Tales of an American Hunter

All Grown Up

 15 years later.....I turned slowly in a circle making sure I got them all. Killing vamps was messy work, but someone had to do it. I put my machete away and walked out of the house and got into my car. It was the only thing I had left of my Aunt, a red 1968 camaro. Beat up and rusty, but she gets me where I need to go.

I flopped onto the dingy motel bed after my shower, sighing in relief. It had been a long day and I was ready to sleep. I was just about to la la land when I heard a car door slam and loud voices arguing outside.

"I don't know what to say, Dean. The vamps obviously didn't kill themselves. There must be another hunter in town who caught wind of them".

"Yeah, but who? I've called a few hunters and not one of them is near here". 

"Let's just take the win, get some sleep and head back to the bunker in the morning".

I got up from the bed a peeked out the window. I saw the car first and then the two guys. My jaw dropped. I remembered that car, a 1967 Chevy Imapla. It was John's car. Those two had to be John's sons, Sam and Dean. I remember him telling me about them all those years ago. 

Maybe I should go over and talk to them I thought to myself. I haven't seen John in 15 years. Maybe they can help me find him so I can thank him again for saving my life. 

I pulled my hair up and headed out the door. Turning right, I walked a couple steps to their door.

Taking a deep breath, I raised my fist, knocked and waited.