(no subject)
Shapeshifters pissed Dean off.
Maybe it was because he had had his identity stolen by one, been accused of murder and "killed" all in the same day. Maybe because he had found him and Sam barricaded inside a bank because one them decided they needed a new high interest loan to go along with murder.
And maybe because they were damn smart killers.
He, Sam, and Buffy (and man, there was something odd about being a trio that wasn't sexual in nature) had tracked down the shapeshifter in a small town in Illinois. It had killed a hunter's daughter (and her unsuspecting husband) first before moving onto the hunter himself. They had caught him-it-whatever after it had already dispatched of two of the hunter's friends, all hunters.
Dean didn't like it wearing the face of regular people, nonetheless hunters with access to all sorts of artillery.
They had managed to get rid of the threat this time, but Dean was starting to fear this was just a glitch in the big plan. That there was more coming, that more hunters were going to die, that the apocalypse was gonna be as bloody and painful as anything he'd seen in the movies.
They'd gone out for food and drinks, and for the first time since ever, Dean had been the first one to call it a night. He could always stand for a good round of drinking and celebrating, but there just didn't seem to be much to celebrate.
Sam was back, yeah, but damn if he wasn't starting to feel guilty about the whole thing. Selfish, even. He couldn't help it. Sam was all he had left in the world; you take him away and, hell, Dean might as well have dug his own grave as well.
Dean fumbled with the motel room key before finally nudging it open with his shoulder.
He stopped in his tracks as the door closed behind him, his hand instantly went behind his back, gripping the gun in the waistband of his jeans.
Sitting on the foot of the bed farthest from the door, TV remote in hand, was a young woman dressed casually in low slung jeans and a pale blue button-up blouse. She didn't even acknowledge him as he stepped fully into the room, hand still gripping the gun behind his back.
"Can I help you?" he asked carefully.