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Dean stuffed his things into his bag, murmuring something about "discourteous bastards that can go jump in a well". It was time to move on from this town, having already destroyed the army of ghosts haunting a damn grocery store. John, being his usual self, decided rest was no longer a priority for the Winchesters and wanted to be ready to go by eight.
Dean walked into the bathroom, which consisted of only a tub, toilet, and sink, and locked the door behind him. He looked at himself in the small mirror, his droopy expression looking right back at him with unseen eyes. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in days, waking up nearly every day at two in the morning for the hunt. Though he could never complain to his father about whipping supernatural butt, because it was fun, but the exhaustion he was feeling was finally taking its toll. He was worn out, no longer having the usual, confident expression on his face. He was too tired to keep up his façade, allowing his body and demeanor to show his true color: tired as hell.
He splashed cold water in his face, rubbing his face of today's muck and grime. Dean thought about taking a nice, hot shower but realized he was running out of time to finish packing. He had to be ready to leave at eight, and it was already 7:42. Reluctantly, he left the small bathroom.
Dean went over to the weapons area. There were only five in the motel room, leaving the rest in the secret compartment of the Impala.
Dean began to clean the guns, wistfully swiping off all the dust that had collected on the guns over the past few days. They hadn't found the time to clean them, their schedule only allowing the room for hunting, eating, and sleeping. It was starting to get old. Fast.
By the time he was capable of using all the guns as his own personal mirror, John had entered their cluttered room, food in hand. He set the food on the small, grimy bed, and shrugged off his jacket, throwing it next to the food.
"You finish the guns?"
Dean gave a curt nod, as to not show too much disrespect for his father. John was a great man, always moving from hunt to hunt, saving as many lives his own would allow and still looking for the thing that killed Mary. For the most part, he understood John's desire for revenge, to avenge his belated mother. The only problem was what happens after they kill the demon that killed her. The only reason they had started hunting in the first place was to even the score. Killing it wouldn't bring her back, or make her any less dead. The deed had been done, the demon accomplishing whatever it wanted to accomplish. It had won; it had destroyed the Winchester's life, eradicating any change of living a "normal" life.
Though it was never said out loud, they constantly lived in fear for the day they found Mary's killer.
After the two Winchesters downed their dinner, they packed everything into the Impala swiftly. John drove out of the parking lot with his foot slammed on the pedal, leaving a puff of smoke in their wake. John had found a possible threat in Englewood, Colorado, reading in the newspaper of unknown deaths going on in the forest. Though Dean didn't see anything suspicious about it, John urged that it had to be something supernatural, leaving no room for questions that didn't pertain to his judgment.
They continued down the road.
For hours they drove, only stopping twice as they made their way to their current destination. They had a four hour drive left, which Dean was definitely not looking forward to.
The actual kicking ass seemed promising though.
They seemed to be the only one on the desolate road, maybe seeing one other car before turning onto another road. Now they were all alone.
Or maybe not.
Both the Winchesters turned their gaze to the side of the road when they saw someone slumped on the floor, laying on his stomach. Without words, John parked the car next to the kid. They got out of the Impala, making their way over to the kid, and carefully flipped him onto his back.
Dean's heart fell into his stomach as he looked at the kid in front of him. He had to be no more than eighteen, his baby face making him look years younger. He had long, brown hair covering his eyes, and Dean gently swiped it out of his face, mutely wondering what the kid's eyes looked like.
His heart seemed to reach his feet by the time he looked over the kid completely. He had scratches all over his body, with large welts covering his body. He had a black eye. Many of his injuries looked fairly new, making them more discernible than the older, more faded wounds.
Dean's brows scrunched further. What had happened to this kid? Anger began to bleed into his veins, just adding fuel to the fire as he looked him over. It was more than obvious whoever inflicted these wounds was out to get him. His left hand was marred a black color, having possibly been burned several times, then thrown in a furnace. His right ankle seemed to contain no more flesh, as if rubbed raw on chains for years of pain and torture until it finally rotted away.
He wondered if his theories were correct as he looked over to his father, whom looked like he was thinking the same damn thing. John granted Dean a brief nod, permitting Dean to put the kid in his care. He slowly picked the kid up, and nearly staggered from his weight. Not because he was heavy, but yet, because he was light. Way too fucking light.
With one of Dean's hands on the small of Sam's back and the other under his knees, he hauled him toward the Impala. He could feel the kid's bones jutting out of his skin. Dean cringed inwardly, wondering how long since he had had a decent meal.
Dean laid him down gently in the backseat, then silently closed the door. He made his way to the passenger seat as John went to the driver's.
"What do you think happened to him?" Dean asked, shutting his door.
John shrugged. "I really don't know. Maybe the kid was kidnapped or something. We should find his parents, just in case." John seemed to struggle with some internal thought. "We should finish the hunt, then take him home, once he tells us where he lives, of course."
Dean agreed with little reluctance. Though for some unfathomable reason he wanted to stay and protect the kid, he knew the safest place for him would be home. Winchesters hunted monsters and, in the kid's condition, was in no state to tag along with them. Dean smiled, imagining the look on the kid's face when he saw the protective demeanor of his parents again. He wondered how long the kid had been away from his family, but urged his mind away.
From the looks of his injuries, I'd say at least a year.
Dean rubbed his face with his hands, exhaustion overwhelming him. John seemed to notice, then told him to take a nap. Dean offered little, if any, resistance, as he rested his head on the window sill, falling asleep at once.
John looked over at his son, a smile creeping on his face. He had been working the boy hard lately, and Dean didn't disappoint. He had killed over twenty ghosts in a week, and he was only twenty. John flicked his eyes to the kid in the backseat, resting his head on the cushion of the seat. John had no idea what he was going to do with the kid once they got to a motel. I guess he'll share a bed with Dean.
HOPE U LIKED IT! I don't really know if you guys like this so it would be great if you all review. If no does, I'll just stop working on this one and go for something else
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