I Don't Bite [Dean Winchester x Reader] Book 2

4.18 The Hunt

Adam Milligan sat on the motel room couch with his elbows propped on his knees and his head in his hands. His eyes were closed, crinkled at the corners with intense thought. His fingertips dug into the skin at his temples, pressing wrinkles into his flesh. "So...basically, you're saying that every movie monster, every nightmare that I've ever had, that's all real?"

"Godzilla's just a movie," Dean answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He leaned against the table with his hip pressed to the rounded edge, glaring at the man who claimed to be his little brother–his brother who, despite barely knowing their father, had gotten to go to a baseball game and grow up normal-

"We hunt them," Sam offered with a far more gentle tone. He cast his brother an admonishing glance, one that Dean pointedly ignored. "So did Dad."

Adam nodded and kept his eyes screwed tightly shut. His mind processed sluggishly–Dean had seen the same expression a few times, when he'd had to reveal the truth, and now was no different-

"Alright."

Dean squinted at the younger man. "Alright? That's it?"

"Well, what am I supposed to say?" Adam demanded, finally dropping his hands at his sides and fixing the eldest Winchester with a fiery stare. Dean pursed his lips in distaste. He'd seen that look plenty of times growing up. "You're my brothers-" Dean suppressed a flinch. "-You're telling me the truth, right? So, I believe you. Now, what took my mom?"

Jesus.

The two older brothers shared a look. The kid shouldn't be ready to jump right in. Really, he should run screaming far, far away from whatever the hell was happening in this town. That's what John wanted, right? That's why he hid Adam from his own brothers-?

"This thing killed my mom. If you're hunting it, I want in." Adam straightened his back and puffed up his chest, a sense of legacy settling on his shoulders and determination in his eyes.

"No," Dean snapped, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction at seeing the boy deflate.

"Dean, come on," Sam piped up in that pleading tone that Dean was really getting tired of hearing lately. "He lost his mother. Maybe we can understand what that feels like."

"Yeah? Why do you think Dad never told us about him, huh? Ripped the pages about this place out of his journal?" Dean pushed off the table and filled the center of the room, frustration evident in the way his nose wrinkled with the intensity of his scowl. "To protect him- both of them!"

"Dad's dead, Dean."

"That doesn't matter!" It does. "He didn't want Adam to have our lives, OK?" He wanted Adam to have a better life, one without us in it. "And we are gonna respect his wishes." Because otherwise we'll ruin his plans again.

Dean's chest felt tight. He heard Sam say something, but his words sounded as if they were passing through water, barely resonating in Dean's ears. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shuffled on his feet, beating down the anxiety bubbling in his chest.

"Fuck this." He stormed past Sam, snatched his coat from where it lay on one of the beds, and marched towards the door.

"Where are you going-?"

"Out!"

The door slammed behind him.

—

Cold.

That was the first thing my body registered. The pain was next–a sharp, stinging pain across my back and shoulders, and an intense buzzing in my ears.