Supernatural: Hunting, Living and Love

Part 8

Four weeks evaporated faster than a desert mirage. Another team of hunters had cleared out the vampire nest I'd targeted, forcing me to scramble for a new lead. My gaze darted across the laptop screen, searching for a hunt far enough from Sydney that I could just jump in my car and disappear as soon as the casts came off. Dean, meanwhile, had mastered the art of the disappearing act himself. Most days, he was a ghost in my own house, materializing only to grab intel on the next hunt before vanishing again.

Truth be told, I didn't need the Winchesters anymore. I was a functioning weapon again. They could have left the day we were discharged, but Sam, bless his heart, insisted on sticking around until I was fully healed. He'd even convinced Theresa to return to the States with them. I genuinely felt happy for her, a bittersweet ache blooming in my chest. It stung that Sam, despite the grim realities of our work, could find solace in companionship, while Dean and I seemed perpetually adrift in a sea of loneliness.

The tension between the brothers simmered just beneath the surface, erupting into low-grade hostility during their late-night conversations. I tried my best to tune them out, but the sound of my own name being tossed around like a grenade always snagged my attention.

The last week was a blur of activity. Sam spent his days drowning Theresa in paperwork for her move, while Dean fussed over his beloved Impala, babbling about some shady contact who could "sneak her" past customs. I, on the other hand, was a silent observer, counting down the minutes until I was free. My escape plan was already hatched. Despite promising Sam I'd take it easy, my duffel bag sat fat and expectant in the closet, crammed with everything I needed to hit the road running.

Finally, the day arrived. The Winchesters and I piled into the car, a strange, tense silence hanging heavy in the air. Dean, still grumbling about his "baby" being in the hands of strangers, insisted he could feel the difference between his car and mine. Sam and I exchanged tolerant smiles, knowing it was pure delusion.

The hospital visit was a repeat of the last one, only this time, a sliver of hope flickered in my chest. The x-rays seemed to confirm it. The doctor, a man with a perpetually weary smile, announced, "Looks like we can ditch the dead weight."

"This one first," I declared, holding up my arm, the itch beneath the cast a maddening fire. "It's driving me insane."

The doctor chuckled. "That'll be the built-up...evidence of your resilience." He set to work with a saw, and the moment my arm was free, I cradled it close, both rubbing and scratching with fervor. The stench that hit me was ripe and metallic, like a forgotten gym bag. My skin, exposed for the first time in weeks, was a stark contrast of shades - a sickly brown under the cast giving way to the healthy pale of my upper arm. The doctor, unfazed, explained the science behind the offensive odor – trapped sweat and bacteria. Charming.

As quickly as they came off, the casts were relegated to the dustbin of history. Relief washed over me, mingling with a raw, exhilarating anticipation. Back in the car, the weight of the situation settled on my shoulders. A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down. Tonight, when the Winchesters were safely on their flight, I'd be gone. Johnny, a fellow hunter with a nose for trouble, had sent me a juicy case on the other side of the country. People were vanishing along a desolate stretch of highway in Western Australia, all last seen at the same gas station. Humans? Or something more sinister? Johnny had arranged for me to meet a local hunter to investigate.

"Earth to Y/N," Dean's voice broke through my thoughts. "You zoning out on us, or are you ditching us at the airport?"

"Relax, your chariot awaits," I offered a tight smile.

"Seriously, what's got you lost in thought?" Sam asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Just contemplating the best way to break something and convince you two to stick around a bit longer," I deadpanned, then burst out laughing.

The joke landed with a thud. Dean muttered something about me being a "psycho," and slammed on the gas, eager to get the goodbyes over with.

At Theresa's place, a "for sale" sign sat like a grim sentinel in the yard. She wore a bittersweet smile, a reflection of my own conflicted emotions. We shared a hug, her goodbye a mix of excitement and sadness. As they disappeared into the bustle of the airport, I lingered for a moment, watching them go. Then, with a deep breath, I climbed back into the car. The airport shrunk in the rearview mirror, replaced by the endless ribbon of highway stretching before me. The ache in my chest sharpened – a potent cocktail of grief for the life I couldn't have and the thrill of the hunt that pulsed through my veins.

The drive was a blur. Every passing mile chipped away at the lingering vestiges of the Winchesters. The radio, usually a source of unwelcome distraction, remained silent. My thoughts were consumed by the case file Johnny had sent. The disappearances in Western Australia were unsettling. People, mostly lone travelers – men and women – vanished without a trace, their last known stop a deserted gas station along a desolate stretch of highway.

Johnny, ever the pragmatist, suspected foul play – a human trafficking ring or a deranged serial killer. But a sliver of doubt lingered in my mind. The isolation of the location, the pattern of disappearances... it all felt uncomfortably supernatural.

The local hunter Johnny had arranged for me to meet was a woman named Maya, someone with a reputation for handling the strange and unsettling. Her contact information was a single cryptic sentence: "Look for the blue ute with the bumper sticker that reads 'Honk if You've Seen Chupacabra.'"

A wry smile touched my lips. This was going to be interesting. The promise of a new hunt, a chance to unravel a mystery, fueled me forward. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the deserted highway, I pushed on, the ache in my chest replaced by a steely determination. The Winchesters were a fading memory, a chapter closed. The hunt was on.