Andrea Sanders, legendary hunter, is the kind of legend that only the brave and stupid dare to whisper about at night. After ditching the foster system at sixteen, she follows her father's footsteps into the only life she's ever known: hunting down...
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I ran my fingers through my hair as I looked again for the keys. They had been in my purse before I went in the church, and then I had used them to get into my trunk before I ran barefoot to the cemetery, but now they were long gone.
Just like Sam and Dean.
The boys weren't too keen to join clean up crew, so I disposed of the bodies myself, hoping no one would notice too much. Of course, with such a small town, I doubt the investigation could get very far, anyway. Grabbing my phone, my fingers zoomed across the numbers. "What's up, fire cracker?" The gruff voice sounded through the receiver, making a smile tug on my lips.
My shoulder raised in a shrug before remembering he couldn't see me. "Hey, Bobby. Hunt went well." I kicked some dirt as I leaned against Stanley.
"And, what? You want a medal?"
I laughed, shaking my head. "Nah, I just can't seem to find my keys. I had 'em before I went in, and after when I went to help the boys- yeah, I'm really good at saving their asses- but now they're gone." I paused, and I could picture the disapproving look he was giving me through the phone. "Listen, Bobby. Do you know someone in the area? I've been looking all night, and I'm bloody, and tired, and I had to clean up a bunch of dead bodies by myself. I just need someone to get me back to my house. I've got an extra set of keys there."
His silence took forever. "Got any money?"
"Yeah, I pulled my backpack out to grab my lighter and torch the bitch before I closed the door. Must have locked, or something, after." He was grumbling like he always did before he gave in. And he normally gave in, in my experience. Save for the one time I needed him most. Shaking the thought from my head, I smiled. "Thanks, Bobby."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, idgit."
"Oh, and Bobby?" I tried before hanging up. "Just please don't call-" the line clicked dead before I could finish my sentence. "-the Winchesters." Pursing my lips bitterly, I waited for the annoyance and ridicule most likely to come my way sometime soon. Who else would be in the area? Turns out, I was right. It couldn't have been more than 40 minutes before the headlights of a '67 Chevy impala swung into the parking lot. In their glare, it was hard to see the bitter face of the driver I knew to be there.
Swinging my back pack over my shoulder, I walked to the side of the car and pulled the door open. The front seat was vacant, making it easy to slide in. Dean didn't say anything as he threw the vehicle into reverse, and I didn't offer any conversation either. Instead, I managed to look anywhere but at him. The clock on the dash showed it was a little past three, causing me to stifle a yawn at the realization.
Maybe fifteen minutes into the drive, I chanced a glance at Dean, and it was easy to see he was pouting. Obviously avoiding my eye contact, I took the opportunity to let my eyes look him over. They wandered of their own accord to the scruff on his cheeks, following his jaw line down to his lips. His leather jacket was thrown over a plaid button up, and I envied how warm he must have been. But boy did he know how to fill them both out. My gaze traveled back up, noticing this time his lips were in a little smirk, before I met his green eyed gaze. Realizing I had been caught, I prayed it was too dark for him to see me blush and just raised an eyebrow. "You know, a picture would last a lot longer," he goaded.
