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Friday, November 16, 2012

Snippets One Hundred Thirteen: Hunting

       Thanksgiving had passed quietly.  Dean managed to get a chicken dinner from a nearby restaurant.  John drank two bottles of whiskey.  Sam stayed in his room, reading and doing homework. 

       Dean tried to help his Dad get to bed. The man had been crying for over thirty minutes.  John’s older son attempted to help him rise.  Suddenly, the man shoved the teen hard.  The boy landed on the coffee table and skid across it to the floor.

       “Dad, you’re not feeling well.  You drank too much.  Let me help you go to bed?  Please!”

       “You think you can tell me how to do things, Boy?”

       “No, Sir.  I’m just trying to help you get some sleep.”

       “I’m tired of you telling me what I ought to do.  Get your gun,” John growled at his son.


       “Damn it, Dean!  I said get your gun!”

       Dean ran to his duffel and grabbed his pistol.  He was frightened but would not let his father or brother see it.  Sam had run into the room.

       “Go to bed, Sammy,” the older boy told him.  “It’s not safe to be in here right now.”


       “Go to bed, Sammy.”

       Sam Winchester watched his brother follow their drunken father out of the motel room.  The sound of the Impala leaving the parking space made him panic. 

       Den sat in the passenger seat, terrified.  His father drove out of town and out into the forested areas of the community. 

       He told Dean there had been a large number of animals dying in the area.  Their throats were cut and the bodies drained of blood.  John ordered his son to take the lead

       Dean had no idea what he was looking for.  His father had mentioned no hunts in the area.  He could hear the man stumbling behind him. 

       After fifteen minutes and no sign of any danger, Dean was contemplating asking his Dad to take them home.  He could tell the man was losing his ability to concentrate.  The man was swaying as he walked. 

       “Dad?”  Dean heard some crashing sound behind him.  He turned and saw his father in the underbrush.  The man tripped and his gun went off.

       Castiel had been in Canada helping a priest when Father told him to go help Dean.  The angel was gone in a second.

       The forest was silent after the gunshot.  The angel spotted two bodies on the ground.  One reeked of alcohol.  The other had the smell of blood.


       Dean’s eyes opened for a second and he stared into cerulean blue ones.

       “Who?” the boy whispered.

       The angel was speechless.

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