STUCK IN A HAIRY SITUATION

Ebony had a case. It was in a small town with a name she didn't bother to remember, and from the details the newspapers gave it sounded like a werewolf. Wasn't exactly the easiest way to settle back into hunting but Ebony took what she could take. There was a possibility the Winchesters would be there, but that idea had become less and less likely as she powered through the pile of cases she had. 

She had almost forgotten how complex the job was - it wasn't just attack the monster and move onto the next case. No, you had to get the details of the victims, try and figure out what killed them, then deduce who the monster is - then the fun part happens. Unfortunately for Ebony, she had used most of her money on a hotel that reminded her of the kind of place you go if you want to murder someone for sleezing around with your husband. So, as Ebony had no clothes that were professional, she couldn't just waltz into the morgue and flash a badge, unless she bought some clothes. Or stole them; she wasn't willing to risk going to jail when another person's heart would be ripped out. Which was where things got complicated. She needed the information, and by the way things were going she'd have to break into the morgue at the darkest hours of night. Sounds delightful, Ebony thought sarcastically to herself.  Breaking into a building full of dead people, just how she wanted to spend her Friday night. Going out and partying was just overrated.

At times like these she wondered what mundane people do on a Friday night, and if it was enjoyable. Sure, she wasn't in the hunting life for a few months, but they weren't exactly spent socialising with people she'd be expected to meet. The most fun she had was when her and Celeste would play Monopoly, a game of such simplicity it captured her attention immediately - she felt the need to make it complex. So, she did. Whenever they played and she was the Banker by adding interest, Celeste would groan at her to stop over complicating things, and that it was meant to be 'fun'. Ebony would always argue back that it was, and she'd see a tiny lift of the lips from Celeste. The thought of her best friends lips sent her heart into a frenzy, and she was just about to call Celeste's number to hear her voice and tell her of a mysterious persons mouth turning her pulse down a roller-coaster when she remembered. 

She would never see those lips again. 

Or hear that voice. 

Because she was dead. 

She clenched her hands into tight fists, trembling from sorrow and anger. Just do the job, and stop other people from feeling the same way you do, she thought to herself. She knew it was her subconsciousness lying to her: she wanted to destroy all the monsters out there to quench the fury blazing in her eyes. She shoved the thought away. Then wasn't the best time for it, especially since she was squatting behind a clamped car, taking quick peeps at the doors every few seconds. She was getting impatient - did these people ever go home? 

Her legs started cramping, sending spikes of pain through her legs. Ebony bit her lip to stop from crying out, and kept watching the door. Still no one wandered outside, each peek feeding her boredom. 

"God damn workaholics make my job a hell of a lot harder," she mumbled to herself blowing into her hands, the hot air temporarily warming them up. Her deepest regret at that moment had been not putting on her bunny woollen mittens, but the big eyes didn't exactly make her feel like she was saving lives. That and they made a gun hard to grip.

Minutes passed, the only sound the wind howling. Honestly, it scared her. She never liked the dark, and being out there in that pitch black night where she could be attacked by a werewolf didn't exactly eradicate that fear. 

At that moment, where she was on verge of breaking a window and just climbing in there, the door squeaked. All of her breath rushed out of her at once. She was breathless, she was terrified; most of all, she was excited. Her heart picked up speed, slowing down when her sweaty palms placed their firm grip on her gun. She had a wild smile on her face, one of a predator when stalking their prey. 

She was ready. 

Bravely, she stood up, legs wobbling slightly. She inched towards the door, taking cover behind any cars when she saw the shadow. The shadow was leaving the building behind, and had turned it's back to lock the door when the shadow screamed. The shadow was a person. And they were scared. 

Ebony started running instantly towards the petrified person, gun poised at the ready. She got closer by the second, but she wasn't fast enough. The screaming person was being dragged away, still shrieking like a banshee. She refused for the werewolf to get away, and was determined to end it's miserable life - no matter the circumstances. 

Her arms and legs were failing her, going slower with each pounding heartbeat. Her strides were no longer silent and calculated - they had turned into loud smacking footsteps any normal person with human hearing could hear. She didn't care though, if that meant the werewolf was to find her and take her instead of that innocent worker she wouldn't mind. Her life no longer had value, well Ebony thought that was true, and if she could save another at the cost of her own she'd give the wolf the damn blade. 

The thought of the person the werewolf took dying, energised her dead batteries, and she once again was the living embodiment of the Flash. She ran through streets, took short cuts through suspicious looking alleys, and finally ended up sprinting through an abandoned forest. She jumped over hurdles, never once breaking her powerful stride. Even when she started to feel a bit ill, she kept forcing her body forwards in a marathon against time. 

During this, the werewolf was a few metres ahead, dragging along a blubbering girl who wouldn't shut up. This angered the monster, so she snapped her jaw at the crying woman. Doing this had the opposite effect, and the werewolf couldn't help but admit that she salivated a bit. She liked it when they cried, begged for their lives. It made her feel dominant and those tears streaming down her face fuelled her animalistic hunger. Unable to handle the temptation any longer, she threw the girl against a tree, pinning her up by one long claw. She didn't want to waste time taunting the meal, so dug her hand into the woman's chest. 

Ebony stumbled. She saw the werewolf bury it's hand into her, ripping out her heart. She saw the blood staining her pure white blouse. She saw the werewolf licking its lip in anticipation, spraying saliva over the dead body. She saw the woman collapse to the ground, with no heart to keep her standing.   

The woman had stopped crying. 

Ebony never thought she could feel as much anger as she did then, and with no hesitation ran up to the beast. She didn't understand why she didn't just shoot it and let it rot, but her fury took control and made her hands itch for blood. 

