Tough Love ✔️

FBI, My Ass!

You woke later than usual, and rising like a reverent from the dead, you mechanically dress and eat breakfast, pack up your things and prepare to go leave the motel. If all went to plan, you wouldn't need to come back to it that night. Slinging your duffle bag over a shoulder you quietly exit the room and toss your things in the back of your car - a huge four wheel drive truck with a tray and four seats all up. As you slide your key into the engine, you glance across the motel parking lot and see no signs bar tyre tracks of the Winchester boys you ran into in both the diner and the night before.

As your truck rumbles down the way you drove it to according to the map that shows you where the fangs are, you twist the knob for local radio and are disappointed as to what they are playing.

What happened to rock music? The heady sway of a guitar and drum set manned by human beings?

You sigh, and with a glance to the map on the seat beside you, you realise you're almost at the field where it all takes place.

Show time, you think.

As you kill the engine of your vehicle and roll it into an area most inconspicuous, you see you have company. Those pretty guys from the diner, those Winchester boys. FBI undercover. Happened to be in the same motel as you. Now they just happened to beat you to your nest of vampires.

"FBI, my ass," you mutter, quietly closing the cabin door to the truck. You'd much rather slam it for dramatic effect, but with maybe twenty plus vamps inside, you wouldn't want to take the chance.

Grabbing a blade, wicked sharp but small enough to hide in the belt loops of your jeans hidden under your coat, you advance on the boys.

"So I see this is another coincidence," you say, looking into the driver's window to see the blonde Winchester, Dean, jump at your voice.

He gave a smile. "Told you, FBI, sweetheart," his eyes flicked to the other one, Sam.

Quietly, you laugh, "Yeah, FBI. Big mistake, impersonating an officer, Dean," you take out a badge from the side of your jacket that doesn't have the knife underneath, "Don't screw with the law."

His face pales. "Homeland security?" He takes a deep breath, but you know you've gotten to him through that veil of superiority.

"Yeah," you reply, "mind if I take a look in the trunk? Standard procedure, boys." Sam gives you a smile, kind of like a puppy dog, but it doesn't break you.

You move down the back of the car, inspection the backseat. Nothing out of the ordinary; a cracked leather jacket slung across the left headrest, an old newspaper dating a few days ago.

You make it to the rearmost end of the car and open the boot. A single duffel bag, small of its make sits in the boot. You give a sigh and slip your fingers underneath the obviously fake floor and gasp.

The doors to the car open at once, and both Sam and Dean Winchester get out, hands in the air.

"We can explain," Sam pleaded.

You know who they are now - who else carries holy water and a mountainous amount of ammo and guns? A hunter. Who else has a devil's trap painted onto the roof of the trunk?

A hunter.

But you want to keep them hanging. A little frightened.

For kicks, of course.

"Explain, then," you bark back, "two nut jobs with fake IDs impersonating officers, a trunk full of weaponry and hoodoo shit that half of the country doesn't allow in?"

Dean gives you a smile that might have started wars back when the Romans were popular and Egyptians mummified their royals. Underneath your cool exterior, it does more to you than start a war, but you can't admit that now.

"Look, lady," he begins.

"It's _____ _____," you correct, "and holy hell, I'm glad you two are hunters. Would have saved me from saving your assess. Fangs are my specialty."

They stood dumbfounded. "You're a hunter?" Sam asked. You nod. "Dean, you got your ass handed to you twice from _____" he laughed.

Dean frowned. "Shut up." He turned to you. "So, you're here for the vamps?"

You pull back the side of your jacket where your blade is safely tucked. "Yep," you grin. "You two?"

Sam and Dean Winchester approach you, and grab two knives, perfect for fangs from the trunk. "Bring it on, sister." Dean grins.