#timed fic

You studied him for a moment longer as he just smiled at you, as if he couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than cuffed to the table in your interrogation room.

“Let’s talk about facts instead of conspiracy theories for a minute.” Those pink lips of his pouted contemplatively, then he shrugged and nodded for you to continue.

“I’ve got a witness that puts you and your brother breaking into the house of one of my victims the day after she was murdered. I’ve got your car, filled with a ridiculous amount of weaponry and assorted other insane things. I’ve got three homicides looking for a home, and I’ve got this,” you tapped the file with his name on it, “which doesn’t exactly paint you in the most innocent of lights.”

“Oh yeah, I bet that’s a good read.” He winked at you. Actually winked at you.

Who was this guy?

You smiled back, playing along. “Oh yeah, a real page turner. Quite a few plot holes and unanswered questions though—apparently you’ve been dead at least twice now,” he chuckled, rolling his eyes in a way that implied you were missing something, “and you’ve been arrested, what—8 other times?”

He squinted, “Twelve, I think. Kinda hard to keep count.”

You nodded, pretending that statement was completely reasonable.

“Well you say you hunt monsters. So do I. The only kind of monster that’s real—a disturbed human monster. And this particular monster is guilty of killing three women and cutting them open to take their livers, probably for some kind of ritual or sale on the black market. And, the most important fact of all--my evidence points directly at you.”

Dean Winchester leaned forward, shaking his head, “don’t get me wrong. I’ve seen people do some twisted, crazy, horrible things. I’ve seen people become monsters. And I’ve got full respect for you and your job trying to keep everyone else safe from them.

“But that’s not the monster I mean. And that’s not the monster that’s been hunting your town.”

You leaned back, trying to decide if the earnestness you were reading from him really meant the guy was insane. He wasn’t your usual drunk, raving lunatic; you hadn’t noticed any lying tics, and his and his brother’s name, which he’d offered voluntarily had checked out.

“I’ve been straight with you, because I know you’re going to get to the point where you see something that makes you believe me, in which case, you’ll need my help. And because if I don’t, since you’re good at your job, you’ll go head to head with this thing unprepared and it’ll be your liver it takes. I’m in the business of saving people as well as hunting things, so I’ll take the new line on the record for you.”

He waited a moment for you to digest this, and you found yourself interested in spite of the logical part of you that wanted to go ahead and draw up the paperwork for a psych eval.

“I’ve hunted one of these before, in ‘03. Only once though—and I’ve been hunting my whole life. Your monster is so rare, I don’t even know what his name might be. I just know what he does.

“He, or she, was human. Something happened—I don’t know what. A bite, a spell, something.

“And then it was no longer human. Looks human, walks human, talks human—but a human can’t tear an oak door off the frame of a house in one pull like the house you pulled Sam and me out of. A human can’t reach into a person’s body with its bare hand and rip out someone’s liver.

“And a human wouldn’t sit beside the victim as he or she goes into shock, bleeds out, and gasps for air, dying slowly. This monster, that used to be human, sits there and eats its victim’s liver.”

He’d lost his cocky attitude. His face was grim, his eyes haunted, and if he was acting, the man deserved an Oscar because it was the best performance you’d ever seen. Every cop instinct you had said that he was telling the truth, or that he believed he was anyway.

His voice was quiet, intense. “The longer you sit here with me, keeping my brother and me away from this hunt, the more likely it is that you’re going to lose someone else in this town.”

You’d had all you could take—the hairs were standing up on your arms. He was getting to you. You stood up without saying anything, heading for the door.

“Detective Y/N.”

Your hand on the knob of the door, you turned, eyebrow raised.

“I’m sorry.”

You could tell it wasn’t a confession.

“I’m sorry this thing came to your town… and, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I told you the truth about it. Once you know the shadows that go bump in the night are real…it makes the darkness in the world a lot darker.”

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