Heavy lies the crown

The motel room door slammed behind me hard enough to rattle the cheap framed landscape painting on the wall.

I stood there for a long moment, hands braced against the dresser, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror.

The man staring back at me? He didn't look like a man anymore.

Not quite human.Not quite monster.Somewhere stuck between.

I exhaled through my nose, the mirror fogging slightly.

No more jokes. No more pretending.

This wasn't just another hunt.This wasn't a black dog or a salt-and-burn.This was war.

And me?

I wasn't just a soldier anymore.I was a damn weapon.

The phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration sharp against my thigh.

I didn't need to check.I already knew.

I yanked it out and pressed it to my ear."Bobby," I rasped.

There was a beat of silence, then—

"You goddamn idjit!" Bobby's voice exploded through the line, loud enough that I instinctively held the phone a few inches away.

"I told you to be careful! I told you this weren't no normal hunt! And what do you do? Waltz into some nutjob's lair like you're invincible?!"

I opened my mouth. Closed it again.What could I say?

"I—" I tried.

"Don't you 'I' me, boy!" he barked. "You get your ass back here. Now. No sightseeing. No detours. You ride straight through or I swear I'll drive out there myself and drag you back by the scruff of your damn neck."

Underneath all the shouting, I heard it—the edge of something raw. Fear.

Bobby Singer didn't get scared easily.

Guilt twisted inside me, gnawing at my ribs.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

The line went dead silent.

Then, softer—"I know. Just... get home."

The call ended.

I stuffed the phone back into my jacket pocket, grabbed my bag, and slung it over my shoulder.

No hesitation.

Time to go.

The ride back was a blur of asphalt, exhaust fumes, and a gnawing pressure growing steadily inside my chest.

Normally, I loved the road. The feeling of speed, the wind slicing past, the illusion of freedom.Tonight, it just felt like running——and not running fast enough.

The strength buzzed under my skin, electric and heavy, like it was just waiting for an excuse to break loose. Ten tons of raw force, barely contained. My hands clenched around the handlebars, the metal creaking alarmingly under the pressure.

Control it, Marcus.Don't let it control you.

By the time Bobby's junkyard came into view, the sun was bleeding out across the sky in messy streaks of orange and red.

The Impala was parked out front, gleaming black even under layers of dust and grime.

Perfect.

Dean and Sam were here.

Because this day clearly hadn't sucked enough already.

I killed the engine, gravel crunching under my boots as I dismounted.

Before I could even take a step, the screen door banged open with a loud BAM.

Bobby stood on the porch, arms crossed over his chest like he was trying to physically hold himself back from throttling me.

Dean lounged against the railing beside him, a beer dangling lazily from his fingers, eyebrows climbing his forehead when he caught sight of me.Sam hovered behind the screen door, frowning like he was already working up a speech.

All three of them just... stared.

I gave a weak wave. "Hey."

Dean let out a low whistle. "Damn, dude. You look like you lost a fight with a woodchipper."

I tried for a smirk. It felt wrong on my face. "You should see the other guy."

Bobby's scowl deepened. "Inside. Now."

The kitchen was all gun oil, burnt coffee, and the metallic tang of stress.

Bobby shoved a glass of whiskey into my hands the second my ass hit the chair.

"Drink," he ordered.

I obeyed, knocking it back in one gulp. The burn barely registered.

Nothing seemed to hit as hard anymore.

Sam slid into the seat across from me, concern etched deep into his face.

Dean dropped into a chair beside him, propping his boots on the edge of the table like he owned the place.

"So," Dean drawled. "You gonna tell us what the hell happened, or do we gotta guess?"

I set the glass down carefully, too carefully, like I was afraid I might shatter it without meaning to.

"I screwed up," I said.

Dean barked a humorless laugh. "Understatement of the freakin' year."

"Dean," Sam said warningly.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. I could feel the weight of all their eyes on me, heavy as chains.

"There's something you guys need to know," I said.

Bobby stiffened slightly, but didn't interrupt.

I met Sam's gaze first—steady, questioning—then Dean's, sharp and skeptical.

"I have... abilities," I said.

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

Dean sat up straighter, all joking gone."Like what? Like psychic crap, like Sammy?"

"Not exactly," I said, flexing my hand slowly. "I can absorb powers. From the things I kill."

Sam blinked. Dean just gaped.

Bobby, bless him, just sipped his whiskey like he'd been expecting this shoe to drop any day now.

"You're telling me," Dean finally said, voice flat, "you're like... some kind of supernatural Pokémon trainer?"

I huffed a laugh despite myself. "Not... exactly."

"Explain," Sam said quickly, frowning.

I ran a hand through my hair."Second was the Wendigo. Picked up their strength and speed. Before that, a pissed-off spirit—telekinesis." I flexed my fingers, and the salt shaker on the table quivered slightly before settling. "And after the Frankenwolves..." I gestured vaguely at myself. "This."

Dean leaned back, shaking his head like he was trying to rattle the idea loose from his brain.

"So you're a monster sponge," he muttered.

"Monster killer," I corrected. "I don't turn into them. I just... take what they leave behind."

Sam's brows furrowed. "But why now? Why tell us?"

I swallowed.

"Because it's getting worse. Stronger and it make me targeted by Kharon."I gestured at my bruised throat that was quickly healed. "Kharon's cultists know about me. They're targeting me specifically. Hess—he was trying to dissect me. See what makes me tick."

Dean's knuckles whitened around his beer bottle.

Bobby set his glass down with a heavy thunk. "It's escalating," he said grimly.

I nodded.

"Kharon's not just sending monsters after me. He's sending people. Scientists and fanatics."

The kitchen seemed to close in, the air too thick.

"So what's the plan?" Dean asked.

I looked around the table—the family I'd somehow found in this screwed-up world.

"I need to train," I said simply. "Get control over these abilities before they get me—or someone else—killed."

I looked at Bobby, my voice rough."Two weeks. That's all I'm asking."

Bobby met my gaze steadily.

"You'll have it," he said finally. "Starting tomorrow at dawn."

Dean groaned. "Ugh. Why is it always dawn? What's wrong with, I dunno, noon?"

Sam elbowed him.

A laugh—small, real—escaped me. It felt foreign and raw, but good.

I wasn't alone in this.

Not anymore.

And when Kharon came knocking?I'd be ready.

******

If you enjoy what I do, consider supporting me on patreon

If you want read advance chapter please visit my patreon

pat-reon.com/FrogKing36

And don't forget some powerstones for this little old me