A/N: This story is rated M, just because of some foul language. College students and the Winchesters have some dirty mouths.

Disclaimer: The Winchesters do not belong to me, nor am I intending to make any money off of them in anyway.

The Legend of the Silver Spork

Mark Arden wet his pants when the werewolf tackled him. At first he thought it was a dog, or a hooker in a fur coat. Either way, he couldn't really tell the difference. Flat on his back looking up at the thing, werewolf was the only thing that popped into his head.

No friggin' way is there an honest to God werewolf sitting on my chest, he thought.

He looked closer, the eyes, the eyes were human. It leaned down, close to his face, he could hear it's deep intake of breath. The damn thing was sniffing him. Mark felt like crying.

When the cops finally found his mutilated body there was no way in hell they were going to pin it on a damn werewolf. They didn't exist. For a moment he was infuriated by the injustice of it all; mythological creature skates on murder because it supposedly wasn't real.

Trying to remember what to do, he asked himself, What was it that killed them? Silver bullets? Yeah, because everyone carried those around. Hell, I've never even fired a gun. His heart quickened, and he briefly wondered if the werewolf could hear it thudding in his chest, but he realized he did have something on him that was silver. His hand grasped the keychain in his pocket.

His friends in college thought it was funny how he'd been brought up by rich folk. At first Mark tried to downplay it, he hated the social gap rich parents caused. But they continually brought up the subject, volunteering him to pay for the pizzas when they were delivered to the dorm, and joking that he was fed with a silver spoon.

Overall Mark hadn't minded, some of the jokes were actually pretty funny. The silver spoon comments were usually followed by him saying he only ate with the plastic sporks in the cafeteria anymore. So on his birthday he'd been pleasantly surprised when his friends presented him with a silver spork. It made a great keychain.

He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it. There he was, a werewolf on his chest, smelling him like he was the new port at a wine tasting, and he was about to kill the fucker with a silver spork.

Getting a good grip on the key chain he moved fast. Pulling it from his pocket he stabbed the spork as hard as he could into the chest of the creature. The handle of the spork bit into his palm, but he kept pushing. It thrashed about, it's claws raking over his face, blood everywhere, before it eventually slumped to the side and fell off of Mark's chest.

Laying on the damp street Mark attempted to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. He probably looked like shit, covered in blood and the filth of the street, his pants soaked with piss.

His face stung. The feeling of warm liquid trickling down his forehead indicated it was blood covered, and he was likely to have some scars leftover from the injuries. What would he say to his roommate when he staggeredd into the dorms tonight? Got mauled by a werewolf, sorry if I get blood every where. Rick was going to shit.

Mark rolled his head to the left, his heart skipping a beat as his eyes met the blank stare of the werewolf. The animal ferocity of them slowly melted away and recognition made his stomach form a cold hard knot. It was like a plot twist out of some dime store mystery novel. The face staring back at him was Rick. His roommate was the werewolf? How the hell did that happen? When did it happen?

They'd been roommates for the last three semesters. Granted, Rick had always been strange, but not were-fucking-wolf strange.

When he had enough of staring into the blank dead eyes of his friend, Mark sat up, groaning as his chest protested the movement. The spork's handle stuck straight out of Rick's ribs. As he pulled it out Mark gritted his teeth, feeling the utensil grating against cartilage and bone. It was still in pristine condition; blood-covered, but pristine all the same.

He examined the weapon, admiring the fact that nothing seemed to bend this sucker. A silver-plated titanium spork, crasftsmanship worthy of a NASA mission.

It took a couple of minutes before he could stand up, hands still shaking with adrenaline. The reality of it all flooded in like a tsunami. What the hell just happened? He had just killed his roommate, a friggin' werewolf, and he did it with an eating utensil. Holy shit!


His palm itched. It was a constant reminder of what happened the week before, when the spork managed to embed its handle into the meaty part of his hand. The police had been called, with the injuries to his face and chest it was easy enough to convince the cops that Rick attacked him and he acted in self defense. They chalked it up to Rick being on drugs. Like only drugs could explain why he'd attack someone like that.

Mark idly doodled in the margin of his notebook. As Professor Wilton was droning on about tribal dynamics in Afghanistan and Iraq, he felt himself start to drift. Normally, he loved this kind of stuff. Anything to be like the old man, right? One step closer to the NSA's job pool after getting his degree. But for the past week, he couldn't seem to forget the torrent of adrenaline that pumped through his veins as he drove the spork into Rick's chest.

