A few lights filtered from underneath door frames, showing their residents were in fact home for the evening. I crossed the hall towards the stairs, taking them cautiously as each step bent under my weight.
The bar itself was empty of laughter and the scent of beer. I assumed they were only just getting started, as there weren't many visitors as of now. Business would pick up later - it always did in these kinds of places.
I sat at one of the high chairs in front of the bar and waited. It was warm in the old, run-down building, despite fall being on the rise. I half expected there to be a draft in the room, especially when the door creaked each time the wind gusted against it. Instead, I was pleasantly warm and comfortable in that room - it was homey, like most hunter things were.
It seemed almost everything hunters owned was old. Old, torn apart, run-down or broken. It wasn't unlike them actually, when I thought about it. Even Sam and Dean, who were young and plenty lively, were already worn down with the stresses of the job. Maybe that's why everything hunters owned was made to feel homey, like the Roadhouse or the junkyard - or maybe it was just because that was all they had. They had to make the best of it.
I jumped at the sound of footsteps thundering down the decrepit staircase and spun in my seat to meet the hurried figures. From the shadows emerged Sam and Dean, both weighed down by heavy luggage. The pair paused, wide-eyed and just as surprised to see me as I was to see them.
"I thought you were asleep," Dean spoke and hoisted his duffel bag, no doubt filled with guns and knives, higher on his shoulder.
"I thought you were asleep too," I countered and stood from my seat, extending a hand to him. "If I had known you guys were up, I would have helped you out." They both stood frozen, staring back at me. Sam's eyes glanced between Dean and my extended palm before grumbling something and dropping a backpack strap into my hand. I smiled at him and swung it onto my shoulder.
"Are you leaving already?" I asked, falling in step with the brothers as they marched towards the front doors. Dean held the door open while Sam and I stepped into the warm afternoon light.
"Yeah, Dean thinks he found a case," Sam replied, taking long strides to the car. I raced after him, taking two steps for every one of his. "Something in California, I think."
"Los Angeles!" Dean called. I spun on my heels to face him as Sam popped the trunk, waiting for him to catch up with us. "Young girl's been kidnapped by an evil cult."
I quirked a brow and dropped the backpack into the back seat. "Isn't a cult a bit out of your jurisdiction?" Dean scoffed and opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by his brother.
"What's the girls' name anyway?"
"Katie Holmes," Dean replied with a smirk. I scoffed and shut the car door roughly, earning a glare from him.
"Can't you go five minutes without making some stupid reference, Dean-" I teased, but froze at the sound of shattering glass and screams of anger. All eyes turned towards the Roadhouse, the source of the screams. Before I could even think to speak, Sam and Dean rushed into the building.
Inside the bar, Ellen and Jo were caught in the middle of a screaming match, with one trying desperately to keep the boys out of it and the other not giving a flying fuck. I entered the bar just in time to see a neatly stapled packet of papers flying right at Sam, colliding with his chest and falling flat onto the floor.
"Three weeks ago a young girl disappeared from a Philadelphia apartment," she announced as Sam bent to pick up the papers only to have them quickly snatched by Dean. "And this girl wasn't the first. Over the past eighty years, six women have vanished. All from the same building, all young blondes. Only happens every decade or two, so cops never eyeball the pattern. So we're either dealing with one very old serial killer or-"
"Who put this together?" he cut her off, thumbing through the papers. "Ash?"
"I did, dipshit," she spat.
"If you boys like the case so much, then you take it!" Ellen shouted from the back room, earning a nasty glare from her daughter. Jo looked like she could kill at any moment. It was a look I knew well - she wanted to be out there, for some demented reason, and her mother wouldn't let her.
"It's a good case," Sam mumbled, barely audible as he took the stack from his brother and skimmed the pages. With a quick glance towards Jo, he asked, "Are you alright if we take it? We were looking for something anyway."
Jo paused for a moment, obviously seething. She wasn't mad at the boys, that much I could tell. With a final irritable shrug, she spat. "Someone's gotta take it. If I can't have it, you might as well." With one final aggravated growl, she spun on her heel and disappeared up the stairs.
I blinked once, twice, and turned to catch Dean's eye. He looked surprised, to say the least, that she had agreed that quickly.
Sam cleared his throat awkwardly and I faced him. "You in, N/N?" he questioned, holding up the case file. "Ready for another hunt?"
