Wayward •𝚂𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕•

nineteen

"Guy's old lady comes home while he's working underneath his ride," Dean explains to the group what he'd heard on the police scanner. "Puts the pedal to the medal and takes half his head off. Says she blacked out and doesn't remember a thing."

They were outside of a motel they'd gotten rooms at to change into clothes that better fit their roles as FBI. "That sounds like insanity," Blair commented, leaning against Sam's truck. "How does that make this our kind of thing?"

"Because Kevin's in the wind, and I can't help but ask myself, when is decapitation not my thing?"

Nobody responded—not that they had a chance, because he'd already shoved himself down into the car. Melody and Dean were going to the scene to figure out what they could from the authorities, while Blair and Sam were going into town to figure out what they could about the couple.

There was no invitation for conversation, as Dean drove to the run down house with police tape out front.

The sheriff ran up to meet them at the line, and they both flashed their badges. "FBI?"

"We happened to be in town," Melody flashed a grin his way.

"First a Texas Ranger, now you guys?"

They all looked in the direction of the man he was referencing, and Dean recognized that goofy stature anywhere. "You've got to be kidding me," he grumbled, he looked over to Melody with an already annoyed look. They ducked under the police tape, and made their way over to none other than Garth. "Hey, Chuck Norris."

Garth turned around to face Melody and Dean, excited as always. "Dean? Melody!" Melody shh'd him as he used their actual names.

He reached in and hugged them both, laughing. "Forgot you were a hugger," Melody chuckled uncomfortably. "Still working here, Garth."

"You guys have no idea how much I missed you," Garth said, disregarding the fact that they were working a case.

"Excuse us, would you," Dean said to the guy Garth had been questioning. They stepped away from him, and Melody offered an apologetic smile to him. "A Texas Ranger, Garth? Seriously? We're in Missouri."

Garth's enthusiasm never faded at the hunter's words. "I look like a funeral director in one of those," he pointed to Dean's suit. Melody could see that. "Wow. I heard some chatter you two were back in the batter's box, but I didn't believe it 'til now." A cellphone started ringing from Garth's jacket pocket, playing Kris Kross' Jump. "One sec." He opened his jacket, revealing three phones lined up in each pocket. He grabbed the one that was vibrating, and answered. "Yo, Earl. What ya got? A revenant. Okay, you'll need a casket, and some silver spikes. Oh, and don't get bit. No, it won't turn you, but it will hurt like hell. Once you got all that, nail that sucker in, bury him, and throw away the key. Okay? Alright, hasta."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows, peering at Garth through the slits that were his eyes. "What are you doing?"

Garth looked between Melody and Dean. "My job, hombre," he said, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"Since when is giving advice your job," Melody asked, slightly amused. Her face hardened with realization. "Hold up. Are you the new Bobby?"

"You shut your mouth," Dean hissed at her.

"Yes," Garth answered.

Dean's head whipped around to face Garth again. "You shut your mouth," he said, much louder than he'd intended. There was a pause, mostly in disbelief that of all the hunters in the world, Garth was the new go-to. "Seriously?"

"Bobby was gone, you two were MIA, it was a weird time," he shrugged. "Somebody had to step in and take up the slack. Look, let's just get back to work, and we'll talk about this later, alright?"