*Evanna Serial Killer AU preview

Monsters are creatures that haunt children stories, give spice to mythology, and make people wonder what was actually in the dark of the night. Monsters that go bump in the night, hide in your closet, or stole virgins aren’t real, they were just tales, a shadow to be defeated by some hero, strategically or otherwise. But that was not to say that monsters didn’t exist at all… There are monsters that steal away in empty beer bottles, in dull knives, in the playrooms of children, wearing masks of everyday people, hungry for something, someone’s misery. Sometimes they looked like beaten down old men with wandering hands, or a young buck trying to make a living on the other end of a shotgun, or even a pale faced woman with big eyes and a curious pout who ripped flesh apart in her spare time. 

And he was the hero of that story, or so he liked to think. He had been in the business too long to think that heroes actually existed, not the kind that right wrongs. Dean Winchester knew better. There was no magical fairy tale ending to make it all better, to clean up the blood and the gore from carpets, the brain matter from walls, or to keep a child from screaming out in the night as his father’s murder replayed over and over behind shut eyelids. There were no heroes, only monsters in masks. 

“Cold.”

There was a shifting the chair across from him, a nervous fidget if anything. Dean’s eyes scanned the table, pouring over scattered papers, trying his hardest to ignore his suspect. They had picked her up some time ago, wandering away from the scene of the crime – the scene of the fourth triple-homicide of that month. Shocked would be an understatement about the department’s attitude towards the petite redhead trembling with blood on her hands, dripping and wailing.  She had stared at them with her deep doe eyes, mouth quirking up in a small grin as they surrounded her. 

“I said…”

He flipped open a folder, clicking his jaw at the small typeface on the manilla sheet. “I heard what you said. Cold, was it?” There was little to no patience left within him, low on coffee and cigarettes. 

“These handcuffs are cold,” He ignored the timbre whine of her voice, trying not to think of how her hair matched the stains on her dress or the color of her lips. “Can you take them off?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Cause them’s the breaks, sister. And handcuffs are the least of your worries.” He let a long drawn out sigh, a passing thought as his eyes checked over her inked finger prints. 

“But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Dean’s eyes shot up, hazel clashing against a muddied goldenrod. “You were found covered in another person’s blood, with their body right behind you, murder weapon in your hands and you think you didn’t do anything wrong?” She couldn’t possibly think an innocence plea was going to be in her favor. Dean had seen it all in the past, but never the dilapidated sight of insides and entrails festooned over carpeting, like violet and blue stained worms, cold and slimly – a girl no bigger than half of him, cutting and carving through flesh like it was a birthday cake, a gleeful smile plastered to her face as intestines slithered from her fingers, plopping on the squelching on the floor. That’s shit that you don’t just get a good night sleep over. 

“No.” She parted her lips, a wasteful breath seeping from her and Dean felt just the tad bit nauseous with the sight of dried blood still on her chin. They hadn’t even cleaned her up before bringing her in, no time, and the stench of dead and decaying flesh clung to her like an ill omen.  

“You killed a man!” He slammed his fist to the table, a waft of pain striking through his wrist and coiling around his joints, a subtle reminder of his temper was to be spared on sub-humans such as this. 

She titled her head, hair pooling over her shoulder, just blinking, mouth moving in syllables that his ringing ears could not register.  Her noises were just that, noises, babble of a twisted and broken creature that probably desired nothing more than to go about her business of hacking bodies open. Her forensics report outlaid the damages done by her, marking and listing the entry wounds, pre and postmortem. A small detail caught his attention as she carried on, and Dean couldn’t help but idly think if these people were still alive when she carved and ripped their tongues from their throats, just so they couldn’t scream.