Chapter Four

Like John Getz

I sat on my couch feeling scarred. Sam and Dean were getting their weapons ready. As much as I hated it, the fly had to die. I just felt kinda bad for some reason. That fly hasn't done anything wrong. Yet. We weren't sure what to do exactly. We didn't know what would kill this thing. So far it's only weakness is small spaces. I didn't know what it was. Fear, adrenaline, something. But I got up off the couch and approached Dean.

"Give me a goddamn gun." I demanded. He looked at me in surprise.

"I thought you didn't want us to kill this thing."

"That thing is the size of a fucking grizzly. Give. Me. A. Gun." Dean smirked a bit.

"Alright. You know how to shoot one?"

"Yeah," I began to calm down a bit. Just a bit. "My father always forced me to go to the shooting range with him. Try and 'man me up'. I guess now, it's a good thing he did." Dean handed me a gun.

"This good?"

"Taurus model 92. 9mm. Looks like it's got a 17 round magazine, correct?" Dean smiled.

"That's right."

"This was my father's favorite gun. Or so I assume."

"What makes you think so?"

"He used it most of the time. When I was a kid. Not to mention he blew his brains out with it." The smile left Dean's face.

"I'm sorry." Sam apologized.

"Don't be. Now let's kill this goddamn fly."

~

I went upstairs to look for freaking Jeff Goldblum. I treaded lightly, trying not to make too much noise. I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find it. I stopped outside my bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. I quickly pushed it open and pointed my gun at an empty room.

I sighed and closed the door. I continued down the hallway towards the bathroom. I opened that door. No fly. I turned around. The size of a goddamn elephant. I pointed my gun and shot.

But I didn't point it at the fly. I pointed it everywhere. I just shot at it wildly until it knocked the gun out of my hand.

Have you ever seen that Jeff Goldblum movie, The Fly? Yes, that's why I called this thing Jeff Goldblum. Remember when he was in the middle of the transformation and he had to throw up on his food in order to eat it? That's what this thing did to my hand.

I screamed so loudly I almost didn't hear the gunshots in the distance. The fly made a noise like it was in pain and tried to fly away. The wind that came from its wings knocked me off my feet.

I saw my hand. Or what was left of it. It completely melted in a mixture of blood and fly vomit. I got onto my feet and tried to see where the fly went. I got out of the bathroom and looked down the far end of the hall. It was completely covered in fly guts.

The damn thing exploded. I nearly threw up. Sam came up to me and inspected my hand. I winced in pain. It still freaking hurt.

"You okay?" Sam asked. I looked at him like he was nuts.

"No, I'm not okay! I feel like John Getz from The Fly!" Sam chuckled a little. I stared at what used to be my hand.

"We should get you to the hospital."

"What about this?" I gestured to the Nightmare on Elm Street scene.

"We need to get you help first." Dean argued. I looked around. I picked up the gun I tried to shoot the fly with, but I probably missed every time. I handed it to Dean. Why did I say "handed"?

"Who are you guys?" I asked.

"We're the Winchesters. Monster hunters."