Who killed Tabaqui (14/?)
a/n:
So, I originally wanted to finish this now. It didn't work out, though, because RL thought it needed some attention.
But I still have a little chapter, not that long (about 2.000+ words) so that you don't have to wait too long.
Previous
***
There was a bug.
It was crawling urgently right in front of his snout and he could feel how it moved the grass by its pass through it. Neither was the bug very interesting, nor did the steady sound of the long wooden thing with the metal on one end that Sam kept using to dig a hole hold Dean’s attention. It was occasionally interrupted by bursts of words, mostly “man, why did I say he could take watch?” but whenever Dean walked over to see if his pack needed some help, his brother just looked at him and shook his head.
Lazily, Dean sniffed the air again, trying to see if something might sneak up on them. There wasn’t anything but the usual nightlife. A bat flapped over them and for a second, he followed the sound of its wings and when he lowered his nose back to the ground, he startled. Cat was close by, somewhere to the right of him, only a few steps away. He hated cats, freaking fluffy things. A snack would be pretty awesome.
Glancing over to Sam, noting that he’d be busy for a while still and wouldn’t miss him, Dean rose from his comfortable position to a crouch and sneaked closer to cat, which smelled like it was crapping. Good, it’d be busy then. Step by careful step, the wolf crept further into the bushes, mindful that no twig moved and would warn his prey. Just behind the petal-filled outer twigs of the shrub, the space increased and right smack in the middle of it was the cat, already filling the little dug hole with earth to hide its crap, tongue between the front teeth and an air of fierce concentration around it.
Cats were so stupid, Dean thought. Why waste this great resource by burying it, when it could be so easily used to mark their territory? Wolves weren’t that dumb, hell, dogs weren’t that moronic! Not to mention that the care this particular cat was spending on hiding its feces would be much more useful if spent on watching its surroundings.
Crouching low, Dean prepared to pounce. It was a pretty thin cat, and mangy-looking, but he’d not hunted in a long time and he was feeling anxious to kill something. All the better if that something was edible. More or less. Just as he’d wiggled his butt in perfect jump-position, the cat twisted and stared in his direction, fur raised at once so it looked like a hedgehog, tail like that of a fox. It hissed, spit flying away from its mouth, surprisingly not at the wolf in front of it but at something slightly above and beyond Dean.
Cats are stupid. But not so stupid that they’d hiss at the air with no reason.
Cats are stupid, but they’re also extremely sensitive to any supernatural occurrence.
The wolf didn’t waste the early warning. By the time his own hackles raised and he felt the electrical tingle in the tips of his fur, he was already out of the bushes and in the open, spotting the ghostghostghost at once. A pale specter of wrongness was heading directly towards Sam, arms stretched out in front of it, threatening Dean’s family, his pack!
That was unacceptable, more important than food, hunting or his own life. It was his brother, his family, his pack that was in danger, and even though the ghost made his skin itch and his legs twitch with the urge to run away, he wouldn’t flee now.
A yowl tore from his throat, not a growl and not a howl but something in between, loud and vicious, promising death and pain.
He aimed directly for the jugular, and any man surprised like this specter was wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale. But he wasn’t a man anymore, there was no resistance to the sharp teeth and heavy body that sailed against it and Dean just flew through the ghost into the bush behind it, growling in fury and confusion, twisting mid-air so he landed on his side, scrambling up at once to go right back into the fight.
***
Sam ducked on instinct when he heard the sharp bark-yowl, the hydrangeas and wild-grown roses stopping him from rolling out of the way. He’d nearly finished the excavation of Alain, poor bastard, but it seemed the disturbance of his remains had made him angrier than a new homeowner had done in the past.
The ghost was upon him before he had time to crawl completely out of the hole, grabbing him at his throat and raising him up in the air. It looked probably ridiculous, a five foot seven little bald man holding six foot four bulky, muscular Sam Winchester up so high his feet didn’t touch the ground anymore, but the joke was lost on him in that moment. He was choking and could only think about what a weird end it would be for him, anticlimactic after saving the world and defeating more than one devil. Then again, it was oddly fitting for a Winchester.
Next moment, though, he hit the grass, hard. His brother had charged at the spirit again, just running through its wispy form. It didn’t dissolve Alain for longer than a few split-seconds, but it was enough to break its concentration on keeping Sam aloft.
