- RSS Channel Showcase 6813181
- RSS Channel Showcase 8917764
- RSS Channel Showcase 8194034
- RSS Channel Showcase 1327494
Articles on this Page
- 09/07/08--06:45: _Cicatrice Road, for...
- 09/07/08--20:56: _New Times, for my_s...
- 09/08/08--08:25: _Shout When You Wann...
- 09/08/08--18:41: _ rêvez un petit rêv...
- 09/09/08--07:31: _Let Me Put My Love ...
- 09/09/08--20:55: _Hidden Mouths of St...
- 09/10/08--06:53: _Atheists in a Foxho...
- 09/10/08--19:55: _who is the third wh...
- 09/14/08--20:32: _All stories posted.
- 09/17/08--21:12: _Wrap Up and Masterl...
- 09/07/08--06:45: Cicatrice Road, for that_september (Dean/Kaylee, PG)
- 09/07/08--20:56: New Times, for my_sam_dean (Dean/Jo, adult)
- 09/08/08--18:41: rêvez un petit rêve de moi, for peganix (Dean/Bela, adult)
- 09/09/08--07:31: Let Me Put My Love Into You, for staci_x2 (Dean/OFC, PG-13)
- 09/09/08--20:55: Hidden Mouths of Stone and Light, for chase_acow (Dean/OFC, NC-17)
- 09/10/08--06:53: Atheists in a Foxhole. for regala_electra (Dean/OFC, Adult)
- 09/14/08--20:32: All stories posted.
- 09/17/08--21:12: Wrap Up and Masterlist of Stories
Summary:Firely crossover. The first time Dean and Kaylee met, he was skulking around the barn out back.
Author's Notes: For that_september's prompt: Kaylee's only loved one other man besides Simon: notorious thief, ladies' man, and space cowboy Dean Winchester.
It's not that she likes fighting with her daddy, Kaylee thinks, sitting out on the porch steps. But she's seventeen and better under an engine than either of her brothers, and she deserves to learn the trade.
When a light flickers under the barn door where her daddy does all his work, Kaylee pauses in biting at her nails. Her daddy and momma are inside, sleeping; her brothers are out with friends. There ain't anybody else who should be in there at this hour- nobody who would be up to any good. Kaylee wraps a hand around the small knife she'd carried since she turned fourteen and inches slowly towards the barn, cursing the snap of every little twig.
There's a back way in, so she doesn't have to creak the heavy barn door open. The light is still flickering as she drops in silently.
A man is crouched over the pile of spare parts her daddy keeps in one corner, rummaging through hastily and swearing softly under his breath. He's juggling a cheap lantern from hand to hand, trying to read the writing carved into each piece.
Kaylee creeps closer, trying to hold the knife steady.
She must not be quiet enough, though, because he turns around slow, keeping his face tucked away so's she can't see it in the shadow.
"Hey, hey, baby doll," he rumbles. "I don't want any problems here."
"Then you probably shouldn't go sneaking around other people's property," Kaylee says, tilting the knife just enough that the light of the lantern glances off the side.
He takes a step closer- tucking a small part away in his pocket, Kaylee notices. "Don't-"
"Stay back," she interrupts.
"All right," he concedes. "Just don't start screaming your pretty head off. We don't need-"
"Stay back," she orders again, keeping an eye on his restless feet.
"We can resolve this between us, can't we, sweetheart," he says, and comes just a little into the light.
"I know you," Kaylee says, suddenly. "I seen your poster up. You a wanted man."
"Sure thing," he says, hands still up. "Dean Winchester, at your service."
Kaylee eyes him cautiously. "What'd you do?"
"Hey," he protests. "I'm an innocent man. For sure. Don't know what they were talking about, with all that grand larceny," he waves a hand. "burglary business. So let's just get on with this-"
"With what-" Kaylee tries to interrupt, but by the time she gets half the words out he's knocked the knife out of her hand with one quick blow and drawn a gun out of a side holster. Kaylee could kick herself for not noticing it, but in the meantime, she's a little more concerned by the way he's got it pointed straight at her.
"This doesn't have to end badly, sweetheart," he says, grinning like he knows he's won.
It's pissing her off. "I ain't your sweetheart," she snaps.
"Well, aren't you a little sour puss," says Winchester. He chucks her lightly on the chin, with the hand that ain't aiming a revolver at her neck.
"Get outta here," Kaylee says, wishing her voice wouldn't tremble so. "Get outta here and don't come back."
"Yeah, I gotta go anyways. Nice to meet you- hey, what's your name, darling?"
"Kaylee," she says.
"Nice to meet you, Kaylee," he repeats, and then shoves a strip of cloth in her mouth and ties her to a barn post, not quite tight enough to hurt. He pats her cheek goodbye. By the time she gets herself free, he's long gone.
The next and last time she sees Dean Winchester, he's in the main cargo hold of Serenity. The way Mal's aiming at him is a strange but satisfying reversal.
"Hey," shouts Kaylee over the railing, hurrying down. "Don't, Mal, stop!"
"What," Mal says, keeping his aim straight. "You know this-" he trails off into a string of Chinese, too fast for her to understand. She's pretty sure it deals with how Mal feels about stowaways creeping onto his ship. She's still too new to Serenity, hasn't quite picked up all the phrases that didn't get thrown around on her little backworld planet.
"I owe him something," she says to Mal, and punches Winchester right in the mouth.
His head snaps back and then curls up at the mouth laughing, as she curses and cradles her hand. "Ouch. Well, all right," she says, stepping away. "We're square."
