cut- 𝐃.𝐖

the thread

29 years ago, Blanding Utah

The motel room door slammed as you hobbled out. Your mother was in another mood, which only caused her to go deep into her alcohol. The stench of blood reeked alng your shirt as you held your arm close to you. A gash was streched across your left upper arm, you had used one of your spare flannels to keep the blood in. As you walked torwards the parking lot, you pulled out the car key from your jean pocket. Before your mother hit you, you had successfully taken the keys to the only way of travel you had.

As you reached the car, you studied her features once you reached her. The 1965 Chevy Chevelle wasn't just an ordinary car, it was your sugar and spice. When your mom passed out or drinking, you came to this beauty and worked on the engine or cleaned the exterior. You took the key you had in your non-blood covered hand and opened the trunk. The first thing you saw was the large devils trap painted under the hood in white paint. Your father's last gift given to this beauty.

You went for the dark box in the right corner of the trunk, opening it to see the medical supplies you needed to sew your arm. You opened a car door and dumped the box into the backseat. BandAids, thread, holy water, needles, Motrin, Dead Man's Blood, and other things landed safely into the leather seats. You grabbed a flask full of vodka that was in the backseat and opened the lid. The flannel that wrapped your gash was now almost completely drenched in blood as you peeled it away from your injury.

You put your arm on the outside of the car and slowly poured the vodka onto the gash. You bit your bottom lip and tried to keep the pain in as the blood and vodka poured onto the cement. Once it looked somewhat clean, you patted it lightly with a spare t-shirt that was in the back of the car and then decided to sew. Your aunt had taught you how to sew before you and your mother began the wild goose chase. As you placed the thread through the needle, you began to stitch your cut back together. As the needle pierced through your skin, you held back your screams as you lightly went in and out of your skin.

After about 15 minutes of pulling the needle, you finished tying it all together. The gash was now tightly closed together and you then placed a bandage across the gash. You cleaned everything up and put all of the medical supplies back into the box, eventually putting it back in the trunk. You closed the hood of the trunk and went to go to the shotgun seat. As you hopped in the car, you smiled as you dug into the front compartment. A little shoebox sat right in the middle, the faded designs on the box made you smile.

You grabbed the box and soon opened it. Filled with pictures and letters, your day felt a little better when you spotted a small square picture. Your mother and father together with another couple. You knew the Harvelles were very nice folks. Mrs. Harvelle babysat you when your mother and father went out on hunts, and her baby was born only a few years back.

Your parents and the Harvelles would always be at a roadhouse, you couldn't remember where exactly though. Being twelve years old couldn't get you anywhere. You then pulled out an old ring, a wedding band. It was your father's before he passed. Your mother couldn't bear keeping it with her, so you took it and put it in the box. Even so, you and your mother's chase was because of his death.

You knew they were hunters, and that everything that goes bump in the night was real. You mostly helped your mom in making bullets and doing research. Even though most nights she either came home injured or drunk, you would try to help her back to her normal state.

The only thing keeping you with her was the fact you were only 12 years old and you had nowhere else to go. When your father died, your mother cut everyone off and decided to hunt the bastard that took his life in the first place. After doing research, you believed that the monster who took your dad was a Ghoul of some sort. Which showed that your dad got ganked on the job and you knew your mom couldn't save him. You couldn't be sure though, it depended on the research you had.

But then it happened, the thing that could change your life forever. Your thread had appeared on your pinky finger. At the time, you had rarely believed in this string. The red thread had magically appeared, and seemed to be very long as it stretched across the parking lot and through the streets of Blanding. The red thread story was what Mrs. Harvelle told you before bedtime. It was a magical string that connected you with your soulmate, and no matter how hard it tangled or knotted, it would also lead you to the right person.

Your smile grew wider as you jumped with excitement, realizing that the stories were true and you would find your soulmate. But, you wondered who would be on the other side. Maybe a prince? Or a cowboy? As you tried to imagine a perfect soulmate, you heard your mother call your name. You groaned in displeasement as you put your little shoebox back into the compartment and ran back into the motel room.

------

The 1967 Chevrolet Impala roared her engine as she drove on the backroads of Massachusetts. John Winchester and his two boys were on a hunt for vampires, mostly just John decapitating the monsters and his kids sitting back in the motel. The summer sun blared through the windows of the car as a sleeping 3 year old Sam sat in the back and 12 year old Dean sat shotgun. Dean looked out the window and admired the trees that the Impala was passing by.

The boy huffed and puffed in boredom, and declared to himself that there was nothing to do in the car as they awaited their destination. The boy began to slowly open the window, only for his father to reach over and close it back up again. Before Dean could say anything, it happened.

His thread had appeared on his left pinky finger. The red thread. He remembered how his mom used to tell him these stories before she died that night. In fact, that was the last story she ever told him. Dean jumped with glee and smiled brightly, keeping to himself on what hottie would await him on the other side of the string.

As the Impala's engine roared and the red thread appeared. Both futures of you and Dean are now conjoined as the string attached to both your pinkies would eventually meet their ends. But, who's to say? You both are twelve years old and don't even know what love truly is.

word count - 1209