Coughing, he sat up and took in the scene. Deguerre tried to grab the wolf, who was slipping away every time, sometimes charging right at the legs and lower body, sending the wisps of supernatural energy somewhere else before they reformed. Sam was torn. The shotgun was just about ten feet away, but the bones were nearly clear of soil and it’d probably be faster to torch them now.
Mind made up, he turned on his belly to dig out the last pieces of Alain Deguerre with his hands, trusting his brother to hold his own against a simple spirit. It didn’t matter what form Dean was, he was still a hunter with sharp reflexes - even sharper now - and a life-time of dodging threats. He’d be fine.
It didn’t take long and just when he heard a blood-curdling growl-bark-snarl and felt the coldness of the spirit’s power reaching for him, he lit the bones in the shallow grave, causing the ghost to howl in fury and fear, burning it quickly. He felt the heat close against his back, but when he turned, Alain Deguerre was already gone.
With a sigh of relief, Sam dropped down on the pile of soil, closing his eyes for a second before he could muster the energy to look for his brother.
The wolf stood, panting just a few feet away, fur scruffy and in complete disarray, earth and grass-stains and pollen from the flowers around them coating his dark fur. He looked exhausted but once again weirdly similar to Dean as a human emanating some inner happy glow, just like Dean did after a successful hunt - no, even more after a successful but taxing hunt. It had dimmed quite a bit after all the crap in the last two years, but in the wolf, Sam could see the same joy that he’d seen so often when they’d hunted together in their earlier years.
Boy, had he missed that, even though he realized that there hadn’t been any choice but abandon the cocky brother somewhere at a roadside and continue on with the sharp-eyed, messed-up soldier who’d taken residence inside Dean’s skin.
Not like the kid would be alone out there, his own inner child was probably sitting next to him, bugging the Hell out of his older brother.
“Dude, you’re awesome” he grinned and Dean, not at all similar to his human personality, pounced over and licked his face, wagging madly and twisting against Sam, his whole body begging for contact and touch.
It was a wolf-thing, but it didn’t matter. It felt good and it felt real, it was still Dean and Sam would take all the fun he could get out of it, rubbing and slapping and scruffing up his brother’s fur for a while. He probably wouldn’t get anything that close to a hug for a long time.
***
With a loud, inhuman screech, the cat jumped out from under the hydrangea and rushed across the wild-grown lawn, nearly stopping Sam’s heart in the process.
He was too shocked to do anything and so Dean did, turning on the spot and chasing after the cat to catch it and very probably kill it.
“Dean, stop!” Sam yelled and to his utter astonishment, Dean did. He dug his toes in and scrambled very inelegantly, but he did stop. “Come back here, Dean” Sam coaxed. The look in the wolf’s eyes was a weird mix of astonishment, disbelief, anger and sadness to see his snack vanish, and Sam, while trying to hide his mirth, dug out two more sandwiches to give his brother and Dean slinked back quickly, snatching the food from the air when Sam tossed it to him.
The cat was long gone, he noted, only a faint rustle in the leaves hinting at its getaway-path over the old stone-wall on the western side of the garden. Grey-Brother turned in that direction, a mournful look on his furry face but Sam didn’t feel sorry at all. He was pretty sure tomorrow Dean would agree.
“C’mon buddy. Let’s get back” He nudged the wolf and they trotted back to the car where Sam coaxed Dean to lie in the foot space of the passenger seat after he had stored the weapon and duffel in the trunk. He wasn’t sure if it was the mind of his brother that made the wolf agree or simple tiredness, but whatever the reason, Dean curled in on himself and sighed in satisfaction, asleep soon after they drove off.
***
The next day was a mix of excitement and boredom. While Sam sat over the instructions on the ritual for the seventeenth time, practicing the symbols and chanting the words, Dean was left to collect the ingredients of the potion.
The Professor had to leave them for half the day to hold a seminar in the local community college nearby and had given Dean the list of herbs as well as a reference books so he would recognize them in her vast garden.
The dogs were still in their kennel and only looked up from their drowsing whenever Dean passed close by, silently watching him with sharp eyes and pricked ears. It was disconcerting to feel their gazes on him until he was out of their view. Some part of him wanted to growl at them and snarl, and even though they were pretty far from any other house, that was taking it too far, in his eyes. So when he found himself baring his teeth at the dogs while stalking by, he made sure to avoid the area.
