#latebrous

[darkestaken]

[prodigil]

"come inside. i want to show you something."

hercules. | @latebrous

hoisted shotgun sweeps the perimeter frame of a mechanical walk-in, naked cold ripping up his tawny hoodie and jingling that box of spare ammunition slung in it's center pocket. sam moves with a militant efficiency, flush black eliminating blindsplots his other half would otherwise blockade (two headed, same bodied beast they were: sam knows if he bleeds here, that winchester brand of fury will chase this dogged sadist into his grave and beyond). he checks the side by side barrel, thumb passing the curled hammer. ' i'm, uh, not such an easy girl, you know. '

[stoppedheart]

RING RING. RING RING.

A gentleman caller at this hour maybe wasn't unusual. The UNKNOWN NUMBER notification appeared at the top of Silas' phone mid-doomscroll, buzzing and buzzing with vibration in his palm. It's a natural instinct to hit hang up, isn't it? Moonlight illuminated the lonely little motel room in dim light.

Danny'd seen this one. Watched him from the window, watched him leave his room. Rented a space at the same motel about eight doors down. Pressed his eye to the keyhole in the middle of the night to see how things went. He was pretty sure this one was a drifter. The easiest type. Almost felt like cheating.

He slipped the burner in past his hood, fabric rustling, mask tilted to let free his face. Simple bait: he figured he'd start with the 'wrong number' line, segue into rapid apologies, then follow up some cheesy flirting, and then, once he had a bite ...

"Hey. You still coming over, or what?"

Who the fuck is calling him while he's in the middle of a Twitter spiral??? As a matter of fact...who's calling him at all?

"Unknown number"?

Silas flicks through the possibilities, all of which are extremely slim. Hotel management would show up as the owners of the property thanks to the identification system, and even spam callers and data collectors didn't usually ring these days, usually going by text or email. And there is simply no way that Nick would be calling his personal cell with a number Silas didn't know. Mentally, Silas prepares himself to flee the hotel under the shadow of night if it looks like he's in the remotest danger.

"Hey. You still coming over, or what?"

Silas stays silent for a moment. Coming over...? Did he hook up with some guy while drunk last night? No, there was no way, he was an indoor drunk these days...but then why the familiar tone?

"Who is this...?"

His tone is unusually sharp. Most people that Silas had hung out with knew him to be laid back to the point of disinterest in most things, and not at all waspy, but there was none of that now. The voice on the other end is male, but that's all he can discern, and definitely not someone he knows.

"Hello?"