SPN Fanfic: Hunter's Point
Title: Hunter's Point
Characters: Dean
Rating: GEN, PG
Classification: GEN, ficlet, missing scene
Word Count: 380-ish words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR EP 2.17 (Heart), and a twisted back reference to 2.03 (Bloodlust)
Summary: Dean thinks about stuff. Missing Scene from 2.17 "Heart". Notes after cut due to possible episode spoilers.
A/N: Ya know... somewhere in my brain I was certain the hunt mentioned in 2.03 where Dean decided to be a hunter was a werewolf, but going back through the transcript, it's not overtly stated. Just a silver arrow to the heart. For the purposes of this ficlet and because it won't let me sleep otherwise, I'm declaring it was a werewolf, silver thingy in the heart and all.
Hunter's Point
by CaffieneKitty
- - -
Dean stared down at the dead guy for a moment longer. Glen's eyes were still open, fixed, dulling. The guy really hadn't remembered what he'd done. Hunh. Guess Madison wasn't faking after all. Was it just these werewolves, something different about them, Dean wondered, or did all werewolves forget what they did after the moon rose? What about the ones back when he and Sam were kids...
Dean had to move. Now. He couldn't stay there next to the dead guy, bullet holes in his freaking church glee club t-shirt. He couldn't keep looking at the guy's eyes. Dean tucked the gun away and started walking.
This was rattling him. Why? He'd shot werewolves before, had since he was a kid, why in hell was this one different? Werewolves killed people. This guy Glen would've killed that blonde chick, she would have died, and then when the moon got full again, the guy would've killed again. So, killing a werewolf was taking out a serial killer by anyone's standards, no question. Evil. Why was this bugging him?
The ones they'd gone after with Dad had been wild, given up society and living almost feral in the woods of Oregon and Washington state. Little backwoods shacks and communes. Really wolfy, not all urbanized like Glen and Madison. Dad or Caleb had been the first to get up close to a shot werewolf, usually, to make sure it was dead. Had those werewolves ever spoken to Dad like this guy had to Dean? Broken, confused, unaware?
The hunt that Dean had always considered to be the one that swung him full-hearted into the hunting life was the werewolf hunt with Dad when he was sixteen. If he thought about it, the fire from the wolf's pyre still leapt in his memory. Miserable drizzling rain hissing in the flames. Light and shadow on his Dad's face. Pride at taking an evil thing out of the world. Deciding there that that was how he wanted to spend his life.
The guy on the pyre had only been about twenty-five, someone's son, maybe someone's brother. Had that guy begged Dad for help, confused when he breathed his last?
This was like those damn cow-sucking vampires again. All jacked up.
Sirens started, someone had called 911 already. Good. Dean walked faster, away.
- - -
(that's all, just a thought I had)
Characters: Dean
Rating: GEN, PG
Classification: GEN, ficlet, missing scene
Word Count: 380-ish words
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR EP 2.17 (Heart), and a twisted back reference to 2.03 (Bloodlust)
Summary: Dean thinks about stuff. Missing Scene from 2.17 "Heart". Notes after cut due to possible episode spoilers.
A/N: Ya know... somewhere in my brain I was certain the hunt mentioned in 2.03 where Dean decided to be a hunter was a werewolf, but going back through the transcript, it's not overtly stated. Just a silver arrow to the heart. For the purposes of this ficlet and because it won't let me sleep otherwise, I'm declaring it was a werewolf, silver thingy in the heart and all.
Hunter's Point
by CaffieneKitty
- - -
Dean stared down at the dead guy for a moment longer. Glen's eyes were still open, fixed, dulling. The guy really hadn't remembered what he'd done. Hunh. Guess Madison wasn't faking after all. Was it just these werewolves, something different about them, Dean wondered, or did all werewolves forget what they did after the moon rose? What about the ones back when he and Sam were kids...
Dean had to move. Now. He couldn't stay there next to the dead guy, bullet holes in his freaking church glee club t-shirt. He couldn't keep looking at the guy's eyes. Dean tucked the gun away and started walking.
This was rattling him. Why? He'd shot werewolves before, had since he was a kid, why in hell was this one different? Werewolves killed people. This guy Glen would've killed that blonde chick, she would have died, and then when the moon got full again, the guy would've killed again. So, killing a werewolf was taking out a serial killer by anyone's standards, no question. Evil. Why was this bugging him?
The ones they'd gone after with Dad had been wild, given up society and living almost feral in the woods of Oregon and Washington state. Little backwoods shacks and communes. Really wolfy, not all urbanized like Glen and Madison. Dad or Caleb had been the first to get up close to a shot werewolf, usually, to make sure it was dead. Had those werewolves ever spoken to Dad like this guy had to Dean? Broken, confused, unaware?
The hunt that Dean had always considered to be the one that swung him full-hearted into the hunting life was the werewolf hunt with Dad when he was sixteen. If he thought about it, the fire from the wolf's pyre still leapt in his memory. Miserable drizzling rain hissing in the flames. Light and shadow on his Dad's face. Pride at taking an evil thing out of the world. Deciding there that that was how he wanted to spend his life.
The guy on the pyre had only been about twenty-five, someone's son, maybe someone's brother. Had that guy begged Dad for help, confused when he breathed his last?
This was like those damn cow-sucking vampires again. All jacked up.
Sirens started, someone had called 911 already. Good. Dean walked faster, away.
- - -
(that's all, just a thought I had)