Despite how tired he was, John didn't really sleep much that night, his mind kept running over the last two days over and over in his head.
He tried to figure out Sam, figure out what kind of a person he was. He thought he knew the kid when he had been pretending to be Sam Wesson but all of that turned out to be an act.
Excluding the intelligence, even when he hid who he was he couldn't hide the fact that he was smart as a whip and could draw people in. He had the whole thing working for him, the good-natured kid that people just wanted to protect. And even now, that the mask was gone, John felt himself being drawn to him.
But that might have also been because of who Sam was to him.
John turned onto his back, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly as he tried to go to sleep, hand coming up to rub at his face.
His mind went to Mary and he tried to figure out what he would tell her or what they would talk about once Sam and Dean kept up their part of the deal. He had so much to tell her and yet nothing at all. Just the thought of seeing her was enough to choke him, let alone being able to actually speak.
He's spent all these years wishing that he could go back and undo what he did, every last bit of it. He had been stupid and brainless, he didn't think. He didn't act like a husband, he acted like a hunter.
He just wished that he had listened to her, had given her those few seconds to explain. But the problem was, even if he did, would that have changed anything? Would he have believed her? Would he have done anything different?
He had no idea and he wasn't sure he wanted to think about that.
So, he turned onto his side, took a deep breath, and tried to go to sleep.
When dawn broke John woke up, not at all rested and wishing that he could go to sleep for another few hours. Instead, he got out of bed and went to take a shower to wake up.
He went to the closest diner for a quick breakfast that was mostly coffee and got onto the road towards Manning, Colorado, mind wandering as he tried to figure out the best way to speak to Daniel Elkins about giving the Colt over to him.
Slowly John drove up to Elkins' cabin, feeling the hair on the back of his neck start to rise. It was in the air, a faint scent of blood lingering. John parked his truck outside of the cabin and reached back to grab his gun, moving slowly out of his truck and looking around.
The door to the cabin was broken down, in pieces on the ground, and slowly John went inside, looking around for a hint of what had happened. Walking further inside he eyed the blood that was splattered around the cabin; on the walls, the floor, the ceiling.
He entered the bedroom and stopped, sighing as he stared down at the destroyed remains of what used to be Daniel Elkins.
"God dammit." he muttered, eyeing the deep wounds in Elkins' chest and neck. "God fucking dammit."
"You can say that again."
He didn't start at the sudden voice, that had to be some sort of progress that he wasn't sure he was proud of or not. Instead he turned around to look.
Sam was leaning in the doorway, looking around the carnage with a look of appreciation and slight displeasure. "No finesse." he told John. "I mean, the whole thing is kinda nice but...there's no finesse. No art to it." he shook his head. "People just don't appreciate a good job anymore, just want to dig in with their hands and rip apart."
He pushed off from the doorframe and came into the room, keeping a distance away from John. "So this," he kicked at the body. "Was the hunter that has the Colt?"
"Yes." John said watching him. "Did you do this?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "I didn't even know which hunter had it, you think I came here, picked the one right hunter in the whole country, came here, killed him this messily, and then disappeared to wait for you to come?"
"Had to ask." John said turning back to Elkins's body. He slid his gun into the back of his jeans and started to look around the cabin, feeling Sam's eyes on him before the kid went to the body to look at the marks, digging his fingers into them.
John gritted his teeth as he found the box, the box that he knew had once housed the Colt, and it was empty, thrown to the side almost broken. "Fuck."
Sam looked up at him from looking at his palm. "What?"
"Colts gone." John said. "Whoever did this took the Colt."
Sam gave an affirmative sound as he straightened up, holding something between his fingers. "Well, looks like he just pissed off the wrong creature." he said. John looked at him and narrowed his eyes, seeing the fang between his fingers.
"Vampires." he said with a grimace, shaking his head.
"Vampires." Sam confirmed. "And they never travel alone."
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