I barked out a laugh and shook my head. "Hell no. You two can take this one. I should get Andrew home anyway, he's a bit..." I trailed off, not sure how to explain. "Quiet." He had been mostly silent throughout the day, no doubt processing his first case, and maybe his last. I just hoped it didn't ruin his image of the Winchesters or of me.
"The kid's tough, he'll get over it," Dean reassured. "Just give him some time." I nodded along with his words, lips pursed and eyes narrowed in thought. I really hoped he was right, although something told me he was going to need a bit more than time.
Sam cleared his throat awkwardly, cutting through the heavy silence like a dull blade. "I'll uh," he began, catching Dean's eyes. His brother cast him a look that I didn't quite understand, although Sam obviously did. "I'll wait out in the car OK?" With that, he spun on his heel and left before I even had a chance to say goodbye.
I met Dean's stare with questioning eyes, why he hadn't fled with Sam. I certainly would have after Jo's display. I paused as he took a few slow steps towards me, a soft but warm grin rising on his freckled features.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"
I chuckled and gazed at him from beneath long lashes. "No, I'm not a hunt after hunt kind of girl." I frowned, knowing it wasn't the double hunts I hated. The Winchesters... they may have only needed a few hours to process a hunt, the loss of life... I wasn't like that. Hell, I was still processing the loss of my truck - it was more than just an inconvenience.
"Are you..." Dean paused, thinking of how to proceed. I smiled softly, watching the gears turning in his mind. I felt that I knew him well enough to know exactly what he was thinking. Even despite the fact that we rarely talked about ourselves, I knew him so well.
"Are you OK?" he finally settled for. It was a simple question, but all-encompassing. I knew this was my opportunity to open up, to be vulnerable, a rare opportunity with any of the Winchesters.
I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. "I should be asking you that, Dean, you're the one who almost died-"
"-Again, I know," he interjected, earning a glare from me. "But I'm fine, see? Nothing happened," he said with a grand gesture to his entirety. I bit back a laugh at his confident grin. Only Dean Winchester could be so confident after nearly killing himself.
"And what if next time you're not?" I questioned, gripping his upper arm tightly and drawing him towards me. He seemed surprised by the action, his cocksure grin falling.
"Well that's part of the job, isn't it? Not everyone's going to make it back," he offered, rather nonchalant. I narrowed my eyes in irritation - how could he treat his life with such disregard. "Would you rather I quit?"
This question startled me, eyes widening and lips parting in shock. "No, of course not-"
"Do you still want to quit?"
I froze while Dean watched my own gears turn. Did I still want to quit? Not that long ago I would have said yes without a second thought, and said goodbye to hunting without a second thought. Now... I was beginning to realize that was never going to be possible.
Considering what I was and who I cared about, there was no way I would ever be able to completely escape the life. Not unless I gave up everything and moved to where no one knew who I was. I definitely did not want to do that.
"No," I replied hastily, a sudden exhale that seemed to catch Dean off guard. "Well- maybe someday I'll get out, retire. Apple pie life, y'know? But right now..." I trailed off, processing. "Right now, I don't think I could leave even if I tried."
I frowned, eyes latched to the ground and my mind raced with ideas. I couldn't leave everything behind, not my pack, or Sam and Bobby, or Dean. Even if I wanted to, I had a suspicion someone wouldn't let me.
My brows creased and my eyes darkened at thoughts of the white wolf. He had been oddly silent the last several days, but I knew he was there. It wasn't the same tether I felt in the back of my mind to the pack; no, this was... this was like being watched or studied. Frankly, his interest in my capabilities was unnerving. If I gave up the life, I doubted he'd let me get away with it for long, if at all. At the very least, I wouldn't sleep well ever again.
I couldn't help but wonder why he had placed his interest in me of all beasts. What did I offer him - what could he offer me, aside from an exhausting and irritating night.
I jumped at the feeling of Dean lifting my chin with two fingers until I met his green eyes. Gently, like he was unsure of himself and didn't want to spook me, he cupped my cheek. "Are you sure you're OK?" he pressed, concern swimming in his vibrant irises.
"I'm fine," I offered and placed a hand on his wrist, in no way attempting to remove it. "Just tired is all."
"Didn't you just sleep, like, five hours?"
"Dean, if you think five hours is a lot, you've just given me another reason to worry about you." He laughed at this, a light, carefree laugh that I rarely heard from him. I couldn't stop the growing smile on my lips even if I wanted to.
