Dean knelt by the stream and scooped up a handful of water, eyes scanning the darkness around him. The night was quiet.
Didn't mean shit, of course. Could be any number of assholes out there, all staying quiet, waiting for him to fuck up so they could make their move.
Thirst slaked, he went on. As he did so, two shadows detached from the trees and ghosted behind him, fangs gleaming in wolfy grins.
Dean's nostrils twitched and his mouth twisted in a predatory smile, hand reaching for the silver blade inside his jacket.
Werewolves. That freaking never got old.