// raised like warriors

     On his travels, Dean had stopped by a library in a little town called Springwood to do some research on a supernatural being he’d encountered by chance. He’d managed to defeat it, but he wanted a little more clarity just in case of future encounters. He found himself distracted, however, after realizing the name Springwood sounded familiar. With a little digging, he was able to find that a series of unexplained murders had happened a few years back. All the victims had been teenagers.

     The book he was reading was open to a page about demons, which apparently sparked a strangers curiosity and prompted a question. Dean turned slightly in his chair, head tilting up to look at the other male who had asked him about dream demons. He sure as hell looked tired, as if he was running on fumes. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots: this guy probably thought he was being tormented by a dream demon, which was quite clearly keeping him from sleep. Dean was familiar enough with the supernatural to acknowledge that this could possibly be a real case. But on the other hand, who was to say it wasn’t due to nightmares or sleep paralysis? Dean wasn’t about to outright admit his knowledge of the stuff.

     What started off as a regular snowfall had gradually turned into a blizzard, making it nearly impossible to see where he was driving. He’d been forced to pull over at the nearest motel with Frank, where Dean planned to stay the night and leave in the morning. That plan, however, was put on hold when he opened the door to come face to face with a wall of glimmering white. Snow. They’d been snowed in, and no amount of Dean throwing himself at it would make it budge. There was too much of it, making it dense and impossible to move through.

@ofhunting | liked

Panic had begun to SET IN the more he struggled to even see correctly. His mind was fogged and unkempt - unable to recall where he had been throughout the last hour or so. There was pain shooting through his sides, warm crimson dripping down bruised skin. Coming to while in IMMENSE pain, Frank could only assume something or someone got to him, however his memory was never reliable to begin with.

One hand gripping his side while the other clutched leather tightly around his shoulders, automatic navigation was what saved him. He knew how to get to where he was going without having to THINK. Chest heavy, the struggle to breathe only fueling his anger and inability to UNDERSTAND. Free hand came up to come down onto the door, body leaning against it.

“𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅- 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑-” swallowing hard, Frank squeezed his eyes shut - jaw clenching while he did so. He needed a spare fucking key at this point. “𝑶𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒐𝒓, 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓.”

     Propped up on the couch with a beer in hand, Dean was flipping through the channels on the TV and failing to find anything interesting. Cooking channels, news, old school cartoons. A knock soon sounded at the door, pulling the Winchester’s attention away from the television. Who the hell was looking for him at this hour? Getting up from the couch and setting his beer on the coffee table, he heard a voice from behind the door. He should’ve known it would be him. Frank, who didn’t sound too good. Pace quickening a little, Dean soon pulled the door open to reveal a bloody, weak Frank standing in front of him.

     Dean knew she was right--they were on their own, but he wasn’t about to let that be a setback. If they were tactical and planned it out carefully, they could both make it out of here alive. Sitting propped up against a counter, which also acted as cover from the infected, Dean double checked how much ammo he had left in his guns; four bullets in his pistol and two in his shotgun. It wouldn’t do much against the number of infected that swarmed the basement, and there was no quick escape they could run for. The exits were blocked by the fungus that had caked itself to the walls, floors and doors.

     Upon finally adjusting himself to the change in lighting, Frank could CLEARLY see a weapon pointed his way. It didn’t surprise him, he knew better than to hustle in unannounced. At night, even. Putting his hands up in surrender, cocking an eyebrow Dean’s way- his eyes held a mischievous shine. Nothing SATISFIED him more than false alarms.

      “𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒎𝒆, 𝒋𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒂𝒔𝒔.” he huffed, tattooed fingers twitching as he lowered his stance, scanning Winchester’s face for a moment before leaning back against the windowsill. He took a moment to turn around and shut the blinds, parting them to be SURE no one followed after him.  “𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒅- 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒂 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏’ 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉.” Upon further explanation, Frank returned his position to face the other, head swiveling in amusement.

      "𝑵𝒐 𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓. 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕- 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏’.” Came a gentle huff, gaze cast upwards in thought. His reputation of landing his fists into people’s faces was forever growing.  “𝑺𝒐 𝑰 𝒉𝒊𝒕 ‘𝒆𝒎. 𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑵 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒂 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆. 𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝑰'𝒎 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.” Eyes on Dean again, lips curved into a smirk.  "𝑺𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆?”

     “I think you meant to say it’s me, Jackass,” Dean repeated after Frank, wording it in such a way that made it sound like an introduction instead. His head then turned a little to look at the alarm clock that sat upon the bedside table of the motel room. (It wasn’t a permanent place to stay, but one that he’d come back to a few times when it was close to nearby investigation spots.) The clock read 1 AM, which came as a shock to the hunter and prompted him to check the time on his watch. “Huh,” he spoke aloud to himself, brows raising slightly as he confirmed that it was indeed 1 in the morning.

     As much as it was a relief to hear that Frank wasn’t running from anything weird, Dean sometimes worried that one day, Frank was going to get himself into a lot more trouble than he could handle. “Yeah well, there’s somethin’ weird goin’ on around these parts, so don’t go doing anything stupid,” he warned, giving the other a pointed look. The sketchiest people were always wandering around at these hours, a lot of them drug addicts that would jump whoever they saw to get money for their next fix. Though that kind of behavior was most common in the busy parts of cities.