Chapter One

wc: 2175 TW: mention of violence and death

The Bunker (Lebanon, KS); 9:37 AM

  I wake up with a start, shooting upright in my bed once my eyes open. I'm sweating; not too much, but still. I must've had a nightmare. I look around my room, still staying stationary on my bed. I'm still half-asleep, after all. The walls are just plain gray; they look like concrete. They probably are. It's nothing like the hallways of the bunker, which are half white and half blue tiles. I look back around my room, almost like I've never seen it. To my right, a desk sits horizontal to the door. The only things sitting on it are my laptop, a lamp, and my alarm clock. It's 9:40, I think. I try to process that as I prepare myself to leave the room and actually talk to someone.

  I drag myself out of bed, missing sleep already, but glad I'm not in a nightmare anymore, whatever that was. I grab my phone off my nightstand, to the left of my bed, and I also grab my laptop from off my desk. I leave my room, feeling the cold metal of the door handle touch my fingertips before I walk away.

  I take a left down the winding hallways, in the direction of the kitchen. I've pretty much mapped the entire place despite only being around for a month or so. I know I'm almost there when the smell of food begins to waft through the hall. Bacon, specifically. I smile to myself, knowing that Dean's going to be in there making breakfast with a little towel thrown over his shoulder and some kind of stupid apron. That's one of the few things that gives me serotonin somehow. I've also noticed that Dean has multiple aprons, and whenever he's cooking, it seems like he has a different one on each time. As I continue on through the hallway, I imagine which one he's using now. I realize how weird my life is in that moment.

 

  When I step into the kitchen, I see Dean leaning over a sizzling pan, his back to me. The aroma of bacon is everywhere now, filling up the room. It's kind of awesome, actually. I look down and realize I'm still in my pajamas, simple black silk pajamas, but that's okay. I'm comfortable, and Sam and Dean never care, so I don't either. Sometimes we'll all just have lazy days and lounge around in the clothes we slept in. Nothing too exciting really ever happens, but I do have something to show them this morning.

"Hey." I say loud enough for him to hear me over his cooking, and suddenly it turns into a yawn. Dean turns around, smiling and waving his spatula at me. He looks really proud of himself.

"The meat man is back, baby!" He shouts triumphantly. I don't know how to feel about the 'meat man' thing. I'm appalled but I admire it at the same time. I wonder where he came up with that name.

 

 I let out a small laugh, but it kind of sounds forced, which wasn't my intention. Dean's funny, but I literally just woke up. I'm so tired I forgot I was even in pajamas. Rubbing my eyes, I grab a seat at the counter. The cool, metal counter. I put my phone and my laptop onto the table, somehow slamming them down when I met to gently place them. It's too early for this, I think. Actually, it's not. It's really not. What the hell is wrong with me.

"Dean, you don't understand just how hungry I am, swear to god. I was up all night  in my room and didn't even think of coming out here to eat something." The yawning is out of control now, seriously.

"Oh yeah? And why were you up so late?" 

  He starts to sound like my mom, although I'm really the one that takes care of them. Sam AND Dean. And Cas. Well, Cas doesn't need too much except reassurance and appreciation, since nobody else gives it to him. I act like they're my children when I'm concerned about them, which is most of the time. So I'm surprised that Dean is genuinely asking, even if he's focused on cooking.

  He turns around, holding a plate of bacon (a BIG plate. Oh my god, how is it possible to have that much?! Did he buy four boxes or something?!), and I see the apron he has on this time. It's plaid. He wore a plaid apron. Unironically. It's actually a plaid apron. He walks over to me and sets the plate on the middle of the counter, but I don't really even notice. I'm just staring at him now. He turns back to start cleaning up the kitchen and the mess he made.

"That is a disgrace to humanity. To everything good in this world," I say half-joking, "but thanks for the bacon, much appreciated," He turns and looks at me with a very confused expression for a few seconds. "The apron, dummy. You wear enough plaid already. It's disturbing how it's the only thing you wear besides jeans, and now you have an apron with it."

  I try to ignore it now, because I'm hungry and don't want to start a fight before breakfast. Sort of off topic, but he tries to make food every morning. Sometimes I beat him to it, but not today, since I stayed up for so long. He also tries to have beer with his bacon, which I have to shut down. Every single day. I'm surprised he hasn't been hospitalized due to how alcohol he consumes, and when he reaches for the case in the fridge, I shoot him one of my looks. He backs away almost immediately. Probably because I threatened him with a balisong the other day.

"One day we're gonna go out and buy you some real clothes. I think you'd look good in a blazer, something more sophisticated." I say, but I'm whispering at this point. He might bash me for that one, but at the same time I'm trying to eat.

"These are real clothes," Dean mutters. "and this apron is cool."

"No it's not Dean! It's not as cool as you think it is!" I yell, bacon hanging out of my mouth. I haven't gotten any eggs yet, and I'm too busy screaming to hear Sam walk through the door.

