6 years later
I leaned my body weight against the metal sink, too exhausted to stand on my own. Slowly, I forced myself to look up into my own reflection. The mirror was covered in fingerprints and dust, making it practically impossible to see. Disgusting old motel. Damn thing was all I could afford, living on stolen credit cards and pool hustling money.
I reached forward, wiping away the fog from the mirror that left a black smudge on my hand. I groaned when my appearance first came into view. I was a mess, a serious bloody mess. Blood dripped down from my hairline. Purple and blue marks left trails along my collarbone and down my arm next to the faint outline of a scar I had received so many years ago. I bit my lip.
This was going to be a bitch to clean up. But I had practice. I was a hunter, after all.
An hour later, I had managed to return my face to the prized beauty it once was. Well, close enough. I looked to the empty concealer tube I had just thrown in the trash. I really should buy those things in bulk.
I walked back out into the main room, staring at the single bed. This life wasn't for the faint of heart, that's for sure. There would be days I would go without having a real conversation with anyone. Part of me liked that. I mean, I never liked people all that much anyway. But the other half of me, the part that craved affection like a child, desperately needed just the smallest glimpse that someone cared; at least enough to talk about the weather or something stupid like that.
But no. Maybe I was too intimidating. The resting bitch face and leather jacket probably threw a good amount of people off my trail. It's probably for the best, anyway. I can't afford attachments. They never turn out well. Ever. I would know.
I threw myself onto the bed, not even bothering to change out of my clothes. I grabbed my phone, scrolling through the messages. Maybe Carter had a new case for me and I could just skip this damn self pit party and get back on the road. The inbox was empty.
I closed my eyes, trying to force away that damn urge to talk to someone; anyone really. I flipped open my phone, scrolling through my contact list. Maybe I could hook up with Brady again? He was a good hunter; a novice at best really. But I could help him along, watch his back or whatever.
I continued to scroll down the list.
Carrie was a good friend I met about two years back. She was a massive bitch, but I kind of liked that about her. She didn't take bullshit from anyone. I thrived in that kind of presence. Plus, there was never a dull moment when she was around; always starting bar fights and punching guys who cat called us on the streets. Maybe I'll give her a call? I'd love to take down some vamps with her. She always had a vengeance against those guys; since they killed her family and all. It gave her that kind of bloodthirsty rage that made a hunter exceptional.
I sighed, thinking maybe I'd come back to her.
Then my eyes rested upon a name I hadn't allowed myself to think about in years. Dean Winchester. I set the phone down at my side. It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to him, because I really did, desperately actually. But we had stopped talking a long time ago.
He called every single day after he left town for a year. It was impressive really. I never expected it to last that long, but he held on to us with every fiber of his being. I could never figure out why. I mean, we only knew each other for a month. Granted, it felt like years to me; like he was my best friend. Time was funny that way. It somehow felt like years and seconds at the same time. That damn boy just wouldn't give up on us; no matter how many reasons I gave him to.
But eventually it got to the point where I would dread his calls and this horrible anxiety would build and build as I waited by the phone at 10:59pm each night. He was just so damn wonderful, so caring, so human... I was, well, so incredibly broken.
Not that he wasn't. I knew Dean was pretty messed up too. We're hunters after all. There's not a single one of us that gets into this life for kicks. But he had Sam. He didn't need my baggage weighing him down too; not after all I knew about the guilt he carried on his shoulders. I didn't need to add to that. He deserved better. We were a heat of the moment kind of thing anyway. He was just confusing the intensity of our interactions with... I don't know... affection maybe. I could't let myself fall for him any more than I already had. I needed to get out.
It just got more and more painful to talk to him; listening to his voice over the cracking static of our cheap cell phones. Every time we spoke I felt my heart break again, and again. It was never anything he said, or did. It was me. Of course, it was me. I just never learned how to properly care for someone I guess. I mean, take a look at my father and I think you'll understand why.
I wish I didn't feel that way. I wish I didn't stop answering when he called. I wish I returned just one of his twenty voicemails. I wish I texted back a simple "I'm still alive" to one of his unanswered text messages. I wish I didn't let him give up on me.
But I did.
He called once a month after that for a while. Then once every three. Then once a year. And now, I haven't gotten a call from him in a little over two years. It's better that way. Now he could move on with his life, forget about me. I was only a girl he knew in high school for a month. I wasn't anything to him, really.
