Fighting Through It All [Dean Winchester fanfic] #Wattys2015

Chapter Twelve

It's been three days. Whatever fight Sam and Dean were in has passed, yet these new sleeping arrangements have stuck, with me sharing a room with Dean, and Sam taking my old room. Dean hasn't mentioned the other night, and I haven't ever really thought about it. It was just a kind gesture, I didn't mean anything romantic by it. However, Dean was confused when he woke up the next morning with me in his bed.

Tonight is the night. Tonight, we hunt that darned Sharp Elbows, and out an end to all of this. After days of being here, after fights and troubles, dodging the police and almost getting caught by civilians, tonight is the night. However, Sam has requested to see the victim before Burly's house. I had signed when he told me, remembering how I got in last time, and realize that I'm going to have to get in a different way.

I take a quick shower, just to freshen up. I only put on concealer and mascara, slipping on a red tank top and jeans, leaking around barefoot and jacketless for the time being. I blow dry my hair, put it up in a ponytail, and brush my teeth, humming softly to the tune of Don't Stop Believing. By the time I'm ready, Dean has laid out all my weapons for me, including a the silver knife and buckets milk get a Sharp Elbows requires. I can honestly say I hate this case; we think we've pegged what skin the Sharp Elbows is wearing, but we aren't completely sure.

There's sure, and sure enough.

Once I have all my weapons strapped on, I slip on my jacket and boots, and head out to my Charger. I graze her frame as I walk by, her navy blue color hot in the morning sun. When I get in, I breathe in the smell of leather and gunpowder, the familiar scent engulfing me in a wave of comfort. I listen to the engine gurgle to life, the soft sound of Poison flooding the speakers, Every Rose Has It's Thorn being the song that plays. I nod to the beat of the music, reaching out to turn it up before pulling out.

Although the drive is short, it's enough. Just me, the feel of baby's leather underneath my hands, and good music playing loudly, drowning my thoughts. I lean back in my seat as I drive, only one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily in my lap. The scenery passes by me in a jumble of trees, country houses, people, and just your stereotypical, white picket fence town. In this picture-perfect town though, there are some flaws, as in the creatures and the monsters. The monsters, the people thankfully have no clue about.

I wonder what it's like to not know about the monsters, the creatures that creep in the dark, hide under your bed and in your closet. To be oblivious to the evil, even when it's staring you right in the face, with dead eyes and an ice cold heart. People define evil by the guy who killed his wife, by the mass serial killer. Yes, evil resides in them, but monsters hold a different kind of evil.

Monsters...they have no remorse. They are incapable of quilt, of feeling badly about the murders they committed, they never consider the families and the aftermath of what they do. They'd careless low-lives that couldn't give one as to how others might turn out, on account of their killing.

We pull up to the house, and everyone hops out of their cars. My eyes scan the house for a separate way in, refusing to lick the lock or kick the door in. I tell the boys I have my own way of doing things, and they can either listen, or leave. They decide on listening.

I spot an open window on the second window. The family must have been in, and tried to air out the place. Smart move, considering death leaves an underlying musk that is hard to get out. I crack my neck, smirk at the boys, and walk calmly up to the house. Using my arms and upper body strength, I basically perform a pull-up on a pipe that lines the house. While holding myself up, I slowly lift my leg, until my heel is at an equivalent height to my head. I can feel sweat forming on my forehead as I look up, searching for a place to hold on to. I find a little box on the side of the house, identifying it as the dryer vent. I quickly move my right hand from the pipe to the box, and pull myself up into a standing position.