Chapter I: What The Hell Was That?
It was just a normal hunt for the Winchesters. Strange deaths, followed by sightings of black cats near random patches of dead plants. It was obvious to the brothers that they were dealing with a pretty powerful witch. The only problem was the fact that, every time, the seemingly intelligent men assumed that witches only work alone. But, of course, they were wrong.
They dealt with the first witch fairly quickly, with minimal injuries.
"Dammit," Dean said as he picked himself up off the floor after being thrown into a china cabinet by the female witch.
"The bitch mojoed my gun! Sa–" He was cut off by chanting.
"Another one?" the brothers breathlessly sighed in unison.
What they didn't know was that the first witch was merely an apprentice. Not very powerful. This one was the one they should be worrying about. An abnormally dressed man emerged from the shadows, chanting, hands up, palms pointed at Dean. The brothers grabbed their weapons just as the chanting ceased. Sam noticed that the witch's attention was solely focused on his older brother. He slowly crept around the man while he was distracted, probably because Dean had pissed him off when he killed the other witch and called her a bitch. Dean's mouth is always getting him into some kinda shit, Sam thought when he readied himself to attack from behind.
As Dean saw his younger brother backing away, he thought, Dammit, Sam. Now you're getting scared? He was about to yell at him when he noticed the taller man pull out a strange looking knife from his jacket that Dean recognized as fatal to witches. Dean drew his attention back to the witch so as not to alert him, just in time to see the strange man make a throwing motion at him. He dove just in time, then, not hearing anything hit the wall behind where he was, got up and scoffed at the man. He made another throwing motion, that, if he had been holding anything in his hand, would've hit Dean square in the chest.
"What the hell was that?" Dean shouted at the man, looking down at his chest, which seemed to be fine.
"You shall see, you insolent li–" he suddenly stopped, gaping at the blade protruding from his chest. "How–" he asked, falling to his knees.
He looked up at the elder Winchester, with a final breath, as he spoke. "We Winchesters always have something up our sleeves," Dean smirked as the witch crumbled into dust. "Nice work, Sammy."
"For the last time, Dean, it's Sam."
"Calm down, Samantha," Dean grinned, earning him bitchface #7 from his taller brother.
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
Dean smiled at the little, brotherly exchange, causing Sam to grin, too. Brothers.
As soon as they got back to the motel they were staying in, Sam collapsed on his bed, completely drained, not even bothering to take off his shoes. Why can't there be a vacation for hunters? We need our sleep, dammit! Dean thought as he quickly followed suit, feeling slightly off. I suddenly have this strong urge to lick myself. He dismissed it as some odd form of exhaustion, because after what happened today he had the right to be exhausted. I'm delirious because I'm extremely tired, he concluded before falling asleep. He and his brother will soon find out that witches are indeed bitches.
A/N: This is only my second story, neither finished, so please be gentle, C:
Reviews are greatly appreciated(:
Next chapter(coming soon): "Son Of A– MEW?"