But God, he was everything to me.
I groaned. I couldn't think like this anymore. It's over. He's gone. Let it go, (y/n). But of course, I never could. I've had this exact conversation with myself hundreds of times. It was impossible to forget about Dean Winchester. I knew he would desolate me the second I met him.
My phone started to ring, and it nearly scared the crap out of me. I picked it up, staring at the caller ID. Carter Olsen; my one true savior, keeper of the cases, the man who hands me my monsters. Thank God.
I flipped the phone open, holding it to my ear. "You have impeccable timing, my friend."
I heard his deep laugh though the speaker. "I have a case for you up in Wichita. A pair of demons are tearing apart the city; killing a different person every two nights. All women... well.. with your description."
"That sounds fun." I said, quite honestly really.
I could practically hear Carter shifting uncomfortably in his chair through the phone. He always hated how reckless I was. "They're obviously looking for one woman in particular and killing the lookalikes once they figure out its not her. I think you should check it out. They'll probably target you, but you can take them down. I know it."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy." I grinned.
"Look," Carter sighed. "You don't have to do this, (y/n). I know I'm asking a lot here; using yourself as bait and all. But, you're really the best hunter for the job and I can't let you sit this one out because you have the same hair color as the victims."
"Don't worry about it, Carter." I jumped from the bed, already running around the room to grab my things. "You know me; a hunt is only exciting when you're not sure if you'll make it out alive."
"That's not funny." Carter said, a new serious tone in his voice. "You sure you can manage?"
"Absolutely." I said, grinning wildly. "I promise I'll do my best not to be murdered."
"Ok..." Carter said, rustling with papers. "All the women were abducted outside of bars in the area. According to the pattern, my best bet is they'll hit a place called Monnington Tavern. I could be wrong, but that's where I'd place my money."
I nodded. A bar, huh. It was always nice to drink on the job. "I'll be there."
"Be safe, (y/n)." Carter urged. "These demons are no joke."
"I'll watch my back, don't worry."
XXXXXXXX
Carter was right. The whole town seemed to be on edge. No woman walked the streets alone. Poor city must think there's a serial killer on the loose. Well, I guess there is. Only, this one is an actual monster in a very real way.
I walked along the streets, keeping my head held high. As I passed other civilians, they stared at me. Perhaps it was the confidence I walked with considering the danger of the situation. Women were being kidnapped fitting my exact description. I should be more cautious, more afraid. But I wasn't. I strutted down the street with my brown leather jacket and combat boots like I owned it.
I pulled myself to a stop. Moron. I was acting like a hunter when I should be pretending to blend into this town. I needed to appear frail and scared so I could attract the demons. Pull it together, (y/n).
I almost forgot what it felt like to be afraid. I hadn't felt the emotion in so long, not since the night I left my father's home. It was just one of those moments where it felt nothing could be more terrifying. Even after fighting the actual monsters living under my bed, I was right. I haven't been afraid since.
Fake it 'til you make it, right?
I hunched my shoulders, shoving my hands into my pockets. I kept looking anxiously around me to try to express paranoia. No one stared at me anymore. I guess these townsfolk were used to scared women. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, for sure.
I turned a corner and came upon a small building. It looked pretty run down but I could tell there were a good amount of people inside. The sign above the door read "Monnington Tavern." This was the place Carter told me about.
I pushed open the door, making my way to the counter. I took a seat near where the bartender was wiping down a table.
"What can I get for you?" The bartender smiled at me, leaning against the counter. "I'm Mark."
I forced a soft smile on my lips, looking anxiously behind my back. Gotta keep up the appearance. "(Y/n). Gentlemen Jack; on the rocks."
Mark raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. He grabbed the glass bottle from behind him. "Don't see too many girls drinking bourbon nowadays. You worried about the murders, too?"
"I fit the description, don't I?" I sighed, grabbing the glass in my right hand. "It's not exactly a comforting feeling. I need something stronger than beer to subdue the anxiety."
"I hear that." Mark nodded, pouring himself a glass. "I don't see too many women out and about anymore, not since the murders started. I gotta say, it's pretty brave of you."
"Nothing brave about it." I took a sip of the bourbon, allowing the burn to warm my chest. "I just couldn't stay locked up in my house anymore. I was going stir crazy."
