A G.E.D.

Dean’s boots crunched over the loose gravel as he made his way through the quarry in Midnight, Montana. His flashlight cut through the darkness, barely illuminating the tunnel below. The place was a mess of twists and turns—perfect for the Minotaur to hide and pick off any unlucky hiker dumb enough to wander in.

( A labyrinth. And not the fun David Bowie kind )

[NFB due to distance. Open for calls, texts, etc.]

Dean sat in a corner booth at Earl’s Kountry Cafe, quietly eating his breakfast. The place had that familiar, worn-in feel—faded yellow walls, a few crooked pictures of horses, and cracked vinyl seats that had seen better days. The coffee was hot and bitter, the kind you drank more out of habit than for any real enjoyment. But it was quiet, and that was enough for now.

( No monsters. Just quiet contemplation )

[NFB. Open for texts, phone calls, etc.]

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 monster of the day and a phone call... )

[NFB. Open for texts, calls, pizza delivery, pie, etc.]

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.

( No. Seriously. Thanks Liliana. )

[NFB. Open for texts, phone calls, robocalls, spam, etc.]

It had been a long couple of days. The portal to Idaho had a connecting portal with a layover in New Hampshire of all places. (Why did a portal business need connecting portals let alone layovers?) By the time he got to Bonners Ferry, he had lost most of the day. Talking to the local police was worthless as they didn’t even bother to consider the exploding hearts as anything but a metaphor. Luckily the coroner was able to give some details but it was a lot of slogging through old microfiche copies of the local newspapers and articles about potato crops before he could find anything worthwhile.

Dean now stood in front of the freshly dug grave before him, the rotten stench of decay wafting up from the coffin below. He grimaced but not because of the smell. This whole digging things up gig used to be easier.

He poured the salt over the skeletal body barely paying attention to the task. The ritual was second nature. Salt the bones, burn the remains, send the ghost packing. Simple, clean, done. The only difference here was the creepy ass clockwork droid lying next to the grave that Dean had picked up at the Consortium. Something that was going into the pit as soon as the fire was lit.

Dean uncapped the kerosene, his movements methodical, almost detached, as he doused the bones. He reached into his jacket pocket for a match when a noise—a subtle whirring, like gears grinding together—caught his attention. He turned and looked at the creepy droid lying next to the grave whose eyes were now glowing an unnatural red.

( Son of a bitch! )

[NFB. Open for phone calls, texts, etc.]

Not everyone turned into someone else this weekend. For Dean that might be because he was in Winterset, Iowa. Portalocity had only gotten him as far as Des Moines so he and the Impala had to drive the rest of the way to the middle of nowhere and town so small it's biggest claim to fame was its covered bridges.

( Winterset Iowa )

The room was nothing to speak of. Bad wall paneling, an old TV and two queen beds and something that mostly passed for a bathroom.

After the experience with Kevin this morning, Liliana was in no shape to go any where fast and Dean wasn't feeling that great himself.

So Dean found the cheapest place nearby that wouldn't attract too much attention and booked a room for the day rate. After getting an hours rest he left Liliana sleeping on the less questionable bed and scavenged the local gas and sip for supplies.

He sat on the other bed, watching the reruns of Dr. Sexy MD and did his best not to think too much about this morning.

And occasionally checking to see if the bloody mess that was Liliana was still breathing.

[NFB. Mostly for Death's Bride but open for phone calls, texts, random fruit baskets.]

Getting to Wisconsin was easy thanks to that gnome at Portalocity.

Everything after that was way more difficult than Dean had plan.

Turns out that the girl who had gone missing during the eclipse was part of a werewolf cult trying to resurrect an Alpha werewolf.

Dean was a bloody mess when it was all done. He covered his face with a bandana before he found the girl and wore it as he drove her home just to make sure his description wasn’t easily seen.

He pulled up to the house and turned to look at the girl in the back seat. “It’s okay now Gertie. Your mom and dad are inside. Go on in.”

The little girl looked at the house and back at Dean. “Aren’t you coming in?”

“Nah,” he said shaking his head. “Just tell them… Jim Hetfield helped you.”

He waited for the girl to get to the house and as soon as he caught a glimpse of Bess coming out, Dean took off

And headed over to catch the portal back to the island.

[NFB]

Dean set out for his "case" early Wednesday morning and arrived in Palmer Falls mid morning. He wore a suit and pretended to be FBI Special Agent Billy Gibbons when visiting the sheriff and coroner's office.

Turns out the case was pretty cut and dry. Millennial couple had moved into an old haunted building where a man was murdered over 100 years ago. The couple started to renovate to make the place a bed and breakfast only for them and a contractor to get attacked by the ghost and froze to death.

The local legend was easy enough to learn at the sheriff's office and was easily corroborated just by having lunch at the local diner which had a gossipy waitress.

Finding the body wasn't hard as it was buried in the family plot which was just behind the building.

So Dean checked into the "Blissful Breeze Deluxe Motel" which was anything but blissful or deluxe and waited until night fall. He found the marked grave, dug it up, salted the bones and had just enough time to throw gas and start a fire just as the ghost started to make a run at him. The spirit didn't even get close to him.

Yep. Just your average supernatural milk run.

So now Dean was back at the motel. No wifi. Basic cable. Bad decor. All he had was a six pack of cheap beer and HGTV for entertainment.

This was not the first hunt he'd ever gone on alone. Not by a long shot.

Somehow he thought his first hunt since coming back would be a bit more exciting.

Instead it just felt lonely. And he can't help but think about how much he misses Sam.

[NFB. Open for phone calls, texts, whatever]