It had been a fantastic feeling; no fear, no pain, just this drive and the excitement of living. He wondered if it made him a sick freak, to enjoy the act of killing something; someone.

The million dollar question, however, was if Rick really had been a werewolf, when did he become one, and who did it to him? Didn't you have to be bitten to become a werewolf? Mark was pretty sure you just didn't wake up one morning and become part dog. In fact there had been plenty of full moons where Rick slept straight through the night. So it probably happened in the last month.

He suddenly felt sad with his roommate gone, They had been friends. Not the greatest of friends, but close enough to genuinely mourn his death. But he was also mourning the loss of that adrenaline rush.

Mark wondered if revenge might bring the rush back. After all, it was kind of like he'd left the job halfway done. There was another freak still out there, and they were probably killing people just like Rick tried to do to him.

His cell phone rang as he was leaving class. "Hello?"

"Mark Arden?"

"That's me," he said.

"I'm with the Sheriff's department, and was wondering if my partner and I could meet with you today to talk about your roommate?"

Mark was instantly suspicious about the call. He thought he'd already dealt with all the police. "Why's the sheriff's department interested in this? I mean, wasn't Rick's death a metro police thing?"

There was a pause on the other end and what sounded like muffled talking. "Well, uh, we can't divulge that information at this moment."

"Ok, whatever. So, when do you want to meet me?"

Dean pulled at the collar of his deputy's uniform, the neck was too tight. He sighed in frustration and turned back to Mark Arden. They'd been investigating potential werewolves in Denver for two weeks.

There had been a full moon last week, and the only strange report was the death of a University of Denver student. He was reportedly hopped up on drugs and attacked his roommate. They'd known better the moment they saw a photo of the scratches left on the face of the victim.

When he found out Mark had killed his own roommate with a silver plated spork he thought about buying the kid a beer. It's hard enough to kill a werewolf with a knife or a gun, but he killed the sucker with fucking silverwear.

"Had Rick ever behaved strangely before the incident?" Dean almost laughed at the tone of voice Sam was using; like it was Mark's best friend that died or something. Looking at Mark, he didn't appear all that bothered by having to kill his roommate,. Maybe he'd been thinking about doing it already.

Mark shook his head, "Not really. I don't think this was brought on by drugs though. He never really used them, I mean, yeah we'd- I mean he'd toke a little pot now and then, but even that shit he used pretty sparingly."

"Hey, can I see your spork?" Dean immediatly got a reproachful look from Sam. But Dean knew it wasn't like he didn't want to see it, too.

"Yeah sure," Mark dug around in his pocket and pulled out the spork on a key chain. He warily watched Dean handle the utensil. "So I called the Sheriff's department before you all came over here."

Shit, they'd been made. Dean's grip faltered and he nearly dropped the spork. "Really? And what did they have to say?"

"That there's no ongoing investigation. In fact they wanted to send someone over to meet you guys, but I gave them the wrong time for the meeting."

"Why'd you lie to them?" Dean asked as he handed the spork back. An uncomfortable feeling crept over him when he saw the way Mark was looking at them. Almost like he was going to explode from excitment.

"You're here about the werewolf business, right?" The kid looked back and forth between the two.

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam. First rule about Hunting, no talking about Hunting.

He almost wanted to tell him. After all the kid killed a werewolf with a spork. Deciding to go with the feeling, Dean started talking. "Yeah, we're here about the werewolf." He could feel Sam's glare burning a hole through his skin, but he didn't care "There's usually more than one."

Mark looked like someone had lifted one heavy ass weight from his shoulders. The odd look Sam gave him made Mark shrug and answer, "I'm just glad to know I'm not going crazy."

The next thing he knew, Mark was launching into a hurried summary of the situation. "Ok, this is what I know. I think Rick was bit sometime in the last three weeks. He was fine a month ago, so maybe it's got something to do with his new girlfriend, Laurie Parks. I haven't seen her all week even though I expected her to be by. After all I did kill her boyfriend. She's the only thing different in Rick's life over the last few weeks."

Sam appeared to recover quickly from the shock of Dean spilling the beans. "Do you have her address?"

"Yeah, let me get it for you." Dean watched as Mark logged onto his computer and went into the student directory. The kid looked pretty excited. "Um, I'm assuming that you're going to go after Laurie if she's what turned Rick right?" Not waiting for an anwer, he asked, "Can I, uh, can I come with you?"