"Yeah I bet." Mark looked to the table behind me. I turned around to see a woman sitting there, sipping on a soda. She smiled at him and gave him a small wave. Mark shook his head, grinning, going back to wiping down the counter. Must be a girlfriend or something. "So, you're not worried at all?"
"Of course I am." I said, trying to force my voice to shake. "I just really needed a drink. I'm going to head home as soon as this baby is finished."
Mark smiled. "Take your time."
With that, he walked down to the other end of the counter to pour another man a drink. I rested my elbows on the table, leaning my head to the side to get a better view.
There were less people in here than I expected. There was the blonde women with the soda who had smiled at Mark and an older man sitting off in a corner quietly drinking his scotch. Two frat boys were playing pool rather loudly and fighting for the attention of an attractive redhead. Then there was the man that Mark was currently attending to; a businessman by the looks of it. No one looked suspicious, but then again, they never do.
Damn demons were sneaky that way; picking meat suits that would throw us hunters off their trail. It could literally be anyone in here. I sighed, turning back to my bourdon and threw the rest down my throat.
What a beautiful burn.
I put a ten dollar bill on the counter and waved to Mark to let him know I was heading out. He smiled and returned the gesture.
I made my way to the front door, and stepped out into the cool night air. It was much colder than I remembered it being. I crossed my arms over my chest in an attempt to keep warm as I walked back towards the motel.
No one had followed me out of the bar. If the demons were in there, they definitely would have. Weird. Maybe Carter was wrong. I pulled my phone from my pocket to give him a call, let him know we're back to square one.
But before I could reach into my pocket, I felt a heavy object slam against the back of my head, sending my limp body to the ground and my mind into unconsciousness.
XXXXXXX
I woke in a dimly lit room; my wrists bound in metal chains tying me to a wooden chair. I struggled to lift my head, squinting my eyes as to adjust to the darkness. I could taste blood filling my mouth. Guess Carter was right; using myself as bait certainly worked. I wish I would have thought of a plan b before this happened though.
Suddenly, my head snapped up when I heard voices in the hallway whispering. The door slammed open, revealing two demons in it's place. I laughed upon seeing their faces.
Mark stepped forward, his eyes flashing back. Next to him, the blonde woman from the bar placed her hands on her hips.
"Wow, you really had me fooled. I have to say I'm impressed." I smirked sarcastically, spitting the blood that had pooled in my mouth.
Mark said nothing. In fact, he completely disregarded the fact that I had said anything at all. He squinted his eyes, studying me. Then, he pulled a phone from his back pocket.
"I though you demons were too barbaric for cell phones. You know, with the whole slicing throats and chatting into a cup of blood thing?" I shrugged. "I don't know, man. Tradition is pretty important."
"Shut up." The blonde snapped, sending her closed fist against my jaw. It stung, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. Hell, I've had worse.
I licked my lips, nodding. I spit blood.
Mark seemed to be looking at something on the phone. "The picture is a few years old, but I'm sure it's her." He leaned over to the blonde, showing her the picture.
She looked to me, her eyes scanning every inch of my face, then back to the phone. She nodded. "I agree, definitely."
"Hi, yeah, sorry, what the hell are you two talking about?" I asked, tilting my head. Why were they looking for me? Neither of them were familiar in the slightest and I haven't hunted demons in a while, so I couldn't have done anything against them. I racked my brain for answers, but came up with nothing.
The blonde turned to Mark, complete ignoring me. "What if he doesn't come? He's really hard to track down, Mark. This could be your only chance."
Mark grinned, staring at me. "Relax, Clara. She's the most called contact in his phone, next to that idiot brother of his. He'll come for her."
I felt my stomach drop. No, drop wasn't an actuate enough description. Let's say my entire body exploded on the spot and then put itself back together only to have my internal organs ripped out with a chainsaw. That's how this felt. I may have a flare for the dramatic, but I literally felt like my entire body was going to give out under me. This was it; the goddamn end.
These demons spent months searching for me, killing innocent women, just to track me down. And for what? So they can lure Dean Winchester into a trap. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to take a deep breath. I had to calm myself down before my heart jumped out of my chest.
I opened my eyes again when I heard Mark laughing, low and rich. "Looks like our little hunter here figured it out."
"What do you want with Dean? What the hell did he do to you?" I growled, just realizing now how protective I felt. He wasn't apart of my life anymore. I had to let him go; but every part of me held onto him like it was life or death.
