Sam didn't recognize anything outside of the gas station, so we went inside to see if someone could tell us anything useful. Dean led the way, with me following and Sam bringing up the rear. As soon as Sam walked through the door, the clerk behind the counter got angry.
"You. Outta here now, I'm calling the cops."
"You talking to him?" Dean jabbed a thumb at Sam.
"Yeah, I'm talking to him," the clerk nodded. "Jerk comes in yesterday, stinking drunk, grabs a forty from the fridge, starts chugging."
"This guy?" Dean asked, looking back at Sam. "You're drinking malt liquor?"
"Not after he whipped the friggin' bottle at my head," the clerk glared at Sam.
"This guy?" I echoed Dean, gesturing to the giant beside me.
"What, am I speaking Urdu?" the clerk quipped.
"Look, I'm really sorry if I did anything-" Sam started.
"Tell your story walkin', pal. Po-po will be here in five."
"Wait, wait, put the phone down," I urged the clerk. "Sam, go wait in the car."
"But, Ellie-" Sam argued.
"Go wait in the car!" I spoke more forcefully.
Sam sighed, looking over at Dean, who nodded at him, and then did as he was told. I turned back to the clerk, Dean letting me take the lead.
"Okay, look, man. We just want to talk to you, that's it. Okay?"
The clerk eyed me and Dean warily, and then set the phone down to listen.
"Now, when he took off yesterday, which way did he go?"
"Why don't you ask him?"
"Because I'm asking you. Now please, you'd be doing us a huge favor."
"Oh, do you a favor? Well, that is what I live for," he rolled his eyes sarcastically. "You know, your buddy didn't pay for the booze. Okay? Or the smokes, which he also illegally lit up."
"You saw him smoking?" Dean asked in surprise.
"Yeah. Guy's a chimney."
Dean and I exchanged another look. The more we learned, the more confused I felt about the whole situation, and I was sure Dean felt the same. Nothing this guy was describing sounded anything remotely like the Sam we knew. Clearing his throat, Dean pulled out his wallet and threw a handful of dollar bills on the desk.
"That, uh, ought to cover it," he mumbled.
"Hmm, it's, uh, it's coming back to me now," the clerk said, grabbing the money. "He took two packs."
"Of course he did," Dean rolled his eyes, but took out some more money.
"He went north," the clerk informed us. "Route 71, straight out of town."
Dean and I both nodded, and as we turned to go, I swiped two candy bars from a display. Dean smirked at me and I grinned back.
⁘
It was dead silent in the Impala as Dean drove down route 71. Outside, night had fallen and Sam was just staring out the passenger side window while Dean and I had a silent conversation in the rearview mirror with our eyes.
"What's going on with you Sam?" Dean finally broke the silence. "Hm? Cause smoking, throwing bottles at people, I mean, it sounds more like me than you."
"Dean, wait, right here," Sam said, pointing out his window. "Turn down that road."
"What?"
"I don't know how I know, I just do."
Dean turned down the back road Sam had pointed to, and we eventually came to a private property. The house was large and had plenty of emergency lighting and security cameras outside.
"Whoever lives here, I'd say they don't like surprises," I voiced from the backseat.
We clambered out of the car, heading up to the front door.
"Should we knock?" Dean asked.
"Yeah. I guess," Sam shrugged.
Dean knocked on the door while Sam and I poked around the corner.
"Hey, Dean," I called.
He came over to see what we were looking at. Sam's and my flashlights lit up a window that was broken, the ledge covered in glass.
"I'm surprised the cops didn't show," Dean scoffed. "Place like this, you'd think it'd have an alarm."
I turned my flashlight to an alarm box on the wall, the wires cut.
"Yeah, you would," I made eye contact with him.
We entered the house through the broken window, more glass and scattered items littering the floor. When we got to the back room, we just barely made out the form of a body on the ground.
"Hit the lights," Dean told Sam.
Sam turned on the lights as I knelt next to the body. It was on its stomach, and when I flipped it over, the dead eyes of a middle-aged man with his throat deeply cut stared up at me. Dean covered his mouth with his hand and Sam looked horrified as I stumbled back, fighting the overwhelming nausea that I felt that had nothing to do with the dead body.
"Guys, I did this," Sam muttered softly.
"We don't know that," Dean countered sternly.
"What else do you need? I mean, how else do you explain the car, the knife, the blood-"
"I don't know, man, why don't you tell me!?"
There was a beat, and I put a hand to my stomach, swallowing the bile that rose up in my throat and wincing.
"Look," Dean continued, a bit calmer, "even if you did do this, I'm sure you had a reason. Self defense, uh, he was a bad son of a bitch, something!"
The desperation behind the statement was clear, but neither Sam nor I called Dean out on it. Dean moved over to the body, patting him down.
"He doesn't have any ID," he muttered.
"I need your lockpick," Sam announced.
"What?"
Dean and I both looked over to Sam, who was staring at the double door closet. After Dean handed over his lockpick, Sam easily opened it, revealing a wall of firearms and another covered in charts and clippings inside. My heart dropped in my chest as we stared at the items.
"Holy," Dean breathed.
"Either this guy's a Unabomber..." I trailed off.
"Or a hunter," Sam finished. "Guys, I think I killed a hunter."
"Let's find out," Dean said, looking to the corner by the ceiling.
There was a security camera.
YOU ARE READING
Dawson's Daughter | {BOOK 1}
Fanfiction-BOOK 1 IN THE DAWSON'S DAUGHTER SERIES- ___ She was just a supplier's daughter. But not just any supplier. James Dawson, a name loved and respected both in her home town, and in the hunting community. They were her best friends until they stopped c...