Several long moments of silence passed as our laughter faded, replaced instead with a comfortable silence. "I should go," Dean finally murmured, breaking the silence. "Wouldn't want to keep Sam waiting, right?" I smiled softly - the poor kid had already been waiting for what felt like an eternity.
"Yeah..." I agreed, reluctantly removing his hand from its place on my cheek. He took one step back, his hand falling limply at his side. "Just... call me when you guys get there, alright? I'd like to know if you two are OK."
"Right..." he responded, taking a slow step back. "Sure, yeah." He took a half-turn, his sights settled on the door, and then froze. Suddenly, he whipped around again and reached out for me, his calloused fingertips brushing my jaw. Before I had to react, his lips were against my forehead in a quick kiss.
"I'll call you," he said as my cheeks flushed, and he disappeared before I could say a word in response.
I grinned as the color on my cheeks faded, the Impala roaring to life outside. My mind raced as the car departed, purring as it went.
"Didn't even have the decency to give you a proper kiss, huh?" I jumped at Ellen's voice and whirled to face her. She stood smugly behind the bar, drying her hands on a worn cloth. "Men, right?" she added with a shake of her head.
With a gentle order from Ellen, I was ousted from the bar and sent back to bed with a promise that she would call me down for supper soon. I found myself slowly meandering down the long hall of guest rooms; all was quiet, save for the tired floorboards beneath my feet. Part of me was glad that business would pick up soon - I was tired of being alone.
It hadn't even been ten minutes and I was already missing the brothers.
Our room was just as silent and dark as the hall, the curtains were drawn tightly and dust particles bounced from gust to gust. Despite Andrew's lumpish form on the bed, the room felt empty and distant. Cold. I sat on my own bed, eyes latched to the rather dirty wall that hadn't seen a thorough cleaning since its creation.
My skin prickled as Andrew rolled onto his back and sighed, one arm loosely laid over his face, blocking any and all light from hitting his eyes. Both of us remained totally still, waiting for someone to break the silence.
"Are they gone?" he asked, his voice raspier than it normally was. I wasn't quite sure if it was from unshed tears or heavy sleep.
"Yeah," I replied softly, turning just enough that I could see his bent knees from the corner of my eye. "Yeah, they found a hunt. They just left."
"Where are we leaving?" he carried on. He moved on so quickly that it was hard to tell if he had really grasped what I said.
"In the morning. I figure we call home, and have someone meet us halfway. I'd rather not have to steal a car again," I offered with a half-hearted chuckle. I was only met with silence, my lips pursing in response. "If you want we can leave earlier-"
"Is it always like that?" he interjected, his voice coming out shaky and louder than before as if he had to fight with himself to actually ask. "Is it always that... bloody?"
"Hunting?" I asked. He nodded and I exhaled shakily at his clarification. "Sometimes, yeah. Lately, yeah." I thought for a moment and laid back on my bed, arms splayed wide and feet hanging off the edge of the bed. "I thought this was going to be an easy hunt. I... I'm sorry you had to see all of that."
He sniffed, the sheets shuffling around him as he wiped his nose and cleared his throat. "Does someone always die like that?"
I halted, eyes tracing the uneven patterns the layers of paint made on the ceiling. "Not always. Monsters, yes, but not people. It's... not often we have to deal with a human case." I paused and waited for him to respond, but he remained silent. The only sound that filled the room was gentle in and out of both our breaths and the hammering of his heart.
"I..." He began and dropped his arm from its place over his eyes to beside him. "I haven't seen that since..." He trailed off, voice heavy with remorse. He didn't need to say it for me to understand.
"Since Chikaltio?" I offered. He nodded along with my words. Just the thought of it brought back the smell of burnt flesh and blood. The cracking of bones beneath my paws, the scent of ash that clung in the air after the car explosion. "Do you still think about it?"
He nodded, the sound of his hair brushing the pillow cover evidence enough of it. "We all do. Violence isn't... something that can easily be forgotten. Not something like that."
I swallowed dryly, eyes glazed and unfocused. "Where do you think you would be if he was still alive?"
"Honestly? Dead," he replied without missing a beat. I angled my head slightly, catching a glimpse of his ginger hair. "If he hadn't killed me, a hunter would have. He wasn't like us, he was sloppy. Sometimes I think he wasn't even thinking. Just doing."
"Like an animal."