Mark laughed, shaking his head. "I think a better question would be what hasn't Dean Winchester done to me? We could start off with the fact that he's been plowing through demons lately, practically slaughtering all of my kind. Then, there's the matter of my beloved, Bela."
I literally couldn't have managed a bigger eye roll if I tired. "You can't be serious."
"Oh I am. Your damn boyfriend rolled into town and sliced her throat without a second thought!" Mark screamed, slamming his fist into the wall. "He took away the love of my life. So I'm going to take away his. Big, bad, Dean Winchester reduced into a helpless lovesick puppy at the very sight of you. He'll be in such shock after finally seeing you after all these years that he won't have time to react before I kill you right in front of him. Then, you know what I'll do? I let the sucker live, so he can suffer the way I did; knowing that you're dead and he's not."
I stared at him, a seriously confused expression of my face. I shook my head with a small laugh. "First of all, he is not my boyfriend. Second, that's the most ridiculous plan I've ever heard. You're a moron if you think he'd fall for this."
"Oh sweetheart, I'm not worried about him falling for anything. It's quite obvious this is a trap, really. Only I know for absolute certain that Dean Winchester will come anyway. You know why? Because that idiot is pathetically in love with you. He'd come if the damn world was ending in this very room." Mark sneered, leaning closer to me so that his face was only inches from mine.
I stared him straight in the eye, a grin developing on my lips. "Unlucky for you, all your facts are horribly mistaken. I have't talked to Dean in years. I was just a girl he knew in high school for a month. Nothing more. He's not going to risk anything for me. He's not gonna show."
Mark shook his head, a maniacal smirk upon his lips that screamed he knew something I didn't. I really didn't like where this was heading.
Mark began to scroll through the phone. He cleared his throat, turning to me a moment before he spoke, that same smile sending chills down my spine. "2 years ago: (Y/n), I know I haven't called in a while, and I'm really sorry about that. I just want you to know I haven't forgotten. Please tell me you haven't too. 1 year, 8 months ago: Why aren't you answering my calls? I really need to hear your voice. It's been a rough week."
"What the hell are you doing?" I whispered, feeling a pit forming in my stomach. I found myself shifting nervously in my seat.
Mark continued reading, blatantly ignoring me. "1 year, 5 months ago: Are you okay? Please tell me you're alive. Just one text, that's all I need. 1 year, 4 months ago: Please, don't be dead. 1 year, 2 months ago: Why didn't I come find you after Dad ditched me and Sam? We could have hunted together. Been together. I'm sorry. 1 year, 1 month ago: I really need to see you. I miss you. 9 months ago: Sam and I fought today about going out and looking for you. He thinks I should. I told him you were either dead or you didn't want me around. Either way, I didn't want to know the answer. 7 months ago: I need you, (y/n). I wish I had the courage to actually send one of these damn messages for once. 6 months ago: Please, come back to me."
"Enough!" I screamed, feeling my eyes water before I could even process what was happening. A tear escaped, falling down my cheek and landing peacefully on the concrete beneath me. "Stop it."
Mark stared at me for a moment, obviously enjoying the pain it caused me. He looked back to the phone, ready to continue. I felt my heart sink.
"5 months ago: I let a kid die today. I didn't mean to. I just didn't get there in time. I don't know what to do. I just really need you to tell me it's going to be ok. 4 months ago: Please, just be alive. I can't deal with the crap in this world knowing you're dead. 3 months ago: I miss you. 2 months ago: I'm sorry I stopped calling, but more than that I'm sorry you stopped answering. 1 month ago: I wish I could stop wanting to be near you. The damn feeling won't go away. I hate it."
Mark lowered the phone and slipped it into his back pocket. "All the texts he meant send but didn't; stashed away in a silly drafts folder on a cheap flip phone. Those were just my favorites, too. Trust me, there's plenty more."
"This doesn't change anything." I whispered, feeling the entire weight of the world crashing in on me. My body was shaking. For the first time in years, I was scared. "He's not that stupid. He won't come."
"We'll see about that." Mark growled, turning to Clara. He nodded for her to leave. A smile grew upon her face as she stepped quietly out the door, knowing what was about to happen next.
Mark leaned in closer to me, placing his hands on my thighs. A knife I hadn't noticed before sat in his right hand, it's edge jutting into the fabric of my jeans. "In the meantime, why don't the two of us have a little fun?"
