Bite Me (Part 5)
Characters: Reader, Sam, Dean (no pairings yet)
Warnings: Not much for this chapter, just mention of injuries
Overview: You were raised in the hunter life. You fell out of it. It wasn’t your choice to get pulled back in.
Word Count: 1,569
A/N: This is the fifth installment in my first ever fanfic. I love how much love you guys keep giving me :) You make my typing fingers very happy! This is more of a connecting chapter, so bear with me. It just mean’s I’ll post part 6 sooner rather than later! These words, like everything else I write, are for me. Feel free to join me in the adventure.
“And this here’s Bobby,” Uncle Jay said, pointing at the worn picture with his calloused finger, “One of the best hunting buddies a guy could have.” We were sifting through a box filled with old photographs and odd mementos that I had found tucked behind some books while searching for a particular title on Greek Mythology. Uncle Jay had smiled when I brought it out, eager to take a walk down memory lane. My eyes roamed the photograph containing a large group of hunters, pausing on a set of boys. They were the youngest in the photo by a good number of years.
I pointed, “Who are they?”
Uncle Jay let out a brief chuckle, “Them’s the Winchester boys.” His pointer finger traced the photo again, “Man behind them is their daddy, John. This one,” He tapped the slightly shorter figure, “that’s Dean. Real spitfire, that one. And the other, Sammy, he has a good head on his shoulders. One of the most mature fifteen year olds I’ve ever met. Gosh,” he scratched his bristled chin, “Kid must be… at least twenty by now. Close to your age, Small Fry. That’d put Dean around twenty-four, give or take.” He sighed deeply and placed the crumpled image back in the box before closing the lid. “Now,” he picked up the book on mythology, “what have we found out about our siren?” And just like that we were back on the case at hand.
The Winchester boys’ faces stayed with me. I went back to the box later than night and removed the photograph of hunters, folding it in half on an existent crease and slipping it into my wallet. I took the photo with me wherever I went, a reminder through the blood, pain, and hurt that there were others out there like me. Two boys, now young men, living and breathing the hunter life. I wondered if they were given a choice. I wondered if they’d tried to get out of it all. I wondered if they had bigger hopes and dreams for a life not involving salt lines, shotguns, and solitary. I wondered if they had nightmares that would wake them in a state of panic in the dead of night. I wondered what they feared while living an existence alongside monsters. I wondered how much they were like me. And just having that photograph gave me a glimmer of hope, a hope to connect with someone outside of mine and Uncle Jay’s small world.
“Hey, come on, you can’t sleep,” someone was gently shaking my arm, “You need to wake up.”
“Bite me,” I growled low in my throat, and the hand quickly disappeared.
“What did she say?” That would be Dean.