"Yeah. A power-hungry animal," he replied softly. "I guess that's the whole point of hunting, huh? Bring down the ones that are too hungry."
I blinked slowly, mulling over his words. I had never thought about it like that. My whole life, it had been about saving people I didn't even know. I had grown up with stories about heroism and saving countless lives.
Maybe it wasn't always about saving a life. Maybe it was about preventing the loss of one. I wasn't really sure what the end goal was anymore - at this point in my career, it was about keeping my family safe and alive.
At some point in the ensuing minutes, I fell asleep again, against my will this time. When I woke, it was much later in the evening; in fact, it wasn't even evening anymore. It was well into the night.
My room was cold and my back was stiff with tension. The bed creaked under my weight as I sat up and scanned the room. Andrew's bed was empty, cold, and lifeless just like the rest of the room. Upon the realization, I bolted to my feet and lunged for the door. My bare feet padded softly across the wood boards beneath my feet as I raced down the stairs and into the bar.
The room was lively, the warm bar lights casting everyone in an almost golden hour light. There were hardly any seats left open at the tables, and only a few scattered across the bar. The pool tables and pinball machines were all occupied by eager gamblers. Strangely, Jo was missing from the gaming machines, an empty space left where she often stood.
A shock of red hair leaned back from a stool and waved to me. Andrew's once morose, freckled face was now split into a wide grin that proudly displayed his slight gap tooth. "Y/N!" he called out to me and gestured for me to take the empty seat beside him.
I crossed the room hurriedly, bending and contorting around stumbling drunks and rambunctious partakers. Eventually, I made it to the seat and practically collapsed into it.
"What are you doing down here?" I questioned, voice raised so he could hear me over the cacophony of drunks.
"Drinking, of course!" he cheered, holding up a cheap beer with excitement. "Ellen said I could use one after a hunt like that!" He giggled at his words and took a quick swig of his drink, then gagged as it burned the back of his throat.
My jaw dropped as he coughed and sputtered. He rarely ever drank with us, maybe a sip here and there but often he would turn down a beer entirely. He hated it. But by the looks of the few scattered bottles around him, he didn't hate it tonight.
"Andrew, you're nineteen. You hate alcohol," I stumbled through my words, shocked to find him going in for another swallow. "Andrew-"
"Ah let the kid drink," came a voice from Andrew's other side. A grizzled man, not much older than Dean, peered around Andrew's sulked form. He held a twinkle in his hazel eyes, a sort of keen intelligence lost in the mix of green and brown. "From what he's told me, he's earned it."
I froze in fear, eyes snapping to Andrew still neck-deep in his bottle. "What has he told you?" I asked, voice firm and lacking the once familial tone it held with Andrew.
The stranger laughed and downed what was left of his own bottle. "Just that it was his first. No need to worry, doll, he didn't spill any family secrets if that's what you're worried about." I held back a sigh of relief and placed a calloused hand on Andrew's shoulder. He sagged under my weight, propping himself up with both elbows on the bar.
I muttered softly to Andrew, who nodded along with my words. I doubted he really understood what I was saying, but that didn't stop me. I hardly noticed when Ellen traipsed over with two beers in hand and a firm, displeased scowl on her thin lips. She passed on the stranger and set the other in front of me with a thud.
"Ellen, dear, would you be willing to take the kid up to his room?" the stranger asked. She shot him a glare as he popped the cap off his beer and took a slow sip.
"What do I look like, your personal maid?" she demanded, her tone sharp and angry. My skin prickled in response - something was wrong. Perhaps she was still upset from her fight with Jo. Her eyes softened as she met my sullen stare and Andrew's drunken form. With a reluctant sigh, she padded around the bar and pulled him gently from his seat. He stumbled to his feet, and despite his stupor, he still towered over her. Slowly, she marched him from our spot at the bar to the stairs and disappeared from sight.
"See?" the stranger commented, gesturing with his bottle towards where they had once stood. "Easy enough, right?" I grimaced at him and pushed my own beer away, instead of occupying myself with cleaning the dirt out from under my nails. They were short, but they always somehow managed to collect mountains of debris.
"Is the kid your brother or something?" the man pressed. I cast him a wary glance, taking in his stalwart features. Despite his youth, or as youthful as you could be working a job like ours, he had spots of gray in his thick beard. His deep brown hair matched the rest of his bear perfectly, tangled in wry knots like it hadn't been brushed in some time. His eyes were crinkled and set above bags, giving him a shadowed look. They seemed almost sunken, tired, but still lively, as though he had found something new. A new purpose to entertain himself with.
