Longhorn

Chapter 05 | Greywater

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Dean

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You're sulking toward the wall of the sewer, refusing to touch it and refusing to look at the greywater beneath you.

"I bet this runs to Zach's place, too," Sam says.

"Nasty freak is using this vile place to move around," you complain, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"Look at this." Dean bends down, staring at a mushy, gooey pile of a mix of skin at blood. Their faces curl, and Dean hears you audibly gag.

"Oh my God, I'm crawling out of the Arch window. Jesus fucking Christ, I'm quitting my job."

While Dean chuckles, Sam ignores you. "Is this... from his victims?"

Dean shrugs, flicking out a pocket knife and squatting, using it to pick up a bit of the mush pile. You gag again, and he cringes.

"Put it down, Dean, oh, God."

"What if..." Dean starts, frowning at the lump of skin on his knife. "What if this thing sheds its skin after shifting into someone."

"Jesus, someone get me out of here."

Dean sighs, shaking his head. He helps you out of the sewer, and you're all soon standing at the trunk of the Impala. "One thing I learned from Dad?"

"Silver bullet to the heart, cool. Someone get me some fucking ginger ale and crackers, I'm gonna throw up."

Sam's phone rings, and he closes it as Dean closes the trunk. "This is Sam."

It's on speaker. Dean hears Rebecca through the phone, and watches as you lean closer to nosily hear better.

"Where are you?"

"We're near Zach's. We're just... checkin' some things out."

"Well, look, Sam, just stop. I really don't need your help anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

"I told the lawyers that we went to the crime scene."

Sam scoffs, running a hand through his hair. "Why would you do that?"

"Well, I told them that we were with a police officer. And they checked it out, and they told me that there is no detective Dean Winchester."

You visibly wince, giving Dean an awkward look.

Sam continues. "Bec -"

"No, Sam, I don't understand why you would lie about something like that."

"Bec, I'm sorry, but -"

"No. Goodbye, Sam."

The call dips with a beep, and Sam sighs, disappointed.

"I hate to say it," Dean starts. "But that's exactly what I'm talkin' about. You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they'd be freaked. They just - it'd be easier if -"

"If I was like you."

"Hey, man," Dean groans. His brother has a dejected look on his face, and he can see you gnawing on your lip, itching to end the conversation. "Like it or not, we are not like other people. But I'll tell you one thing. This whole gig - it ain't without perks."

You clear your throat, handing a gun to Sam before he tucks it in the waist of his jeans.

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Sam

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"I think we're close to its lair."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because there's another puke-inducing pile next to your face."

Sam turns to see the aforementioned pile goobing off a pipe and jumps back, holding a fist to his mouth. "Oh, God."

You grumble, moving over to a pile of slightly-moist clothes in the corner. "Looks like the freak has lived here for a while."

"Who knows how many murders he's gotten away with?" Sam whispers.

He turns to Dean, eyes wide. "Dean!"

Dean twists, seeing the same man that got escorted in the police, a sick, twisted smile on his face. "Sam!"

Before Dean can react, the man's fist collides with his face and Dean crumbles to the ground.

Sam is quick to push you behind him, pistol in hand. The shifter is sprinting down the sewer drain and Sam lets a few bullets fly, but never once does he hit.

"Get the son of the bitch!" Dean hollers.

Dean is the first out of the manhole, pistol raised and ready. When it's clear, you follow, Sam behind you.

"Can't see him," Dean says.

Sam nods. "Let's split up."

You start walking away, unholstering the pistol on your hip and holding it with two hands. Dean hesitates, but starts walking down the alley opposite of yours. He doesn't find anything in the alley, or on the street for that matter.

He finally runs back into Sam on one of the street corners. People give them odd glances, but they merely keep walking. "Anything?"

"No," Sam sighs. "He's gone."

They head toward the Impala, but Dean pauses before opening the door. "Think he found another way underground?"

"Yeah, probably." Sam tosses the Dean the keys, but freezes after. "Hey, where's Y/N."

Dean freezes, looking around frantically. He sees no sign of you; not your bobbed black hair or your trademark red lipstick. "Fuck, Sam."

Sam eyes his brother suspiciously. "Hey, didn't Dad face a shapeshifter in San Antonio?"

Dean scoffs. "What the hell does that have to do with where Y/N went?"

"There's gotta be something in his journal, right?"

Pausing to think, Dean shakes his head. "Nah, man, that was Austin. It was a psychic projection though, remember? Turned out not to be a shapeshifter after all."

Dean moves to the trunk, popping it open. Sam withdraws his gun, pointing it at his brother. "Don't. Move."

"Dude, chill," he chuckles. "It's me, alright?"

"No, I don't think so. Where's Y/N? Where's my brother?"

The shapeshifter smirks, lips curling evilly before he swings the crowbar, and Sam's vision goes black.