Dean laughed. The kid may be a bad ass with a spork, but there was no way in hell they were letting a civilian tag along for a hunt. "Sorry, but no way." Mark looked like someone had just killed his puppy.

Awkwardly clearing his throat, Dean threw the kid a bone, "But I'd love to buy you a beer sometime. Killing a werewolf with a spork; that's friggin' awesome."

Mark handed them a post-it with Laurie's address on it. "I'd like to take you up on that sometime. Say, before you guys leave, what are you're real names? I mean, even I know Fogerty and Clifford are members of CCR."

Sam smirked at Dean. Sooner or later they would need to change their psudonym selection criteria. "I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean."

"Well Sam and Dean, it was great meeting you guys. Good luck with Laurie."

Mark zipped up his jacket as he walked towards the parking lot. He was still bummed out that Sam and Dean refused to take him with them. Seeing some real professionals at work would have been awesome. Maybe he just seemed too eager to help. He fiddled with his keys as he neared his jeep, hearing a voice behind him he dropped them in surprise.

"Mark, can I talk to you please?" It was Laurie. Mark eyed her suspiciously. Her long blond hair and bright green eyes didn't make her look anything close to a werewolf. And it wasn't like she was especially hairy either, no moustache or anything.

"Hey Laurie, how're you doing?"

She stopped only a couple feet from him, and he realized she looked as if she'd been crying non-stop for the past week. "How could you kill him?"

"Laurie, he was trying to kill me. It was self defense." He suddenly wanted to be holding his spork, but when the keys fell he accidentally kicked them under the car, and out of reach.

Shaking her head Laurie scowled at Mark, "No way. Rick idolized you. He wanted to share it with you." She took a step closer, invading his personal space.

Right then Mark knew he was right; Laurie was the werewolf. He looked up at the darkening sky, there was still quite a bit of moon left, and he wondered if she was still able to transform. "He was trying to turn me into a werewolf?"

"Shhh... calm down." She inched closer.

Shit, were her teeth getting longer?

"It's not that bad. I've been one for years. When Rick and I were fooling around, I accidentally gave him a little nip, but I'm glad it happened." Her teeth were getting longer, and there was a serious five o'clock shadow showing on her face, too. Damn it, she was transforming.

Mark took a step back, "It's not right, what you are."

"And you killed my boyfriend, talk about not right." She snarled, her face becoming more wolf-like by the moment. And then she lunged for him, her hands out, inches from his neck.

The adrenaline was back, Mark dropped to his knees and groped under his jeep for his spork. Damn, where'd it go? There was a sudden noise from nearby, like a loud crack, and she was laying face down on the asphalt, a pool of blood forming around her.

"Hey Marky-Mark? You ok?" Dean materialized next to him and hauled him up to his feet. He was holding a handgun.

"You shot her?" Mark took a shaky breath and watched as Sam rolled Laurie over onto her back. A shadow seemed to pass over the young hunter's face as he gently closed her open eyes.

Dean slapped Mark on the back drawing attention away from his morose brother. "Looks like we got here just in time. What was she saying to you?"

"Something about being a werewolf for years. And- and I guess Rick wasn't trying to kill me when he jumped me. She said he wanted to share it with me?"

"Well, it's a good thing you weren't bitten. Wouldn't want to have to kill you." Dean smiled a little too cheerfully at Mark.

Sam helped his brother move the body so it'd be some time before it would be discovered. Just enough time to let them get out of town. When Dean offered to buy Mark a beer Sam's jaw dropped, "Dean, we really should get going."

"Aw, come on, let me get the guy a beer."

Dean could make adult decisions. Sam threw up his arms in defeat. "Whatever." If he came along he could keep an eye on his brother.

A clean floor and counter tended by a man without a single visible tattoo or piercing marked the bar as more upscale than the ones they usually drank at. Sam ordered his own beer and listened as Dean chatted idly with Mark.

"So you seem kinda fascinated with the whole werewolf thing."

"You know," Mark took a sip of his beer, "while Rick pinned me to the ground I thought about when the cops would find my body. All mutilated and stuff. I was pretty upset a werewolf could get away with murder just because they supposedly don't exist. I like the fact you're delivering justice."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean's ego was the last thing that needed stroking. His brother elbowed him in the side, "You hear what he said Sammy? We're delivering justice."

"Yeah, I heard it Dean. Good for you."

"Kill joy," Dean muttered into his beer, eliciting a smile from Mark.

