𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖘 || 𝘥. 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

𝟎𝟎𝟖 ⌖ kill it with fire

black water ridge, colorado
nov. 11, 2005 // midday

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 felt like he was a bleeding-heart hero. He was typically responsible for peeling Sammy away from this sort of empathy, general decency, human-kindness branch of existence that did not leave its doors open for hunters. Now, the roles were reversed, and it was Dean who felt backed into a corner.

He'd gotten the impression — perhaps incorrectly — that Fitz was of a similar stern calling: always nagging him on how he treated the witnesses and being a stickler for professionalism. At least Fitz seemed concerned for Hailey and Ben's well-being. But Sam's vision was tunneled in on finding Dad. He called it babysitting, the idea of protecting two civilians out in the woods. This wasn't babysitting.
Dean would know.

He stowed away the thought as he drove the impala up the gravel driveway, approaching the three people standing out by the road market. Hailey and Ben he recognized, but the older male was unfamiliar. The stranger was stooped under his trunk, cleaning a Remington 7400 with an old microfiber cloth.

Dean parked the car and the three of them got out. Dean and Sam hadn't exactly dressed for the excursion, but Fitz had. Back in Palo Alto, she'd blown at least two-hundred on a week's worth of clothes, not including a fake-FBI monkey suit and the hunting attire she'd donned this morning before the crack of dawn: dark brown fusion hunter pants, a zip-up camo windbreaker, and a ratty maroon baseball cap with leather shooting gloves. Her shotgun was assembled and strapped to her back with a hunting knife in a sheath on her thigh. Both gleamed in the dim morning light. Dean carried their "provisions" in a duffel — M&M's and Slim Jim's — but she brought her own canteen, attached to her belt. The most shocking thing about it all was that her hair was actually brushed and pulled back into a ponytail.

A real stickler for professionalism.

"You guys got room for three more?" Sam asked as he shut the door, tossing his canvas duffel over his shoulder.

"Wait, you wanna come with us?" Hailey glanced between the three of them, her eyes narrowing at Fitz like she'd come up with the idea. She had.

"Who are these guys?" The guide inquired skeptically, giving each of them a lookover. He didn't look too impressed with Dean and Sam, but Fitz earned a terse nod of surprised approval.

"Apparently, this is all the park service could muster up for a search-and-rescue, Roy," Hailey huffed.

Roy didn't seem convinced. "You're rangers?"

"That's right," Dean said with a thumbs up. Sam snuck around behind him towards Ben, clearly trying to avoid the conversation and the suspicion that came with it.

Hailey put a hand on her hip and arched a brow. "And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?"

"Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts." The smartass response came all too easily. Dean smirked at Roy before making his way over to Sam.

If the older Winchester expected to have the last word, Roy proved him wrong. "You think this is funny? It's dangerous backcountry out there. Her brother might be hurt."

Dean looked back at Fitz, expecting some sort of snarky expression that said I told you so. But she wasn't even looking his way. She was ogling Roy's gun like it was a pin-up. "Believe me." Dean hitched the strap of his bag. "I know how dangerous it can be. And if it makes you feel better, buddy," he pointed to Fitz, who finally dragged her eyes away to stare at Dean. "She's taking it seriously enough for the three of us."