Last chapter. Yes it's over.
I'll probably have a new story in the next few weeks. Joy:-D
Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural.
"Do vampires have DNA?" Sam asked, peering down at his blood-soaked belongings. Dean chuckled as he zipped up his backpack. "What?"
"Only you, Sam."
"Well if anyone looks for Courtney and finds her blood all over our stuff-"
"They wont."
"Or her body – and head – in the woods-"
"They wont. They'll think it's the same serial killer who took Annie and Tom and Nicki. And we couldn't have killed them, as we were in a different state half the time. Sam, the way you're carrying on you'd think you've never killed anything before," Dean said, wheeling out to the Impala with his backpack on his lap.
Sam had found the Impala just behind the motel. While Dean had claimed it would never feel the same after "that bitch" had sat in the driver's seat, Sam considered Dean's prized possession relatively unscathed. He'd even managed to protect the upholstery as he drove Courtney's severed body to the woods. Unfortunately he couldn't say the same for the motel room.
Dean had admitted that he'd got a little carried away with the decapitation. He explained that his injury had made him over-eager for a hunt and violently slashing a vampire at least four more times than was necessary was a way to release all the pent-up energy. That and he was still a little bit drunk.
"So that's why you accidentally incinerated the carpet?" Sam asked with a smirk.
"No, smart-ass. If we leave the motel room covered in blood then people tend to ask questions. And somehow the cut-myself-shaving excuse just didn't fly."
"Come on Dean, you could have come up with a better lie. You're great at that." Sam opened the trunk and Dean threw his backpack on top of a spare sack of rock salt.
"I'm gonna take that as a compliment," Dean said, smiling triumphantly. "Besides, you're not so bad at lying yourself." Dean tossed his head back and adopted an exaggerated puppy-dog expression. "'…And the next thing I know I'd knocked over my sandalwood-scented candle and the carpet was on fire-'"
"I did not say it was scented!"
"Sammy… you charming the owner – who is, by all logic, too old to still be alive – into letting you off the hook for setting fire to her favourite curtains was hilarious." Sam scowled but Dean just laughed, which caused Sam to smile too.
"Dean, you're not going to say it, are you?"
"Say what?"
"That the demon's trying to kill you."
"Well I'm not going to now. Obviously you know," Dean said, avoiding Sam's gaze and keeping his voice light.
"Dean, don't." Dean looked up at Sam whose face was blank aside from the slightly down-turned edges of his mouth.
"Well what do you want me to say? Do you want me to just go out and kill the son of a bitch because I've discovered he wants me dead? I knew that a while ago, Sam."
"No, I just thought maybe you'd be more…"
"Angry? Vengeful? Sam, this incident will be just another reason to smile after I kill the bastard," Dean said, his expression firm.
"Dean, I don't want you getting killed because of me. Maybe it would be better if I-"
"Don't even say it. I'm hunting this thing, Sam. I've always known that I could get killed - it's an occupational hazard. And honestly I couldn't think of anything better to die for," Dean said frankly. Sam nodded distantly.
"Well," Sam said after a long silence. "We'd better get going soon." Dean slid into the front passenger seat with a reasonable amount of difficulty. Sam wrestled with the wheelchair and finally managed to cram it into the backseat as Dean looked on in horror at the new wheel-scuffs on the upholstery. Sam looked at Dean guiltily.
"Sorry…"
To Sam's surprise, Dean just smiled.
"It's fine Sam. It'll come out." Sam stared at him. "Really," Dean continued, after seeing Sam's expression. "Don't get so… stressed - and stop being so damn serious all the time. Have more fun. You need it," Dean said matter-of-factly. Sam chuckled.
"Yeah. I'll be back in a minute. I've just gotta do something," Sam said, climbing out of the backseat and walking behind the car. Dean switched on the cassette player and thoroughly enjoyed the first few bars of 'Hot Blooded'. He spied Sam on his cell phone in the rear-view mirror and turned down the volume.
"Hello?" came Sam's faint voice. "It's Sam. Yeah, Winchester. How are you, Sarah?"
Dean smiled to himself and turned up the music.
It's over. I am breathing a very long sigh of releif.
Thank you for reading. It makes me feel nice. Please express your joy/disgust in a quick reveiw.
I will be forever thankful.