𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛[𝙳.𝚆]

065

"I hate you both." I growl, knee deep in swamp water. I scrunch my face in disgust as I feel around the water for a hunk of junk. I take deep breaths and try to imagine myself far away from where I am right now. On nice, dry, solid, water free land.

"You should've picked rock." Sam calls. I glare at him over my shoulder and stick my favorite finger at him.

"If you two were man enough to just volunteer and go in yourselves, I wouldn't have lost." I depann, gagging when I felt something squishy touch my hand. "May I remind you of my deathly fear of water. Yet, here I am, back in the water, again, while it's dark and I can't see anything."

"You lost fair and square. Besides, it's not that deep." Dean says.

"Of course you would say that. You're on land."

"Hey, at least you're facing your fear. That's a good thing!" Dean tries.

"Yeah, well you better fear me, Winchester, because as soon as I get out of here, I'm gonna drive my fist so far up your-" I hit something solid and jump in fright thinking it's a person, but tentatively hitting it again, I realize it's gotta be the truck. By now the water is up to my waist. "I got it!" I cheer.

Taking the clip that's attached to the bulldozer, I try getting as low as possible to reach the truck without having my head touch the water—my eyes squeezed shut and heart racing. They truly were a bunch of assholes sometimes.

The water just starts to touch my chin when I feel what felt like the bumper and secure the hook onto it. I quickly stand tall again, shivering at the cold air that hits my body, before turning around fast and quickly making it back out the water.

"It's good, you can pull it out now." I tell Dean, teeth clattering. He takes off his jacket and wraps it around me with a frown.

"Now you have me feeling bad." He says guiltily. I shrug.

"Just know that if I get sick, it's on you two." I point at the both of them, then tighten Dean's jacket around me when another gust of chilly air hits me. "Gah, hurry up, will you? Before I get hypothermia." Dean rolls his eyes and goes for the bulldozer without another word. I walk over to the trunk of the Impala—while Sam guides Dean's driving—and take out the usual salt and burn materials.

"Alright, stop!" Sam calls over the loud engine of the bulldozer. I look over my shoulder and whistle at the sight of the mossy, rusted black truck.

"Well, damn." I click on my flashlight after setting down the gasoline and salt onto a nearby building table and walk towards the truck. I ran the light over the truck and through the window that's past my height level after I went on my top toes. I look over at Dean and gesture for him to open the door.

When he opens the driver's door, a mummified skeleton leans out of it slightly and releases the stalest and most nauseating smell after getting fresh air for the first time in decades.

"Boy, that's rough. Have fun with that." I pat their backs and head for the table I set the gas and salt on. They follow behind me with Cyrus in their arms, then plant him on top of the table. I stand by as they prep to burn him, my teeth clattering. At the same time, I shake like a leaf, water soaked clothes clinging to my body not being a help.

I subconsciously lift my hands to the fire once Dean lights up the body, desperate for warmth against my frozen hands. It felt like if I bent them too much, they'd snap off. I notice Sam looking at me funny as I do so.

"What, I'm freezing. I'll take any source of heat I can get."

"Think that'll do it?" Sam asks us. Before either me or Dean can utter a word, a revving engine has all three of us looking up. The ghost of the damn black truck sat several feet away from us, it's bright headlights burning my eyes, forcing me to squint them.