She can't remember what happened next. It came back to her in flashes but she never got the full picture. She remembered pulling out a sliver knife and giving it a nice tattoo. She remembered the werewolf getting mad and tossing her into a tree, yet she stood up seconds later with another attack. She remembered the repeated stabbing, over and over and over again. Still the werewolf wasn't dead, but as the sun began to rise, and Ebony was still etching her pain into the creature, the creature became a woman. Ebony spared one glance in her pleading eyes. 

She felt nothing. 

Ebony knew she had to stop soon, not because she was begged to but because she knew this was quite the area for joggers. She didn't want to stop, in fact her mind kept encouraging her to make one more cut, add another stab wound to her leg, punch her if she liked. It wasn't because of sympathy did Ebony put a silver bullet in her heart, but because of malice. 

She pulled her knife out of the woman's eye, not even grimacing at the fluids that coated it. She just simply wiped it on the dead werewolves clothing, as though it was nothing but a bit of dirt. Which was what the supernatural were in Ebony's eyes: filth. 

Hesitating before leaving, she wandered back to the body, contemplating her next move. It seemed extreme, even for her, yet her feet guided her, crouching her down next to the body. She took her knife out again, and this time she gently drew the tip around the bullet wound. She can't leave any evidence behind, she reminded her shaking hands. If they did trace the bullet to her, she wouldn't be able to do the only thing that gives her purpose - hunting. 

Heaving a big sigh, she plunged her knife into the woman's chest, digging around for the lodged bullet. She needed to take it out, and cutting it out seemed the only way possible. Her stomach surprisingly only disagreed slightly with her actions, no bile rising in her throat as she felt around the valves of the heart. She was about to give it up when the knife scraped against something, making the tiniest of screeches. The bullet. Not holding back she cut the muscle around the bullet with difficulty, until finally she got the bullet out and in her hands. 

The muscle coloured her hand red and dripped it's paint onto the floor, drop by drop by drop. Ebony couldn't help but stare in awe at the thing in her hand - she was holding part of a heart. She had literally broken a heart. 

The crunch of leaves and faint music brought her to attention away from her hand and to her surroundings. She saw a figure in the distance bobbing up and down, getting closer. Panicking, she put the muscle in her pocket and ran off. 

*

At the edge of the forest, two men dressed in FBI suits clambered out of a 1967 Chevy Impala. They'd driven several hours for a case, done all of the research and were about to finish the case when they heard about the deaths, including the suspect. They were pissed, which was an understatement. 

"So what happened to the vics, Officer?" The taller one addressed a woman in uniform, holding up his badge for the officer to see. 

"Well, looks like a grisly on a rampage. One girl, Carrie Jackson, was leaving work when she was taken, and ended up here, with her heart torn out. Poor woman," the officer shook her head. "Can you imagine how scary that must've been?" 

"Unimaginable." 

"What about the other girl?" 

"She hasn't been identified yet, she's pretty messy," the officer led the two men further into the crime scene, lifting up the florescent yellow tape that screamed authority. She kept walking, ignoring the body bag next to her and pointed at the disfigured body. "She's been what looks like stabbed, cut and even shot. What would even do that?" The officer exclaimed, averting her eyes from the body with sorrow. 

"We don't know ma'am, that's why we're here." The shorter of the two exchanged a glance at his partner. "Have you found anything else?" 

The female officer shook her head, pulling out her notepad. "Forensics will be here soon, and maybe they can find something that'll blow this case wide open." 

"Thank you, we appreciate your cooperation. If you find anything else, give us a call." The taller of the two handed her his business card then walked away, dragging his older brother behind him. "I don't think we're dealing with a what here, more like a who." 

"This person knows what they're doing, they killed a werewolf , that doesn't just happen by accident." He peeked his head around his taller brother, taking in again the appearance of the mauled body. He openly cringed.

"The question is: was it a hunter?" 

The men continued their conversation, walking towards the old classy car when they heard something from nearby. They both immediately stopped in sync, glancing at the each other using their silent code that can only be formed by a close bond. With a quick look around they knew no police were nearby, so no awkward cover ups, and split up in separate directions. 

Dean was closer to where Ebony was, crouched behind a bush, sat next to a pile of ash that used to be the heart muscle, with a hot bullet burning her palm. She prayed he would keep walking; her appearance wasn't the best, with crazy hair and clothes permanently red, and the gun full of silver bullets couldn't just be brushed off. 

He was wandering by slowly, scouting the area, so she thought she'd have a strong chance of escape. She stood up abruptly and began running. Unfortunately for her, Dean had taken notice of this movement and started chasing her. 

She threw a quick glance behind her, enough to realise she had failed and to slow her pace. She didn't do it intentionally, she was just so tired. She couldn't wait to fall asleep in her motel. The thoughts of a fluffy mattress made her legs drag, made her resolve crumble. Maybe she should just get arrested, it'd solve the money problem. 

Sluggishly, she made a quick turn, only to run into a obstacle. This obstacle being a six foot giant with better hair than she had, not that it was saying a lot. He grabbed her before she could collapse, holding her arms tightly in front of her. His hands pushed down her sweater, revealing the bold anti-possession tattoo inked on her wrist. She tried to hide it, hoping he wouldn't see it and call her a Satanist, but her squirming brought his attention to it. 

Eyes wide in shock, he let her go. She glared at him, sparing no evil in the look. "You're a hunter." 

"And you're an ass hole," she sassed at him, pushing her sleeves back down. At this, she heard someone clear their throat from behind her. She gulped. 

"I guess you were in a hairy situation," she heard the gun cocking at her back. 

"I guess you could say that." Her eyes drooped, the last of her adrenaline rushing out of her body. She wanted to sleep for eternity. 

She'd have enough time to sleep when she was dead. Unfortunately, her stubbornness couldn't stop her from crashing to the ground.