I'm super sorry that I've been gone for so long. My mental health and my life have taken a dive. I've just been coasting from day to day, any writing that I've gotten done has been sparse. Thanks for understanding. ~ MDM
"Have you ever considered the concept of actually getting a holster? You know, instead of taking the risk of blowing one of your ass cheeks off?" Sam coughs to disguise the laugh that slips out and covers the grin behind his hand. Dean's eyebrows hit his hairline and he turns to face you.
"And where exactly would you suggest I put this holster?" The smile that splits your face is malevolent. You say nothing and lean back in your chair. He narrows his eyes at you and shakes his head going back to the research at hand. Your eyes close and you stretch your arms over your head. A loud crack echoes through the room and a delicious shudder makes it way down your body.
"I'm hungry. You guys want anything?" You stand from your spot at the table and pull your jacket on. Both of the boys nod and you snag Dean's wallet. He protests but you ignore him as you walk out. The cool fall air hits your face in a refreshing wave. You begin a slow and peaceful walk to the diner just around the corner and watch your surroundings with a watchful eye. The changing of the leaves is a sight to see in this part of the States. You approach the cheerily lit diner but your eyes are pulled away by movement in the shadows. You tense, sliding your hand in your jacket, and walking slowly towards the source of the movement. As you get closer your eyes adjust to the darkness and you see a mugging in progress. You inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. Just regular old people. No spooky things here.
"Hey, tough guy. Why don't you just let that poor person go? There's nothing for you there. Pick a fight with me instead! Maybe you'll get somewhere." Your grin is lopsided and cocky. You can tell that your confident and casual tone has thrown the would-be mugger off and you approach getting within arm's length. The mugger lowers his weapon until it hangs at his side and looks confused. The would-be victim takes that moment to run and sprints across the parking lot disappearing into the diner's lit interior. "Give me the knife, man. We can forget this ever happened ok? I never saw your face." The glint of cold steel catches your eye and you sidestep. Catching the attacker's wrist you wrench on it hard and he cries out in pain. The knife clatters to the pavement and you put your foot over it. You let go of the hooligan and he glares at you clutching his wrist. He runs off and you pick the knife up off of the ground.
"It's mine now fool. Spoils of war and all that." You fold the switchblade back and shove it in your pocket. The smell of greasy food and root beer floats floods you with nostalgia. You order a to-go bag of food and walk back to the motel.
"You're bleeding dude." Sam's voice is concerned and you look at him funny. You swipe a hand across your face and it comes away bloody.
"Well, shit. I stopped a mugging so that must be it."
"You did what now?" Dean's on his feet in a second, looking you over. You push his hands away and set the food down on the table. Stripping your jacket off, you run your hands over yourself doing a check and deem everything to be ok. You sit down at the table and dig in, leaving the Winchesters gaping at you.