Most of what they needed for the potion grew in the garden, some of it would be brought by Alyssa when she came back from the city and two weird-sounding flowers grew close to the lake so when Sam was looking like a mad professor, hair disheveled and standing in sweaty spikes away from his head, Dean grabbed him and literally dragged him out to look for them.
It turned out to be a good idea; the lake was beautiful even though Dean wouldn’t ever say that out loud and the area around was filled with birdsong and the rustling of other small animals. It smelled delicious, and it took a while for Dean to realize that it was his sharpened sense of smell that made him aware of it. Yeah, he’d sure miss that. The whole world seemed more alive, less gloomy and filled with so much wonder, something he rarely took the time to admire. He tried to remember the night before, but it was confusing. There wasn’t much that the human brain, basically made for recalling images and sound, could fathom. Most of what he remembered was smell, but most of the smells were unfamiliar, too intense or too strange for his sight-based brain to understand and put to something known.
He remembered the cat, and the ghost. It didn’t look like an ordinary ghost in his memory, but Sam said that it had been poor old Degusto’s image, just like the picture Alyssa had shown them. For him, though, it’d looked… off. Like a solid mass of smoke, no real features visible, and it had smelled… weird. Sure, he and Sam knew the scent of ozone as a hint for ghostly presence, but it hadn’t been just ozone.
He couldn’t grasp what it was, though, and he didn’t care enough to wreck his brain over it and destroy the relaxing mood he was in.
Sam was sitting on a big rock right at the lakefront, had taken off his shoes and let his bare feet dangle into the cool, fresh-smelling water. He looked across the shiny surface, either deep in thought or really entranced by the dragonflies that were dancing over the gentle waves.
Wow, this really was the chick-flickiest moment in their recent lives.
“Dean…”
And of course Sam ‘I’m gloomy’ Winchester had to destroy it. “Yeah?”
“If this doesn’t work…”
“It will”
“And if not?”
Dean scratched his neck. ‘What if’s’ were a tricky subject and he’d really had enough of them for more than one life. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something out”
“But Dean…”
“Sam. It’ll either work or it won’t. If it doesn’t… well. I guess you have to buy me a doggy bed then. And invest in a better cooler for the food” he tried to joke, and weirdly enough, he wasn’t really concerned. He didn’t want to die, of course not, and he didn’t really want to stay a wolf, not exactly thrilled by the concept of wearing a collar every months. But if he had to? There were worse fates, as he and Sam had already discovered. He’d just make sure he would be one of the werewolves that didn’t get mad, easy as that.
“That’s not even a little funny, Dean” Sam didn’t meet his eyes and Dean sighed. Of course Sam wouldn’t see it that way.
“Look. I’m sure this will work. And I get that you’re nervous”, not just about the outcome but about the ritual itself, he was pretty sure about that. And yeah, he kinda was too, he had to admit “but if we have to work something else out, we will. We’ve done so much shit and against so big odds these past years. We’ll find a way to either break the curse, infection, whatever, or we’ll find a way to deal with it. That’s all we can do, but if someone can, I’m pretty sure we’re it”
Sam turned now, staring at him with those puppy-eyes. Really, how can a big-ass berserker like Sam still look like a little puppy?
“Wow, Dean. That was really deep. Come here, let’s cuddle and watch the beautiful nature until sunset” he deadpanned and got shoved in response so that he lost his balance and had to step into the water, chuckling despite the soggy pant-legs he got from that.
“Yeah right, jerk. As if you weren’t totally emo-ing on your mermaid’s rock there” Dean joined in the laughter. Living was easy, he’d once believed, and only dying the thing to be feared. When that’d changed Dean had no clue, but he was pretty sure him becoming a werewolf had changed it back again.
For the first time in a lot of years, he wasn’t afraid of the next day anymore, nothing weighing him down. Sam was there, he was alive and he was happy and Dean was too. So why get all gloomy over a future that wasn’t even written yet? Had the last years not shown them that they always had a choice? So why worry.
With their bouquet of wildflowers, they looked like lovers coming back from a romantic hideaway, but since there wasn’t anyone else out in the area, Dean didn’t give a damn. He knew the flowers were powerful magic, Sam knew that and nobody else better say anything about them looking anything but bad-ass hunters on a mission.
The way back to the house was light and fun and full of banter and Dean was sorry that it only lasted for twenty minutes.
