More Than a Feeling

Chapter 8

Dean shot a sideways glance at Ruthie in the passenger seat. Her face was pale. She stared straight ahead. Six foot walls of snow bordered the road on each side, pushed there by Vern's plow. Poor guy. Dean remembered the small white truck he'd seen behind Vern's tractor when they pulled out of Ruthie's drive. Those bastards must have followed him up the road to her cabin. If he hadn't lost his knife, he would've slashed the tires.

He couldn't decide whether it was a good or bad sign that the werewolf hadn't been able to smell Sam anywhere.

Ruthie's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "So, the bodies that have been turning up in the woods. They were all killed by...werewolves?" She sounded calm, but a tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Dean nodded.

She turned to face him. "And that's why you came here? Because you and your brother are some sort of professional werewolf hunters?"

"Something like that."

"And you really use silver bullets. That's why your gun was better than mine, and why you freaked out when I joked about it."

"Yeah."

She stared at him for a moment, then out at the road again. "Werewolves are real." She seemed to have to force the words out. Then she gave a quick, hollow laugh. "Next you're going to tell me there are vampires and zombies, too."

He said nothing. She noticed. He kept his gaze on the road, but he could feel her eyes probing into him like a freaking surgeon. From the corner of his eye, he saw her mouth drop open. Then she sucked in a long, shaky breath and blew it out slowly. "Holy crap."

He waited a minute, letting her absorb the second earth-shattering revelation of the morning, before asking, "You okay?"

"I don't know. I guess so." She turned to him again. "So do you use garlic and wooden stakes on vampires? Head shots on zombies?"

He wasn't expecting rapid-fire questions. People usually reacted with shock and horror, not curiosity. "Uh, well, there are different kinds of what you'd call zombies. You have to figure out what works on them. Garlic and wooden stakes are myths, though. Vamps you gotta decapitate."

She sat silent, blinking at him for several long moments. "This is the most surreal conversation I've ever had." After another moment of silence, she added, "I keep waiting for you to laugh and point out the hidden cameras or something." She raised her eyebrows at him, apparently still holding on to this one last shred of hope.

He hated to disappoint her. "Sorry."

She took a deep breath and looked at the road again.

Her turned-up nose and top lip made her appear cheerful, even when her world was being turned upside down. A familiar, sour surge of guilt washed through Dean's stomach. "No, really. I'm sorry." He squeezed the steering wheel tighter. "I brought this mess—my mess—right to your doorstep. I screwed up and nearly got you killed. Got your friend killed." He clenched his teeth. "I'm supposed to save people. I'm sorry."

She sat quietly, studying his face until he squirmed in his seat. Finally, she asked, "Are you always this hard on yourself?"

"Didn't you hear me? I screwed up."

"How? You're here. You came here and put yourself between us and those...monsters. You fought things that nobody even knows exist. You got lost and hurt and nearly killed, all to protect people you don't know, who will never know what you did for them. Don't you think you should give yourself a little more credit?"