"So when did you guys get into all this?"

The question was harmless enough, but Sam knew better. He eyed Dean, who suddenly looked more sedate. Since the death of their father Dean's downward spiral became more and more aparent to Sam. Although Dean had flourished in the lifestyle he never had a chance at a normalcy, and Sam, who had a taste of it during his time at Stanford, could only imagine how his brother felt.

"It's kinda the family business. We've been doing this for a while now." Dean cleared his throat, and changed the topic, "So dude, what's up with the spork?"

Sam admitted he was impressed with Mark's achievement and was curious to know why he had a silver spork in the first place. Mark explained being fed with a 'silver spoon' growing up, and how his friends gave him the gilded eating utensil as a joke.

The conversation moved on to werewolves once more. A sore topic for him, Sam tuned them out. Werewolves made him think of Madison. It brought about the bad versus good, again. Where was the line? Just because they were werewolves didn't mean they were deliberately killing people. It was more of an instinctual thing. Vampires could apparently break through that instinct, why not werewolves? Sam shook his head, if there was any possiblility they would have seen evidence of it by now. Did Laurie voluntarily become a werewolf? Was she as much a victim as Madison had been?

"So how does one get into hunting werewolves? I admit, I got quite a thrill from it." Mark eyed the brothers as he drained the last of his beer.

"Hunting is a last resort. Most do it because they know no one else is going to hunt the monsters in the dark. Those who do it for the thrill," Sam's lips pressed into a grim smile, "they usually end up in jail, or worse."

"Yeah man, you don't want this life. You've got a perfectly good one right now. Don't abandon a cushy college fund and good friends for a life you know nothing about." Dean slapped Mark on the back, "I am gonna tell the story of that silver spork again though. It's just too friggin' cool not to."

Sam watched the expression on the kid's face. He doubted that Mark would leave the topic alone. He was probably going to end up dead, or worse; bitten. The two said their good-byes before leaving a thoughtful looking Mark at the bar.

Wikipedia wasn't very helpful when it came for looking for tips on hunting werewolves. Mark guessed he wouldn't find very much on the internet. He bet Hunters weren't the most technologically savvy group.

Sam looked like he knew his way around a computer, Dean on the other hand probably only knew the basics of a Google search and how to download porn. Mark couldn't imagine a tough guy like Dean being a geek.

After days of searching he'd manage to come up with a few blogs, but they were all tight lipped about hunting. Every e-mail he sent either went unanswered or suggested he seek professional help.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. Four months ago he met the Winchester brothers. What was so interesting about the lives they led? He desperately wanted to be part of it, to the point he neglected everything else. Failing all his classes and isolating himself from his friends, his parents now called him daily, asking if he needed to move back home.

Not wanting to waste all of his time, he bought a gun and for thee months had been attending classes. It was doubtful he could hit a moving target, but at least he could aim and shoot. More than he could do before.

Turning to the internet he hoped to find a resource for silver bullets. The responses were the same when e-mailing the bloggers. A ray of hope appeared in the form of an Ebay vendor who replied with a price and promised the bullets would arrive in a few weeks. So there was no way to trace back to him if Mark should do something illegal he was instructed to pay only in cash and delete any e-mails.

Crossing the law seemed common among this group, it hadn't taken long for him to find out Dean and Sam Winchester were both wanted by the FBI. Somehow he doubted the pair were the murderers the feds painted them to be. Dangerous certainly, but not killers.

Mark glanced up at his clock, it was nearing one in the morning. He'd decided with a full moon this month he'd actively look for something to hunt. After he put on his jacket he grabbed his gun and slipped it into the back of his pants waistband. A shiver of excitement moved up his spine as he locked up his dorm room and headed for the parking lot.

A small Arvada neighborhood reported several wild dog attacks in the past few months. Doing his research Mark figured out they were only happening during a full moon. He smiled as he parked his car. If all went as planned tonight he'd bag himself an honest to God werewolf.

A moment of doubt crossed his mind as he climbed out of his Jeep and glanced around the darkened street. What if something happened to him? He realized there was a good reason the Winchester brothers worked as a team. Mark laughed out loud wondering how many responses he'd get to an ad on Craig's List for a werewolf hunting partner.

The loud clatter of garbage cans being knocked over drew his attention. Mark pulled out his gun and switched the safety off. He cautiously made his way toward the sound, halfway down the block. A cat darted out of an empty can laying on its side. Sighing, Mark thumbed the safety back on his gun. It was probably a pack of genuine wild dogs terrorizing the neighborhood.