Chapter 15
So, I originally wanted to finish this now. It didn't work out, though, because RL thought it needed some attention.
But I still have a little chapter, not that long (about 2.000+ words) so that you don't have to wait too long.
Previous
***
There was a bug.
It was crawling urgently right in front of his snout and he could feel how it moved the grass by its pass through it. Neither was the bug very interesting, nor did the steady sound of the long wooden thing with the metal on one end that Sam kept using to dig a hole hold Dean’s attention. It was occasionally interrupted by bursts of words, mostly “man, why did I say he could take watch?” but whenever Dean walked over to see if his pack needed some help, his brother just looked at him and shook his head.
Lazily, Dean sniffed the air again, trying to see if something might sneak up on them. There wasn’t anything but the usual nightlife. A bat flapped over them and for a second, he followed the sound of its wings and when he lowered his nose back to the ground, he startled. Cat was close by, somewhere to the right of him, only a few steps away. He hated cats, freaking fluffy things. A snack would be pretty awesome.
Glancing over to Sam, noting that he’d be busy for a while still and wouldn’t miss him, Dean rose from his comfortable position to a crouch and sneaked closer to cat, which smelled like it was crapping. Good, it’d be busy then. Step by careful step, the wolf crept further into the bushes, mindful that no twig moved and would warn his prey. Just behind the petal-filled outer twigs of the shrub, the space increased and right smack in the middle of it was the cat, already filling the little dug hole with earth to hide its crap, tongue between the front teeth and an air of fierce concentration around it.
Cats were so stupid, Dean thought. Why waste this great resource by burying it, when it could be so easily used to mark their territory? Wolves weren’t that dumb, hell, dogs weren’t that moronic! Not to mention that the care this particular cat was spending on hiding its feces would be much more useful if spent on watching its surroundings.
Crouching low, Dean prepared to pounce. It was a pretty thin cat, and mangy-looking, but he’d not hunted in a long time and he was feeling anxious to kill something. All the better if that something was edible. More or less. Just as he’d wiggled his butt in perfect jump-position, the cat twisted and stared in his direction, fur raised at once so it looked like a hedgehog, tail like that of a fox. It hissed, spit flying away from its mouth, surprisingly not at the wolf in front of it but at something slightly above and beyond Dean.
Cats are stupid. But not so stupid that they’d hiss at the air with no reason.
Cats are stupid, but they’re also extremely sensitive to any supernatural occurrence.
The wolf didn’t waste the early warning. By the time his own hackles raised and he felt the electrical tingle in the tips of his fur, he was already out of the bushes and in the open, spotting the ghostghostghost at once. A pale specter of wrongness was heading directly towards Sam, arms stretched out in front of it, threatening Dean’s family, his pack!
That was unacceptable, more important than food, hunting or his own life. It was his brother, his family, his pack that was in danger, and even though the ghost made his skin itch and his legs twitch with the urge to run away, he wouldn’t flee now.
A yowl tore from his throat, not a growl and not a howl but something in between, loud and vicious, promising death and pain.
He aimed directly for the jugular, and any man surprised like this specter was wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale. But he wasn’t a man anymore, there was no resistance to the sharp teeth and heavy body that sailed against it and Dean just flew through the ghost into the bush behind it, growling in fury and confusion, twisting mid-air so he landed on his side, scrambling up at once to go right back into the fight.
***
Sam ducked on instinct when he heard the sharp bark-yowl, the hydrangeas and wild-grown roses stopping him from rolling out of the way. He’d nearly finished the excavation of Alain, poor bastard, but it seemed the disturbance of his remains had made him angrier than a new homeowner had done in the past.
The ghost was upon him before he had time to crawl completely out of the hole, grabbing him at his throat and raising him up in the air. It looked probably ridiculous, a five foot seven little bald man holding six foot four bulky, muscular Sam Winchester up so high his feet didn’t touch the ground anymore, but the joke was lost on him in that moment. He was choking and could only think about what a weird end it would be for him, anticlimactic after saving the world and defeating more than one devil. Then again, it was oddly fitting for a Winchester.
Next moment, though, he hit the grass, hard. His brother had charged at the spirit again, just running through its wispy form. It didn’t dissolve Alain for longer than a few split-seconds, but it was enough to break its concentration on keeping Sam aloft.
