"Should I ask one of the girls? Give her some extra cash so she can-"
"No. It's too dangerous. You'll go." John answered, leaning back on the Impala parked at the overnight truck-stop.
Sam left for Stanford a few months ago. The car was even quieter without his brother, so he was thankful for every hunt.
This Tuesday night, a Trucker werewolf who preys on desperate hookers seemed to be parked in this very pit-stop.
Dean looked at his father, feeling his pulse pick up.
"You want me to be bait?" ,he asked, feeling the fingers on his hands twitch, nervously.
"You grew up pretty enough, son. Loose the layers and put a silver blade in one boot, a silver chain in the other. I keep watch in the car in case there's trouble."
Dean hesitated, he really didn't want to do that.
"Now, Dean. That's an order. We don't have all night. I get the knife and chain from the trunk."
His green eyes glanced at the ground, then back up to his father, before he forced his feet to move.
"Yes sir." he replied, as he started to loose the jacket. He stripped from his flanel, leaving him in a black tank top.
John slammed the door of the trunk shut, as he approached Dean with both knife and chain.
He hands them both to his son and then gave him a look over. Dean wanted to shrug away but doesn't.
John reached his hand out for his hair, ruffling his hair into disarray. Normally Dean would crave the touch like he was starving but the lump in his throat only grew bigger.
His father let his hand rest on his cheek, raised Dean's head so he had no choice but to look him in the eye.
"Now go." John said, retreated his hand.
Dean put the knife into his left boot, the chain in his right.
He looked back at John, nodded and turned around, numbly, heading for the black truck parked a few yards away.
Twenty minutes later, Dean kicks the lifeless body away from him, as it collided on top of him. Hot blood running from the werewolf's throat onto Dean's face, his skin, his clothing, soaking them in a pungent iron smell. A grunt, that comes out more like a cry leaves his throat as he kicks his feet one last time, with all of his strength to get the heavier man away from him.
He sits alone in the driver's cabin, with only the corpse as company, as he pulls his jeans and boxers back up shakily, wipes away the tears with blood stained hands and shuffles out of the truck and it takes all of his strength to not fall right out of it on the ground and use the ladder instead.
"What took you so long?" ,John grunts when Dean opens the door to the passengers seat of the Impala.
Before Dean gets to answer his Dad speaks up again.
"You look like shit. You smell like shit, too."
"Gee thanks.", Dean grunts and his voice sounds forgein to him.
John starts the engine. They never talk about it. John sees that as a good sign. He could really put Dean to use like that.
inspired by this draft script here:
jbbartram-illu
yousharknotpass
areudirty
pixelskylines
vaporwave