"Woah, good morning..?" Sam says hesitantly. He can definitely feel the mood of the room, and he's only stepped one foot in. It's dumb how this argument came to be, but plaid aprons? If you own one, please toss it into the Grand Canyon or never speak to me again.

"Good morning," I grumble, "oh, guys. Before I forget. Come here. D, we'll talk about this later."

  Sam walks over, and he's completely dressed, flannel included. Of course the flannel. (Really, what would it take for them to wear actual clothes? To have a sense of style?) He sits on the stool to the left of me, and I realize how much of a mess I look, but it's fine.

 

"Dean, get your butt over here." I say, and he does. He stands behind Sam and I as I open up my laptop.

"So the reason I was up so late last night was because I found a case. Job. Hunt. Whatever you call it," They look at each other, then look at me like I'm mildly insane.  "Before you do whatever that look is for, I know everything's peaceful here, but I want to do something. I NEED to do something. I can't just live on old movies and Scrabble forever. And when have you guys refused a hunt, huh?"

"Sammy, bacon?" Dean asks, looking to Sam. They really aren't listening to me.

"What? Dean, no. You know I don't eat that stuff." He says.

  I'm in shock. Complete shock. I curse myself for getting distracted.

"Okay, first of all, Sam? What the hell? No BACON? Second of all, can you guys just shut up and let me talk," They nod, and Sam whispers something under his breath that I can't quite hear. Whatever. "Thank you. I'll give you the rundown. Five victims, four of them killed, one of them injured. The four had their hearts ripped out of their chests. Now, I know what you're going to say, but--"

"Oh, so this should be an easy one. Werewolf. What's the motive? Any connections between the victims?" Dean interrupts, taking some bacon off the plate for himself now.

"We'll get there. But listen to this, the last victim? Mandy Litchfield? She swore what attacked her was Jacob Black from Twilight." I say, sunconsciously leaning forward, almost like I'm telling a secret or something. I wait for them to respond, but they don't for about a minute. When Sam opens his mouth to talk, I cut him off.

"Wait. Before you say anything, let me tell you the rest, okay? All of the victims had brown hair, brown eyes, and carried a dream catcher key chain. Crazy weird, but it kind of makes sense."

"What the hell does a dream catcher have to do with it? And Twilight, what the hell? So it's definitely not some normal wolf." Dean thinks.

"Or it's not a wolf at all. I'm thinking shifter, like that story you guys told me. Oktoberfest?"

"Right. I guess that would make sense. It seems to have a sense of humor, but it should've chosen a more subtle disguise, I think." Sam adds.

  I smile. It hasn't been like this for a while, and I forget how much I miss it. How much I miss sitting down and working through a case file, ruling out possibilities and coming up with theories. It can be fun before you actually have to track down and kill the thing, but I think Dean likes that part. I'm more of a research guy, which is what Dean makes Sam do, so that he can go off and do whatever while the two of us actually sit down to figure it out. Eventually, I swear I'll go to a bar with Dean, I will. He always comes back looking like he had so much fun. Okay, I'm getting off topic again. I finish off my food and go to put my napkin in the trash, since I just over that without getting a plate.

"I'm thinking we should go talk to Ms. Litchfield, she was only attacked about two days ago, so the incident should be fresh in her mind. It seems like the shifter is killing every four days, whatever that means to it. We should only have about two more to find it, unless we get somebody for bait, obviously. Wait..." I was on my way back to my seat, when I stop in my tracks to look at Dean.

"Unless we had somebody for bait..." I mutter, thinking to myself.

"Oh, oh no. No, no, no. Why can't Sammy do it? I am not putting on a wig or whatever. No. He's the one with the long hair!" Dean's insistent on not looking feminine, but I don't care. He's going to be the prettiest Bella the shifter's ever seen, complete with dream catcher key chain. 

  I hear somebody laughing, and I look over to see Sam with a huge grin on his face.

"I swear I'm going to take a picture." He barely gets out. He's laughing so hard, his face is pink, and it's contagious. I start to laugh hysterically, thinking about Dean with a wig and makeup on. Funny how I don't feel bad at all.

"Don't worry, D. At least Bella doesn't wear dresses..." I'm practically crying at this point, but Dean just looks annoyed. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, and I can tell he's done with us, absolutely done. He gets up from the table and just leaves in the direction of his room. Sam and I are still doubled over in laughter, but it begins to simmer down and I'm left with the lingering image of gender bent Dean in my mind. I slowly get up, and I realize that my left leg fell asleep, so I shake it out like a psychopath. Once it's gotten blood pumping there again, I look to Sam.

"Wait, is this actually a good idea? I mean should we do it, or just figure something else out? Seriously."

"It's fine, Sparrow. Good, actually. The shifter shouldn't be able to tell the difference, honestly. Especially this one, it doesn't seem to be super intelligent. Dean'll come around. He knows it's a good idea, he just doesn't want it to be him. Maybe we could call in a friend or something. Where is it again?"

"Oh. Right. Well, you're gonna get a kick out of this one. We all know it, we all love it... drum roll please, thank you... Forks, Washington! Surprised?"

"Honestly, no. Not really."