Coughing, he sat up and took in the scene. Deguerre tried to grab the wolf, who was slipping away every time, sometimes charging right at the legs and lower body, sending the wisps of supernatural energy somewhere else before they reformed. Sam was torn. The shotgun was just about ten feet away, but the bones were nearly clear of soil and it’d probably be faster to torch them now.
Mind made up, he turned on his belly to dig out the last pieces of Alain Deguerre with his hands, trusting his brother to hold his own against a simple spirit. It didn’t matter what form Dean was, he was still a hunter with sharp reflexes - even sharper now - and a life-time of dodging threats. He’d be fine.
It didn’t take long and just when he heard a blood-curdling growl-bark-snarl and felt the coldness of the spirit’s power reaching for him, he lit the bones in the shallow grave, causing the ghost to howl in fury and fear, burning it quickly. He felt the heat close against his back, but when he turned, Alain Deguerre was already gone.
With a sigh of relief, Sam dropped down on the pile of soil, closing his eyes for a second before he could muster the energy to look for his brother.
The wolf stood, panting just a few feet away, fur scruffy and in complete disarray, earth and grass-stains and pollen from the flowers around them coating his dark fur. He looked exhausted but once again weirdly similar to Dean as a human emanating some inner happy glow, just like Dean did after a successful hunt - no, even more after a successful but taxing hunt. It had dimmed quite a bit after all the crap in the last two years, but in the wolf, Sam could see the same joy that he’d seen so often when they’d hunted together in their earlier years.
Boy, had he missed that, even though he realized that there hadn’t been any choice but abandon the cocky brother somewhere at a roadside and continue on with the sharp-eyed, messed-up soldier who’d taken residence inside Dean’s skin.
Not like the kid would be alone out there, his own inner child was probably sitting next to him, bugging the Hell out of his older brother.
“Dude, you’re awesome” he grinned and Dean, not at all similar to his human personality, pounced over and licked his face, wagging madly and twisting against Sam, his whole body begging for contact and touch.
It was a wolf-thing, but it didn’t matter. It felt good and it felt real, it was still Dean and Sam would take all the fun he could get out of it, rubbing and slapping and scruffing up his brother’s fur for a while. He probably wouldn’t get anything that close to a hug for a long time.
***
With a loud, inhuman screech, the cat jumped out from under the hydrangea and rushed across the wild-grown lawn, nearly stopping Sam’s heart in the process.
He was too shocked to do anything and so Dean did, turning on the spot and chasing after the cat to catch it and very probably kill it.
“Dean, stop!” Sam yelled and to his utter astonishment, Dean did. He dug his toes in and scrambled very inelegantly, but he did stop. “Come back here, Dean” Sam coaxed. The look in the wolf’s eyes was a weird mix of astonishment, disbelief, anger and sadness to see his snack vanish, and Sam, while trying to hide his mirth, dug out two more sandwiches to give his brother and Dean slinked back quickly, snatching the food from the air when Sam tossed it to him.
The cat was long gone, he noted, only a faint rustle in the leaves hinting at its getaway-path over the old stone-wall on the western side of the garden. Grey-Brother turned in that direction, a mournful look on his furry face but Sam didn’t feel sorry at all. He was pretty sure tomorrow Dean would agree.
“C’mon buddy. Let’s get back” He nudged the wolf and they trotted back to the car where Sam coaxed Dean to lie in the foot space of the passenger seat after he had stored the weapon and duffel in the trunk. He wasn’t sure if it was the mind of his brother that made the wolf agree or simple tiredness, but whatever the reason, Dean curled in on himself and sighed in satisfaction, asleep soon after they drove off.
***
The next day was a mix of excitement and boredom. While Sam sat over the instructions on the ritual for the seventeenth time, practicing the symbols and chanting the words, Dean was left to collect the ingredients of the potion.
The Professor had to leave them for half the day to hold a seminar in the local community college nearby and had given Dean the list of herbs as well as a reference books so he would recognize them in her vast garden.
The dogs were still in their kennel and only looked up from their drowsing whenever Dean passed close by, silently watching him with sharp eyes and pricked ears. It was disconcerting to feel their gazes on him until he was out of their view. Some part of him wanted to growl at them and snarl, and even though they were pretty far from any other house, that was taking it too far, in his eyes. So when he found himself baring his teeth at the dogs while stalking by, he made sure to avoid the area.
