More of Eliot's inner monsters than his outer ones, but I hope this works for you. :D
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"I need to hunt something."
John Winchester might have been startled by the appearance of his intermittent hunting companion and occasional lover, but he didn't give any outward sign, just looked up from his journal at Eliot, took in his ruffled appearance, and waited for the rest.
"I need to hunt something big and fast and that I can kill because I really need to kill something, John, and I need it not to be human." There was a edge in Eliot's voice that made him think of his boys when they were really afraid of something, not just pissing around.
John grabbed hold of Eliot's shirt and pushed him into a barstool, shoving the rest of his beer at him. "Lower your voice, kid." he growled. "You'll bring attention."
Eliot reached out and took the beer, finishing it off in a couple of gulps. "I ain't one of yer kids, John." Eliot growled back, young voice still a paltry imitation. "Y' better remember that before ya fuck me next time."
"What happened's got ya so riled?" John asked, ignoring Eliot's snark.
The younger man's eyes went dark and distant as John watched, and he wondered if he really needed to hear this story or if he could save himself some nightmares. Eliot might not hunt the monsters, but he sure had met a lot of them. "A hunt, John. Please."
John's eyes widened. That quiet desperation wasn't something he'd ever expected to hear from Eliot. Boy'd never been a hunter, only had a few run-ins with John's trade, but John had never seen him suffer like this for his own side of the black. He usually reveled in it, celebrated his own brutality and strength over others.
Didn't actively seek out death like this, like he wanted to shake his hand.
"What's gotten into you?'" he asked sharply, no patience for death-wishers.
Eliot huffed and rolled his eyes, making him look all of fifteen all of a sudden. "Just a bad job is all." He looked away, eyes finding the ground and that dark stealing back over his expression. "I feel like what's inside of me… It's trying to get out. I just need something to let it out on, John. Something that ain't gonna go down easy and I ain't gonna regret killin'."
John thought about sending him home. Hell, about taking him home and fucking that despair right out of him. But then he glanced down at his journal, at the rough sketch of a wendigo that got more detailed every time he faced the things again. This was a piss-poor excuse for an idea, but he'd been thinking about calling in backup on this one anyway. No one was stupid enough to go up against a wendigo on their own. At least not the second time.
"Got somethin' for you up in the mountains here. Fast, strong, more'n's easy to handle alone. A wendigo, if you've heard of them."
"Tell me where." Eliot demanded, all petulant and child-like again. The kid was giving him a headache.
"Hell no." he shook his head immediately. "I ain't lettin' you go and get yourself killed. I need the backup. We go in tomorrow, 's already dusk - we're gonna need the daylight."
"I can't wait that long." Eliot replied, standing and slamming his hands on the bar. John didn't believe him, thought he was just being a drama queen. Turned out he was wrong.
1/2
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"I need to hunt something."
John Winchester might have been startled by the appearance of his intermittent hunting companion and occasional lover, but he didn't give any outward sign, just looked up from his journal at Eliot, took in his ruffled appearance, and waited for the rest.
"I need to hunt something big and fast and that I can kill because I really need to kill something, John, and I need it not to be human." There was a edge in Eliot's voice that made him think of his boys when they were really afraid of something, not just pissing around.
John grabbed hold of Eliot's shirt and pushed him into a barstool, shoving the rest of his beer at him. "Lower your voice, kid." he growled. "You'll bring attention."
Eliot reached out and took the beer, finishing it off in a couple of gulps. "I ain't one of yer kids, John." Eliot growled back, young voice still a paltry imitation. "Y' better remember that before ya fuck me next time."
"What happened's got ya so riled?" John asked, ignoring Eliot's snark.
The younger man's eyes went dark and distant as John watched, and he wondered if he really needed to hear this story or if he could save himself some nightmares. Eliot might not hunt the monsters, but he sure had met a lot of them. "A hunt, John. Please."
John's eyes widened. That quiet desperation wasn't something he'd ever expected to hear from Eliot. Boy'd never been a hunter, only had a few run-ins with John's trade, but John had never seen him suffer like this for his own side of the black. He usually reveled in it, celebrated his own brutality and strength over others.
Didn't actively seek out death like this, like he wanted to shake his hand.
"What's gotten into you?'" he asked sharply, no patience for death-wishers.
Eliot huffed and rolled his eyes, making him look all of fifteen all of a sudden. "Just a bad job is all." He looked away, eyes finding the ground and that dark stealing back over his expression. "I feel like what's inside of me… It's trying to get out. I just need something to let it out on, John. Something that ain't gonna go down easy and I ain't gonna regret killin'."
John thought about sending him home. Hell, about taking him home and fucking that despair right out of him. But then he glanced down at his journal, at the rough sketch of a wendigo that got more detailed every time he faced the things again. This was a piss-poor excuse for an idea, but he'd been thinking about calling in backup on this one anyway. No one was stupid enough to go up against a wendigo on their own. At least not the second time.
"Got somethin' for you up in the mountains here. Fast, strong, more'n's easy to handle alone. A wendigo, if you've heard of them."
"Tell me where." Eliot demanded, all petulant and child-like again. The kid was giving him a headache.
"Hell no." he shook his head immediately. "I ain't lettin' you go and get yourself killed. I need the backup. We go in tomorrow, 's already dusk - we're gonna need the daylight."
"I can't wait that long." Eliot replied, standing and slamming his hands on the bar. John didn't believe him, thought he was just being a drama queen. Turned out he was wrong.