He rubbed the back of his neck. What was he thinking coming out here all on his own? He wasn't a hunter. Hell, he wasn't much of anything these days.

Mark turned back to his car not wanting to waste any more time. When he reached it, he was frozen in fear. Something had sliced through the thick rubber of the tires, rendering the vehicle useless.

"Shit," he muttered to himself. Another noise made him spin around, looking frantically for what could have caused it. Gun forgotten he wondered if he would be safe if he locked himself in his Jeep. A powerful force hit him from the side, his body hit the hard pavement between his car and the sidewalk.

It was another werewolf. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Mark drew his gun and aimed it at his attacker only to have a powerful hand knock it to the ground. He got a good look at it and felt himself turn cold. More or less human the creature bared it's fangs at him and growled before lunging again. Mark kicked out with both feet, connected with the werewolf's chest and successfully sent it flying backwards. He dove toward his gun on the sidewalk, his hand wrapping around the comforting shape. Standing up he waved the gun wildly in front of him, but the werewolf was gone.

Breathing hard from the excitement he looked around for the creature. What had he gotten himself into? There was a werewolf on the loose and he didn't know if he could stop it by himself. He needed help.

Mark saved the number Dean had called from when he impersonated a deputy from the Sheriff's office. It was bound to come in handy sooner or later. Mark picked up the phone and hesitated before dialing. It was 9am, hopefully they were awake. The phone went directly to voicemail, Mark sighed in frustration but left a message.

"Uh, hey, this is Mark Arden. Remember me? A few months ago I killed a werewolf with a silver spork? Heh. Anyway, I found another werewolf here in town and I need your help. Give me a call back."

The next night, near midnight Mark was drifting to sleep in front of the TV when he was jolted awake by a loud pounding on his door. Pulling the door open he noted with surprise how much more worn the Winchester brothers looked after only a few months since their last meeting. Without an invitation Dean stepped into the cramped dorm room, immediatly followed by Sam.

"So I guess you didn't take our advice and decided to try your hand at Hunting?" Dean pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Sam shook his head, "I bet you realized you couldn't handle it?"

"You know, I didn't have to call you guys," Mark was feeling a little pissed off. "I just figured this was a problem and it needed to be taken care of. If I didn't find out about this who knows how much damage it would've caused before a hunter came along."

Dean shrugged, "Whatever. Just promise you'll give it up after tonight."

"Yeah sure. After all they say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and Hell's one place I don't want to be." Mark was surprised when Dean flinched visibly at his statement. Sam's clenched jaw and balled fists indicated something was not right with the brothers. Since seeing them last something major happened to these two and it had changed them.

"Let's just kill this bitch already," said Dean.

Mark followed the brothers to their car and gave them directions to the Arvada neighborhood where he had encountered the werewolf. On the ride there he briefed them on what he knew.

"Over the past few years there've been a couple cases of mauling deaths in the area. Attributing them to a pack of wild dogs the cops sent the case to animal control to get rid of them. I looked up the dates and they all correspond within a few days of the full moon. There's also reports of family pets going missing about the same time too."

Sam twisted around so he could look at Mark in the backseat. "Not bad research. Find anything else out?"

He knew he shouldn't bring it up, but he still wanted to impress the brothers and show them he had been serious about becoming a hunter. "Yeah, not about werewolves though. I looked both of you guys up, figuring the more I knew about you, the better hunter I could become."

"Yeah? And did our FBI files give you any tips to improve your slicing and dicing skills?" Dean took the corner a little sharper than was necessary, making Mark slide around in the back.

"Not really, but I did manage to get access to another government database, although if my Dad finds out I stole his logon information I'm dead."

"So what'd you find?"

"Were you guys aware the NSA has files on both of you, and your Dad?"

Sam and Dean both looked at each other in disbelief. "Why would the NSA keep records on us?" Sam asked.

Mark shrugged, "Beats me, all I know is that you guys were in there. The actual files were sealed though, so I don't know what kind of stuff they had on you. I wouldn't worry about it, they've probably got a file on nearly everyone. Just thought you'd like to know."

Dean parked the car, "Well, it's not like there aren't enough agencies and supernatural crap after our asses, what's once more?" He looked out at the quiet suburban street, "This is where you last saw it?"

"Yeah, I was looking around the street and when I got back to my car it slit my tires and attacked me."

