BW

The first thing Dean Winchester noticed about the woman standing over the dead body was that she wasn’t screaming. The second thing he noticed was the gun. A black handgun rested loosely in her right hand, pointed toward the floor. Her left hand was covered in blood, and judging by the way she was staring at the corpse, she didn’t look particularly disturbed by either fact. Dean slowed the Impala. “Well,” he muttered, “that’s new.” Sam glanced over from the passenger seat. “What?” Dean nodded toward the scene ahead. “Another hunter.” Sam followed his gaze. A woman stood beneath the flickering streetlight behind an abandoned roadside motel. A dead man lay several feet away, his chest torn open. “How can you tell?” Dean gave him a look. “Because normal people don’t stand over mutilated corpses holding a gun like they’re waiting for the pizza guy.” Sam sighed. “Fair.” Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot. The woman immediately looked up. Her eyes tracked the car. Then Dean. Then Sam. Her hand shifted slightly toward her weapon. Dean stopped several feet away and raised both hands. “Easy.”