Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
single_man_tear) wrote2024-08-22 06:37 am
single_man_tear) wrote2024-08-22 06:37 am
Entry tags:
Thursday Evening - Payson, Arizona
The moon hung over the dense woods surrounding Payson, casting long shadows across the landscape. The rustling of leaves was the only sound breaking the stillness. Dean Winchester stood in the clearing, his breath coming in slow, measured bursts after a grueling fight with the werewolf. The body lay motionless, its threat extinguished. Dean wiped the blood and sweat from his face, surveying the scene with a distant, almost indifferent gaze.
He looked down at his hands and saw the blood, quickly checking over the wounds he’d received. The worst was a scratch on his shoulder and along his ribcage. No bite marks.
As he finished making sure there were no other wounds, a faint, unsettling sound caught his attention: the sharp grinding and clanking of metal. He turned to see the clockwork droid emerging from the shadows. The droid was in shambles from the encounters over the last two days, moving with a disturbing, jagged gait.
Dean let out a long, exasperated sigh as he recognized the droid. “Oh, for crying out loud,” he muttered, pulling out his weapon. “Really?”
The droid charged at him with a menacing hiss, its movements jerky and jarring. Dean rolled his eyes and moved behind a nearby tree for cover, drawing his gun and taking aim. He fired a few quick shots, but the droid’s erratic movements caused most of them to miss.
“Seriously? Can’t you just find some rust heap somewhere?” Dean said sarcastically. He waited for the droid to come closer, then stepped out from behind the tree, firing more precise shots at its joints. The droid faltered, its movements stuttering slightly as Dean’s bullets struck home.
Determined to finish the encounter, Dean grabbed a heavy branch and swung at the droid’s head. The impact sent the droid reeling, but it quickly recovered and lunged at him again. Dean dodged, using the Impala as a shield. He reloaded his gun, muttering, “Just freaking log off, already.”
With a final, decisive burst of gunfire, Dean targeted the droid’s head—or what was left of it.
The droid’s movements slowed, and it emitted a series of distressing screeches before collapsing into a heap of metal. Dean approached cautiously, ensuring the droid was finally out of commission.
He looked at the twisted wreckage and let out a long sigh. “Son of a bitch,” he said quietly, retrieving a shovel from the trunk of the Impala, along with a couple of curse boxes he kept just in case. He began the task of burying the droid’s parts, separating them methodically into different boxes—or in some cases, cramming them in and using a hammer until he could shut the lid.
Dean worked in silence, his movements almost mechanical as he buried the droid’s components.
With the droid’s parts buried and the area cleared, Dean leaned against the Impala, looking and feeling weary. He glanced around the quiet woods, then reached for his flask and took a long swig.
“Good guys win again,” he said, his words falling flat in the stillness around him. “Yay.”
The night returned to its eerie calm. Dean got into the Impala and just sat there. In the headlights, he could see the werewolf’s body lying out in the open. He tried to muster some sort of satisfaction from it all but couldn’t. Not one bit.
Getting into the Impala he started the engine and drove away hoping to find a crappy motel to spend the night.
[NFB. Open for texts, phone calls, robocalls, spam, etc.]
He looked down at his hands and saw the blood, quickly checking over the wounds he’d received. The worst was a scratch on his shoulder and along his ribcage. No bite marks.
As he finished making sure there were no other wounds, a faint, unsettling sound caught his attention: the sharp grinding and clanking of metal. He turned to see the clockwork droid emerging from the shadows. The droid was in shambles from the encounters over the last two days, moving with a disturbing, jagged gait.
Dean let out a long, exasperated sigh as he recognized the droid. “Oh, for crying out loud,” he muttered, pulling out his weapon. “Really?”
The droid charged at him with a menacing hiss, its movements jerky and jarring. Dean rolled his eyes and moved behind a nearby tree for cover, drawing his gun and taking aim. He fired a few quick shots, but the droid’s erratic movements caused most of them to miss.
“Seriously? Can’t you just find some rust heap somewhere?” Dean said sarcastically. He waited for the droid to come closer, then stepped out from behind the tree, firing more precise shots at its joints. The droid faltered, its movements stuttering slightly as Dean’s bullets struck home.
Determined to finish the encounter, Dean grabbed a heavy branch and swung at the droid’s head. The impact sent the droid reeling, but it quickly recovered and lunged at him again. Dean dodged, using the Impala as a shield. He reloaded his gun, muttering, “Just freaking log off, already.”
With a final, decisive burst of gunfire, Dean targeted the droid’s head—or what was left of it.
The droid’s movements slowed, and it emitted a series of distressing screeches before collapsing into a heap of metal. Dean approached cautiously, ensuring the droid was finally out of commission.
He looked at the twisted wreckage and let out a long sigh. “Son of a bitch,” he said quietly, retrieving a shovel from the trunk of the Impala, along with a couple of curse boxes he kept just in case. He began the task of burying the droid’s parts, separating them methodically into different boxes—or in some cases, cramming them in and using a hammer until he could shut the lid.
Dean worked in silence, his movements almost mechanical as he buried the droid’s components.
With the droid’s parts buried and the area cleared, Dean leaned against the Impala, looking and feeling weary. He glanced around the quiet woods, then reached for his flask and took a long swig.
“Good guys win again,” he said, his words falling flat in the stillness around him. “Yay.”
The night returned to its eerie calm. Dean got into the Impala and just sat there. In the headlights, he could see the werewolf’s body lying out in the open. He tried to muster some sort of satisfaction from it all but couldn’t. Not one bit.
Getting into the Impala he started the engine and drove away hoping to find a crappy motel to spend the night.
[NFB. Open for texts, phone calls, robocalls, spam, etc.]