"Something like that," I replied, drumming my fingers on the bar top. "He's family."
The man guffawed, his lips drawn back in a grin to reveal an almost perfect row of teeth, save for one missing tooth, replaced with a gold one. "Right, family. Seems like a lot of those get into the business together, huh?"
I nodded along with his words, not quite wanting to engage with this man. Something about him made my skin prickle. He had an air of knowing too much, and yet not wanting to divulge any of the secrets he kept. It was an unsettling feeling; I didn't like thinking that this man somehow knew me, but invariably that's how I felt.
"What's your name, friend?" he asked.
"Y/N," I offered dismissively and drew the unopened beer back towards me. "And I'm not your friend." With that, I pushed away from the bar and stood, dragging the cold beer with me. Without another word to the stranger, I left him alone at the bar, his hazel eyes glaring daggers into my back for reasons I didn't understand.
My eyes scanned the wide room, sounds of laughter filling the bourbon-scented air. I walked slowly this time back to the steps, watching the crowd with intrigue. How could so many of them be this exuberant this late in the night? Perhaps it was just me, but I never found myself wanting the company of others, aside from a select few, at this hour.
I did a double-take as my eyes landed on a familiar figure, a figure who, despite sitting at a table with others, seemed to be all by himself. My jaw dropped and my eyes widened as I finally realized just who he was.
"Clarence!?" The squirrelly man jumped to attention, eyes dashing around the room to find just who had called out to him. I pushed through the throng of heavy drinkers, shoving some aside in a less than civil manner in my pursuit of the hunter. His own jaw dropped when his eyes finally met mine, his dark irises filling with excitement and surprise.
"L/N!?" he chirped and stood abruptly from his seat, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. "Wh- what are you doing here?"
"Same as you, I suppose," I replied with a cheesy grin and pulled an empty chair towards me. Clarence sat back down on his own as I descended into mine. "I just finished up a hunt, heading home tomorrow."
He quirked a brow at this and relaxed into his seat for what seemed to be the first time that night. He struck me as the type that needed a strong drink to unwind; I wasn't sure if it was the paranoia or trauma of the job that kept him on edge.
"Where is home?" he inquired, scratching at his dark stubble, nearly black against his tan skin.
"Uh, Alabama," I managed to stutter out. "Camden. I came out here with a few friends." Clarence nodded and took a sip of his bourbon, mixed with what smelled like Coca-Cola. He wasn't looking to get drunk tonight. "What about you? What are you doing out here?"
He barked out a laugh, not paying any attention to his volume. "I was following up on a lead!" He cheered. He glanced from left to right and leaned forward, gesturing for me to come in closer. I did so, his lips only a few inches from my ear. His breath stunk of cigarettes and beer. "You remember all those skinwalker cases that kept cropping up? I think I may have found one!" he whisper and shouted and stomped his feet in delight like a child who had just talked their parent into buying them candy.
I froze, stock-still and jaw slack. "I-Is it close by?" I demanded. "Where? What happened?"
"That's the crazy thing - it keeps moving!" he replied in excitement. "Same pattern, different locations, all in the Midwest! They don't move very far, but far enough that it's hard to track-"
"Where?" I growled. "How many?"
He blinked once, twice in surprise at my outburst. "Last I saw, northern Colorado. I was going to head out tomorrow-" he paused and frowned at the table. "Look girl, I don't know what your problem with those bastards is, but I can smell a vendetta from a mile away." He sighed, his voice suddenly dropping to a much more serious tone, something his squirrelly presence had lacked until now.
"I wouldn't mind a partner on this case if you're willing. Hate doing this business alone anyway," he grumbled out the last bit, his gaze bouncing between me and his glass. I stared back in shock.
A flash of red flitted across my vision, so similar to the red of the white wolf's eyes. I scowled and reached out, knowing he was there somewhere - likely waiting for me to fall asleep again. Something told me he wanted me to go just as much as I did.
I turned my gaze to the stairs leading to the second floor, no doubt housing a drunken and sleeping Andrew. He needed to head home, that much was obvious; the kid was exhausted and stressed by the previous day's events.
"Yes," I finally agreed, earning a sigh of relief from Clarence. "Yeah, I'll go with you, but I need to make some calls first."
5906 words.
Any theories?
Edited 05/18/22.