Most of what they needed for the potion grew in the garden, some of it would be brought by Alyssa when she came back from the city and two weird-sounding flowers grew close to the lake so when Sam was looking like a mad professor, hair disheveled and standing in sweaty spikes away from his head, Dean grabbed him and literally dragged him out to look for them.
It turned out to be a good idea; the lake was beautiful even though Dean wouldn’t ever say that out loud and the area around was filled with birdsong and the rustling of other small animals. It smelled delicious, and it took a while for Dean to realize that it was his sharpened sense of smell that made him aware of it. Yeah, he’d sure miss that. The whole world seemed more alive, less gloomy and filled with so much wonder, something he rarely took the time to admire. He tried to remember the night before, but it was confusing. There wasn’t much that the human brain, basically made for recalling images and sound, could fathom. Most of what he remembered was smell, but most of the smells were unfamiliar, too intense or too strange for his sight-based brain to understand and put to something known.
He remembered the cat, and the ghost. It didn’t look like an ordinary ghost in his memory, but Sam said that it had been poor old Degusto’s image, just like the picture Alyssa had shown them. For him, though, it’d looked… off. Like a solid mass of smoke, no real features visible, and it had smelled… weird. Sure, he and Sam knew the scent of ozone as a hint for ghostly presence, but it hadn’t been just ozone.
He couldn’t grasp what it was, though, and he didn’t care enough to wreck his brain over it and destroy the relaxing mood he was in.
Sam was sitting on a big rock right at the lakefront, had taken off his shoes and let his bare feet dangle into the cool, fresh-smelling water. He looked across the shiny surface, either deep in thought or really entranced by the dragonflies that were dancing over the gentle waves.
Wow, this really was the chick-flickiest moment in their recent lives.
“Dean…”
And of course Sam ‘I’m gloomy’ Winchester had to destroy it. “Yeah?”
“If this doesn’t work…”
“It will”
“And if not?”
Dean scratched his neck. ‘What if’s’ were a tricky subject and he’d really had enough of them for more than one life. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something out”
“But Dean…”
“Sam. It’ll either work or it won’t. If it doesn’t… well. I guess you have to buy me a doggy bed then. And invest in a better cooler for the food” he tried to joke, and weirdly enough, he wasn’t really concerned. He didn’t want to die, of course not, and he didn’t really want to stay a wolf, not exactly thrilled by the concept of wearing a collar every months. But if he had to? There were worse fates, as he and Sam had already discovered. He’d just make sure he would be one of the werewolves that didn’t get mad, easy as that.
“That’s not even a little funny, Dean” Sam didn’t meet his eyes and Dean sighed. Of course Sam wouldn’t see it that way.
“Look. I’m sure this will work. And I get that you’re nervous”, not just about the outcome but about the ritual itself, he was pretty sure about that. And yeah, he kinda was too, he had to admit “but if we have to work something else out, we will. We’ve done so much shit and against so big odds these past years. We’ll find a way to either break the curse, infection, whatever, or we’ll find a way to deal with it. That’s all we can do, but if someone can, I’m pretty sure we’re it”
Sam turned now, staring at him with those puppy-eyes. Really, how can a big-ass berserker like Sam still look like a little puppy?
“Wow, Dean. That was really deep. Come here, let’s cuddle and watch the beautiful nature until sunset” he deadpanned and got shoved in response so that he lost his balance and had to step into the water, chuckling despite the soggy pant-legs he got from that.
“Yeah right, jerk. As if you weren’t totally emo-ing on your mermaid’s rock there” Dean joined in the laughter. Living was easy, he’d once believed, and only dying the thing to be feared. When that’d changed Dean had no clue, but he was pretty sure him becoming a werewolf had changed it back again.
For the first time in a lot of years, he wasn’t afraid of the next day anymore, nothing weighing him down. Sam was there, he was alive and he was happy and Dean was too. So why get all gloomy over a future that wasn’t even written yet? Had the last years not shown them that they always had a choice? So why worry.
With their bouquet of wildflowers, they looked like lovers coming back from a romantic hideaway, but since there wasn’t anyone else out in the area, Dean didn’t give a damn. He knew the flowers were powerful magic, Sam knew that and nobody else better say anything about them looking anything but bad-ass hunters on a mission.
The way back to the house was light and fun and full of banter and Dean was sorry that it only lasted for twenty minutes.
Chapter 15