"Then Sam'll stay with the car. There's no way in Hell I'm letting that bitch touch my baby. Mark, you're with me." Dean and Sam got out of the Impala and headed towards the trunk. As Dean propped open the weapons compartment with a rifle he continued, "When we're out there, I don't want you trying to kill this thing. Let me do the work."

"Ok. I get it. I'm not as good with a gun, or in a fight, but I really can help," Mark watched as the pair went through the arsenal in the trunk.

Sam smiled as he loaded a magazine with silver bullets, "You're gonna be backup for my brother. That's an important job."

Dean nodded, "Damn right it is." He slammed the trunk shut and grinned at Mark. "Looks like you're going to get a crash course in Hunting 101 from the best in the business."

"The best in the business, Dean?" Sam raised an eyebrow as he loaded the magazine in his gun.

"Women scream my name and men want to be me," Dean tucked his firearm into his waistband. "Let's do this. You ready Marky-Mark?"

Mark nodded.

He pointed towards a darkened house, "Let's start back there and work our way up the street. Maybe Fido will surprise us." Before they could take a step a dark figured darted out into the center of the road several blocks down the street. It paused for a moment before disapearing once more behind a house. "Damn, that's a big mother. Change of plans... since we don't need to play Marco Polo with dog-boy, Mark guards the car. Sam, let's kill us a werewolf."

Mark watched the pair disappear into the shadows behind one of the houses. He glanced at his watch wondering how long this was going to take. It's not like he had any better place to be though.

Leaning up against the trunk of the Impala he pulled out his gun and held it loosely in his right hand and looked around the darkened street. With any luck the Winchesters would kill the thing and he wouldn't have to get anywhere near it. Mark wasn't scared of it per say, he just felt the hardened hunters would probably do the job best.

A noise from the opposite direction from where the Winchesters went startled him, and he jumped up. A shadowy figure moved behind a minivan parked against the curb. Mark licked his lips nervously and flipped the safety off on his gun. Moving slowly he angled himself away from the Impala, hoping to get a better view of the shadowy form. Mark crept closer to get a better shot at him. The creature turned and their eyes locked for a moment, it was definitely the werewolf. It must have double back once it drew the Winchesters away. He raised his gun and aimed at the same moment the werewolf rushed towards him. The force of the werewolf throwing itself against him set the gun off and the two tumbled to the ground.

Not sure if he had managed to hit the creature with his shot, Mark tried to aim the gun at him again, only to have it ripped out of his hands.

Struggling to get free he tried to push the heavy body off of him. Claws and teeth ripped into his arms and he cried out in pain. Desperation took over his actions and he flailed wildly, trying to fend off his attacker.

Without warning a shot rang out and the werewolf's head snapped forwards, looking surprised by the blood blossoming on it's chest. It slid sideways to the pavement, half of its body still on Mark. With a pained groan Mark pushed the dead weight off him and lay on the pavement looking up at the sky. Dean and Sam's faces appeared over him.

"Hey man, you ok?" Dean knelt next to him.

Sam looked worried, "Dean, look at his arms, they're torn to shreds."

Mark winced as Sam gently lifted his arm to look at it. He knew what was coming next. He had felt the werewolf's teeth sink into him.

"Did he bite you?" Dean asked gruffly, he frowned as he examined the injuries on Mark's arms.

Closing his eyes Mark replied, "Yeah, he did."

"Shit. Mark, you know what this means."

Mark opened his eyes and sat up with the help of the brothers. "Yeah. I know what this means." He looked around, "Where's my gun?"

"You don't have to do this yourself. We could-" Sam was cut off by Mark.

"No. I got myself into this fucking mess by wanting to be a hunter. I stick by my choices So, I'm going to be a hunter." He smiled as Dean picked up his gun and handed it to Mark.

"Hey, I want you to have this," he dug around in his back pocket hissing as his injured skin pulled painfully. Fishing out his key chain with the silver spork, he held it out toward Dean.

Dean grinned as he took the spork, "This is probably the most awesome present I've received from someone." The grin faltered, "I uh- I won't forget you man."

"Thanks," Mark looked down at his gun. "Uh, do you guys mind. I don't really want you to see me sob like a baby before I do this."

"Uh sure," Sam stood up and waited for Dean to do so too. His brother gave Mark a sad smile before punching him lightly on the shoulder and following Sam towards the Impala.

Mark waited until they reached the classic car before pressing the muzzle of the gun to his chest. Damn, this was going to hurt like a bitch. He took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.