I Don't Bite [Dean Winchester x Reader]

Rumors

The moon was low in the sky, stars dappling the infinite darkness and proving to be the only source of light in the middle of the vast wilderness. Booth panted by my side, not built for the extreme speeds that Calliope and I could handle. It surprised me how fast she could travel, even with all that fur weighing her down.

The sun was barely rising, peeking over the tops of the trees, and lighting the sky until the stars faded into the blue backdrop. I would miss them, though I found solace in the fact that they would rise again the next night. If I had it my way, it would be the sun that spent most of its days hidden, and the moon that lit the earth. I always missed the moon when it receded over the horizon, missed its pull and tug at every fiber of my being. Despite how much I disliked its hold over me, I always missed it when it was gone. Life was lonely without it.

It was early in the morning, perhaps only just after five. The packs on our backs felt heavier than ever before, weighing on my shoulders as though they were full of bricks. To be fair, I was carrying a number of weapons that a wolf's shoulders were not meant to carry. It must have been an odd sight, a wolf with a backpack nestled between its shoulder blades.

Calliope and Booth hadn't bothered to pack much when they had learned of my predicament. They each had a small bag, filled with spare clothes and nothing more. They hadn't even bothered to pack any weapons. Although the thought of them lacking any sort of specialized protection left me with a bitter taste in my mouth, I had no doubt they could defend themselves. Without any sort of man-made weapon, I felt almost naked. I had become far too attached to guns and knives for my liking.

The road gradually began to smooth, an indicator that we were growing closer to a town. The potholes that littered the side of the road were filled, and it looked as though the highway had been repaved in the last few years. I cast a glance to Calliope, who trudged beside me, shoulder to shoulder. Her heavily furred ears were pointed forward, eyes narrowed in exhaustion and yet still filled with determination.

I hoped there would be a motel in this town. We had been running throughout the night, and I had no doubt that my friends were just as exhausted as I. Every muscle in my body was sore, and the pads of my paws were screaming for a break, roughed up by the harsh forest floor and rough roads. Booth was surely having an easier time with the coarse terrain, considering his thicker callouses and stockier frame; but Calliope... I worried about both of them. We all needed a break.

A growl caught my attention and my ears swiveled forward to meet the harsh sound. To my surprise, it wasn't the sound of some shrouded predator that I couldn't see quite yet; rather, it came from my own stomach. I winced and cast a sheepish glance over my shoulder at my companions.

Perhaps we could find something for breakfast while we rested.

The trees began to thin, revealing the flashing of streetlights and dim storefronts cast in the milky glow of early morning. Like many small towns early in the morning, the traffic lights were flashing yellow, rather than alternating between their usual colors. Often, they would resume their usual pattern just after six in the morning.

The highway passed all the way through the small town, with Main Street being the offshoot of the highway. It was quaint and quiet, something I longed for. We had passed around Lincoln on our way through Nebraska, adding to our rather extended journey.

I came to a halt on the edge of a sidewalk that ran along the edge of the highway, claws curling into the edge of the concrete. Calliope stopped beside me, thick fur brushing against my own dark, wiry coat. With a shrug of my shoulders, I shifted, feeling my bones crack and reorganize beneath my skin. The sounds of snapping ensured that my companions were following, their soft, bipedal footsteps chasing me across the crosswalk. The paint was faded, and the road was littered with spiraling cracks. Clearly, this small town cared little for repaving, so long as the road wasn't in true disarray.