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There must've been something in the air, aside from the metallic scent of blood and gravel, a mixture that Dean could wish he was foreign to. Something in the figure that's stood in front of him with their back turned. Enter yourself, your chest heaving, unforgiving rivers of adrenaline coursing through your veins and clouding your judgement, placed before two dead bodies with an axe in your hand. Crimson stains the fabric across your torso, drops splattering onto the surrounding walls as the axe swings down mercilessly for the last time. Only then do you look up. Dean doesn't usually fold, but now? Call him a beach chair.
"Woah, seems like you've got it all sorted, huh?"
The amusement slipped out before he really noticed it, green irises gleaming beneath the all-seeing moon. It's not every day he sees you- the nonchalant voice of reason- all pent up and aggressive. Yes, he was well aware you'd want to have finished the weirdo-serial-killer family off after kidnapping you, Sam and many other poor souls, but he thought a couple gunshots would've called it a night- not a fucking axe!
"Yeah... yeah, seems like it."
That breathy voice too, your body coming down from the high of life and death. If he didn't know any better, Dean'd take a step back and start running already. He doesn't miss the crazed lilt in your voice too. How he wishes you spoke like that to him more often...
Surprisingly enough, you're responsible for both corpses in front of you despite them being double your size; Dean knows you've always been a crafty one. He didn't take you for a blood-thirsty one though. But he's never met someone who suits wrath and rage so well.
"Guess we should get a move on."
You state, turning around. With a cold expression, you wipe the droplets of scarlett across your face with your sleeve and start walking away. The axe is still in your hand. No, you can't just discard the murder weapon with your fingerprints all over it- you're far from stupid.
"Yeah. Just keep the axe; no one's gonna question the suspiciously fresh blood all over ya."
"Oh yeah? Go suck a dick or somethin'. I'm working on it smart ass."
"Woahh, don't start chopping me up next."
You hate his cocky sarcasm more than the annoying smirk on his face, surprisingly. Then again, your concern now lies at finding Sam, Dean taking notice in the manner that you scan the room. A few minutes of confusion pass, Dean gets a little bored of watching you whip your head about.
"Sam's already outside, he's waiting."
"Is he hurt?" The question tumbles out automatically.
"Nah, he's alright... Worry about yourself, really."
Dean gives you a once over and scoffs. You look like you just jumped out of a classic horror slasher.
"Oh, fuck off."
With that, your legs start getting to work, sneakers tapping against the gruff basement floor then climbing up creaky stairs. He's your shadow, following so close behind you he's casting darkness over your shorter frame- a bodyguard. Walking across the house, you shudder at all the creepy things scattered around. Dean laughs, understanding you clearly aren't a fan of the decorative moose skulls laying about. Aw, he finds it adorable.
"Scaredy cat."
A male voice teases, belonging to none other than Dean Winchester. The irony of saying that to the axe murder. Tonight no witty responses flood your brain, so you deal him a slap on his muscular arm- a childish scolding will have to do.
Upon leaving the house, the pair are greeted by Sam, who's expression twists into concern when met by you. Of course, worry is Sam Winchester's middle name.
"Hey... you alright?"
The taller man questions, immediately stepping closer. Again, you're met with a surprised once-over.
"Yeah, it's not my blood," a quick brush off, "...anyway, what're we eating tonight?"
"That's more like it!"
Both you and Sam can't help but side eye Dean over his excitement, the brunette now speaking.
"Uh, we'll just get take out? Has to be some food on the way since we are walking."
"Walking?! Seriously?" You blurt out.
"Yep, turns out we can't hitch rides in police cars since Dean is a felon."
"Well, I wouldn't be if you had just not gotten kidnapped!"
"Fine. Lets just get a move on."
You sigh, exasperation etched on your face.
"Yeah, Baby's probably all cold out there... alone... in the dark."
Dean and his obsession over his useless Impala. You have to laugh at the guy, pointing and cackling at his dramatics. Even as you're laughing at him, the blond feels a tug at his heart strings gazing at your smile. It's weird.
"Shut up. Quit laughing- I'm serious."
Sam ushers you all to start walking, pace so slow that onlookers wonder if you even have a place to be.