Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
single_man_tear) wrote2024-08-24 09:25 am
single_man_tear) wrote2024-08-24 09:25 am
Entry tags:
Saturday Evening - Somewhere in Nebraska
Dean stood at the edge of the cornfield, the charred remains of the Cornfield Stalker smoldering behind him. The moonlight cut through the cloud cover, casting a glow over the vast expanse of stalks that swayed in the night breeze.
The Cornfield Stalker had been a legend in this part of Nebraska for generations—an ominous figure whispered about in hushed tones by the locals. It was said that the creature was born out of a cursed harvest long ago, when a desperate farmer made a deal with something dark to save his failing crops. The price was his soul, and from his anguish, the Stalker was born—a twisted, ghastly figure that prowled the rows of corn, feeding on the fear and flesh of those unlucky enough to cross its path.
It didn’t take long for Dean to figure out what and where it was. The missing farmers, the blood-stained fields, the strange symbols carved into the earth—all signs pointed to the Cornfield Stalker. Turns out one the local farmers had a grudge against some of the neighboring owners and some property lines and thought summoning the Stalker was the way to solve it. It didn’t work out so well for the summoner since he was the first one killed and then it moved on to the neighbors. Dean finally cornered it in this field, where the farmer originally summoned it..
The fight hadn’t been easy. The Stalker was fast and blended into the corn like a shadow, lashing out when the opportunity suited it. Dean got lucky. He’d managed to bring it down with a combination of iron and fire, the only things that could sever the curse binding it to the earth.
Now, as the exhaustion settled in, Dean took a deep breath. The job was done. Another hunt crossed off the list. He should have felt a sense of satisfaction, but instead, there was a hollow ache. Cas' words still echoed in his mind, and the image of Sam chasing after his kid lingered, gnawing at him.
Turning away from the field, Dean started walking, his boots crunching over the dirt path that led back to the Impala. He should really be heading home. Or at least to North Carolina.
But when he slid into the driver's seat, there was a phone ringing. Dean popped open the glove compartment and started digging through the burner phone collection until he found the one that was ringing. The one labeled “FBI.”
With a tired sigh he answered the call. “Federal Bureau of Investigation. Tom Willis speaking.”
“Jim?! Jim is that you?!” the voice was from a male. And it was scared and panicked.
“Hey, hey, easy. Who is this?”
“Aiden! I work with Krissy! She had this number and… look I didn't know who else to call.”
It took Dean ten minutes to calm the kid down and get the story. Krissy and Jo had gone out on a job while Aiden was doing research. That was two days ago. “Fine. Fine,” Dean said sternly. “Just stay put. Where are you?”
A few minutes later he had all the details. The women were tracking down a Djinn and had gone missing while they were in Hannibal, Missouri.
Missouri. Great. Dean ended the call and tossed the phone back in the glove department.
“Well, I wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight anyway,” he muttered to himself. He glanced over at the passenger seat. Of course, no one was sitting there, but over the last few days, a small pile of stuff had accumulated—his journal, an old shirt, a few case files from the coroner back in Wyoming. With a quick swipe of his arm, he pushed everything to the floor, clearing the seat.
Then, with a sigh, he started the engine and drove off, heading east towards Missouri.
[NFB. Open for texts, calls, pizza delivery, pie, etc.]
The Cornfield Stalker had been a legend in this part of Nebraska for generations—an ominous figure whispered about in hushed tones by the locals. It was said that the creature was born out of a cursed harvest long ago, when a desperate farmer made a deal with something dark to save his failing crops. The price was his soul, and from his anguish, the Stalker was born—a twisted, ghastly figure that prowled the rows of corn, feeding on the fear and flesh of those unlucky enough to cross its path.
It didn’t take long for Dean to figure out what and where it was. The missing farmers, the blood-stained fields, the strange symbols carved into the earth—all signs pointed to the Cornfield Stalker. Turns out one the local farmers had a grudge against some of the neighboring owners and some property lines and thought summoning the Stalker was the way to solve it. It didn’t work out so well for the summoner since he was the first one killed and then it moved on to the neighbors. Dean finally cornered it in this field, where the farmer originally summoned it..
The fight hadn’t been easy. The Stalker was fast and blended into the corn like a shadow, lashing out when the opportunity suited it. Dean got lucky. He’d managed to bring it down with a combination of iron and fire, the only things that could sever the curse binding it to the earth.
Now, as the exhaustion settled in, Dean took a deep breath. The job was done. Another hunt crossed off the list. He should have felt a sense of satisfaction, but instead, there was a hollow ache. Cas' words still echoed in his mind, and the image of Sam chasing after his kid lingered, gnawing at him.
Turning away from the field, Dean started walking, his boots crunching over the dirt path that led back to the Impala. He should really be heading home. Or at least to North Carolina.
But when he slid into the driver's seat, there was a phone ringing. Dean popped open the glove compartment and started digging through the burner phone collection until he found the one that was ringing. The one labeled “FBI.”
With a tired sigh he answered the call. “Federal Bureau of Investigation. Tom Willis speaking.”
“Jim?! Jim is that you?!” the voice was from a male. And it was scared and panicked.
“Hey, hey, easy. Who is this?”
“Aiden! I work with Krissy! She had this number and… look I didn't know who else to call.”
It took Dean ten minutes to calm the kid down and get the story. Krissy and Jo had gone out on a job while Aiden was doing research. That was two days ago. “Fine. Fine,” Dean said sternly. “Just stay put. Where are you?”
A few minutes later he had all the details. The women were tracking down a Djinn and had gone missing while they were in Hannibal, Missouri.
Missouri. Great. Dean ended the call and tossed the phone back in the glove department.
“Well, I wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight anyway,” he muttered to himself. He glanced over at the passenger seat. Of course, no one was sitting there, but over the last few days, a small pile of stuff had accumulated—his journal, an old shirt, a few case files from the coroner back in Wyoming. With a quick swipe of his arm, he pushed everything to the floor, clearing the seat.
Then, with a sigh, he started the engine and drove off, heading east towards Missouri.
[NFB. Open for texts, calls, pizza delivery, pie, etc.]