Silver Springs | Dean Winchester

Four

Dean

She stands there knowing she's been caught as she sets the shotgun down by the door and I can smell the smoke on her... and maybe even something stronger. In the low light I can see the faint spray of blood on her face that I doubt she even knows is there.

When I realised she was gone I panicked. It wouldn't be the first time she's taken off in the middle of the night when she hasn't been in the right state of mind, but she always takes off on foot and usually ends up down the street or in the junkyard.

But when I saw her car was gone I knew she'd gone to take care of unfinished business.

I've always known that she can stomach more violence than most, but I'm still caught off guard. I take her in, the gloves she wears and the way her hair's neatly braided and tucked into a cap. She's taken the lengths to make sure forensics can't link her to whatever she did.

"Did anyone see you?"

Her voice is quiet. "No."

I look down at the shotgun, wondering just how far she took it. "Did you take care of any casings?"

She takes a single casing out of her pocket and says "I shot a round of rock salt at his car and it flipped when he swerved."

It dawns on me just how premeditated this was, and I don't know whether to be proud or concerned. "Did you make sure he was dead?"

"I set the car on fire, lit cigarette and spilt gas so it looks like a freak accident," she says factually, although her voice wavers slightly. "Can you help me change my tyres please?"

I step closer to her and wipe the half dried blood off her face. "And where did that come from?"

"I got close enough to make sure the job was finished, must have sprayed onto me," she says and I search her eyes. "Don't worry, there's nothing forensics could pick up to prove it was foul play."

Now that my main worry's out of the way I nod and follow her outside to be met with harsh wind and thunder which should have covered up the sound of the gunshot and anything else. Luck sure as hell fell into her hands considering this is the perfect weather to commit a murder.

She guides me to a used set of tyres and we change them over wordlessly, I understand why when I see the gravel stuck to the ones on her truck.

"Burn or bury?" she asks, knowing any cops would search for unturned earth or fires.

"Chuck em in the salvage yard," I answer. "God knows they wouldn't be able to find anything in there even if they wanted to."

"I'd be able too," she remarks proudly, knowing every inch of that place inside and out. "But you're right, good call."

I help her throw the tyres back there and we stand there together in the junkyard, shielded from the wind. Her eyes linger on a certain car and she startles when I speak.

"You gonna tell Bobby?"

"Dad always told me if a man ever tried to hurt me to take him out before he could lay a hand on me," she reveals to me and that sure sounds like Bobby. "Said he'd clean up the mess... but I think this can stay between us."

I nod and she leans into me as I wrap an arm around her shoulders. I've hunted my share of creatures who were partly human, I suppose rapists aren't any different.

Her eyes are vacant until she shuts them and I bring her into my arms properly, clutching her and cupping the back of her head.

"You did good," I tell her, knowing damn well that I'm the only person that will, and her body eases. "This isn't something you should lose any sleep over."