Sigils And Swords (The Hunter)
Disclaimer: Sigils And Swords belongs to Anna. Supernatural and related characters belongs to Eric Kripke.
Dean keeps an eyes on the lot, watching the cars parked there and the men who leaves and disappears into the cool darkness of the bar. Most of them are hunters, some just passing through, some regulars.
He checks his watch while he tabs his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently; he’s been here for more than three hours and the air is hot and dry and more than a little uncomfortable. In the end he leans over and takes a gun from the glove department, sticking it into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back and pulls his t-shirt down to cover it from sight, before he steps out into the sharp sunlight.
His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the darkness inside the bar, but luckily no one tries to kill him while he’s semi-blind. A few lift their eyes to send him suspicious glances, but most of them know him, at least from rumors and whispers.
Dean rests his elbow against the smooth wood of the bar, waiting for the bartender, a short, broad-shouldered man with a very retrieving hairline, to return from the back of the bar.
“Is she here?” Dean says by way of greeting, when the bartender rounds the corner of the counter carrying a tray of empty bear glasses.
The bartender huffs. “I recon she’ll be trying to steal that car of yours in about twenty seconds.”
Dean leans back a few inches and catch a glimpse of blond hair through the dirty windows. “I believe you’re right.” He says. “Thanks, Mac.”
She’s already picked open the door by the time Dean makes his way across the parking lot in a reasonable pace. Instead of interrupting her he calmly leans against the side of the car and watches her working with the wiring. “You know,” He starts, making the girl turn in a swift motion, point of a knife pressing against Dean’s inner thigh. He smirks and continue. “If you wanted a ride, all you had to do was ask.”
The blond girl lets out a quiet hiss, but doesn’t remove the knife. “You would’ve just drop me off back at my mom’s.” She points out, and Dean nods in agreement.
“I would have. Look, Claire. We’ve been through this.” Dean grabs her hand and twist it roughly until the girl drops the knife from her grasp. ”Frankly I’m wasting a great deal of time every time I have to drive up here and drag you back home…”
“Then don’t”
"But I’ll keep doing it, every single time. Because you know why?”
“Because you made a promise.”
“Because I made a promise.” Dean echos and leans down to pick up the knife, only to find a new one poking against the soft skin of his throat.
“The thing is, Dean. I’m eighteen now, so I don’t care what you promised my mom, or that Angel boyfriend of yours…” Dean opens his mouth to protest, but Claire just adds a small amount of pressure to the knife, making it draw a drop of blood easily. “I’ve already made up my mind. My dad gave his life for this, and I intent on honoring his memory by doing the same.”
“That might happen sooner than you expect, Hun.” Dean quips and arcs one eyebrow. “This gig doesn’t exactly come with health insurance.”
“I had an angel in my head, Dean. I know more about this job than you can imagine.” Claire points out with a sugar sweet smile. “Now you could give me a ride to a motel and call my mom and say that you’ll be taking an interest in my education instead of in my confinement. Or you could dust off all you know about sigh language, since you will need it when I sever your vocal cord.”
“You drive a hard bargaining, miss Novak.” Dean grits out, shifting balance before he pulls back, grabs Claire’s short knife with one hand and catching her wrist with the other in a fluid motion. “The thing is, I made a promise.”
Dean pulls Claire out of the Impala and catches both her wrists in one hand, dragging her around the car to force her into the passenger seat. With no knife in her hand Claire doesn’t struggle much. Instead she just lean back in the seat and watches Dean walk around the car and get in the driver’s seat, trying instead to kill him with the power of her stare.
“It’s not fair, you know.” She presses as they pull out of the lot and blend into the traffic. “All I want is to get my father back. You could at least help me. Call that angel of yours and have it bring back my dad. He’s earned that.”
Dean doesn’t look at her, he keeps his eyes locked on the road ahead, and clenches his jaw. “I’m sorry Claire, but Cas is dead. He can’t help us anymore.”
“What are you talking about? Castiel isn’t dead.” Claire snorts and crosses her arms defiantly.
Dean shakes his head, tired and broken as he is, Claire’s claims just suffocates any remaining energy and anger. “What are you talking about?”
Claire’s frown is almost annoyed. Whether she’s annoyed by Dean’s sudden lack of give-a-damn or his question, it’s hard to tell. “Castiel is alive, or well, what ever Angels are. I was his vessel, remember, I still feel his presence in me, and I’m telling you. That angel is still alive.”
Dean didn’t think he would feel anything anymore, hadn’t imagined that words with such an outrageous claim would wake any kind of emotions in him. But when the steering wheel suddenly slip through his shaking hands, sending the car skittering across the warm and moist tar of the road he doesn’t have a coherent thought left in his brain.
Chapter Two. Master Post