It's only then, stepping back, that she realizes Jayne's there and aiming at another uninvited passenger. The other one's sitting on the floor, kinda curled up into a ball, resting a little against Winchester. His face is sweaty, and he's got an arm cradled against his belly.
Winchester seems to notice Jayne then too, and starts edging around in front of the other man, protective-like.
"I'd advise you to quit moving," Mal orders, low and serious.
"Then tell your man to get his sights off my brother," Winchester says, suddenly tense.
"Nuh uh," Mal says, getting angry. "You snuck aboard my boat, you follow my rules. Now quit moving."
Kaylee thinks for a minute that there's gonna be a real blow-up, hands getting sweaty, when the other man keels flat over. The only reason he doesn't go face-first into the floor is Winchester's quick movements, darting down to cradle his head.
"C'mon, Sammy," Winchester says, wiping at his brother's face, "wake up. Stay with me here, you gorram-"
Kaylee doesn't know why she does it- probably has something to do with the way he made sure to leave her knife close enough that she could cut herself free, the way he laughed like running off with stolen engine parts was just a game, but before she even realizes it she's got a hand on Winchester's back and is calling over her shoulder for Zoe.
"I just need to get to Hocine," Winchester says, looking them all in the eyes, body tense but just on the edge of frantic. "Got a doctor friend there, 'round Southport."
Kaylee waits a minute, tension in the air sounding a lot like begging. Then, with a sign, Mal drops his sights and clicks the safety back on.
"Yeah, we could use a doctor on board," Zoe sighs, relaxing too. "Kinda wish Xian-Shu hadn't settled down for good."
"Hey, I was a pretty good a field medic!" Mal says, tucking away his gun now he's got Winchester labelled as a non-threat.
Zoe rolls her eyes behind his back, while Jayne scoffs right out loud. Last time Mal tried to stitch Zoe up, he gave her a scar a mile wide.
"C'mon," Kaylee says, helping Winchester hoist his brother up. "He can take my bed."
Winchester sticks around for a while- long enough to become Dean, anyways. They run into some Alliance trouble- Jayne stupid enough to get caught smuggling illegal, non-standard weapons into an Alliance-approved brothel, and Dean helps out long enough to let them get away in time. He’s a good shot.
It takes them too long to get to Hocine, and by that time Dean’s friend has disappeared, but Sam’s already up and walking at that point, the long slice across his belly knitting up nicely under Inara’s careful stitches.
The Winchesters even start coming to meals, forgiven by everyone except Mal for sneaking on board.
At one mealtime, Kaylee looks over at Sam, who’s laughing as Inara tries to teach him the fancy way she learned to slice up fresh vegetables. Not much call for that on Serenity, but so’s life.
When she looks back at Dean, he’s half-grinning at her.
“He’s tough, your brother,” Kaylee says.
“Yeah,” Dean says, beaming over at him like a proud father.
“So where was he last time we met?” Kaylee says, and then regrets it at the way Dean’s face closes down.
“So where are you all off to next?” Dean says, forced but amiable.
“Don’t tell him,” Mal says, mockingly stern, looking up from his meal long enough for Wash to steal his roll.
Dean’s smirk turns real, then, a real cowboy look, and while he starts haranguing Mal about the lack of trust, Kaylee takes a long sip of water.
It’s been three weeks already, and she thinks she sees the way he’s getting antsy in the way he cleans his guns, the way he paces around the engine room while she works. He picks up a few things, watching her, but mostly he just keeps her company.
So Kaylee hangs around when Dean stays in the kitchen to clean the dishes, still trying to pay his dues in his own way.
He takes off his thick leather jacket, rolls up the sleeves of his cheap button-down to reveal tan forearms. Kaylee eases up next to him, starts drying, and they work in comfortable silence until he hands her the last dish.
She dries it, puts it away slowly, then turns to face him. Dean’s looking a little serious around the eyes, like he knows something’s coming.
Kaylee steps in, up to his broad chest, puts a hand on his waist.
"Hey," he tries to say, clearing his throat. "Hold up a second."
"I ain't no timid virgin," Kaylee says, looking him straight in the eyes, hand still on his belt, trapped under his wide fingers.
"You know I'm not sticking around," Dean says back, gaze steady. "I got things to do. Bad guys to hunt. Family-"
"-to protect. I know," she says, and pulls him down for a kiss.
"No more stowaways, I declare it," Mal grumbles. "Sick siblings or no."
Kaylee watches the Winchesters walk off of Serenity and onto the planet, Sam still limping a little but held up by his brother's strong shoulders. When Mal presses the button to close the hanger doors, Dean turns around and shoots her a grin. Kaylee waves, laughing back.
Mal claps a hand down on her shoulder, looking just a little touched. "C'mon, Kaylee,” he says, and guides her back to work.
Title: New Times
Summary: Jo woke up tangled in his sheets, her hand still on his arm. Dean was sleeping peacefully, slightly turned to her, with his cheek pressing against her scalp…
Author's Notes: This is my first SPN story. So I hope you´ll like it.
Many thanx to my amazing beta Devia
She met him in the nice, quiet motel in Maryland. It was half a year after Dean told her that he would call her. He didn´t, of course. Jo hadn’t counted on it anyway, but she had thought about Winchesters, about Dean, every day since then. And when Dean told her that the demon was the last straw for Sam and that he was back at university, he offered her a job and Jo agreed.
Jo really didn´t know why, because she was currently on the best path to forgetting him. But hunting alone wasn´t the best idea, because maybe she wasn’t really skilful and expert as she thought. But she could deal with it- she was proving it by the long, white scars on her body and her lost her blood.
When they are on a hunt, she doesn’t dare to complain or argue, even if he is still snarky and upbraids her for every little mistake.
It´s surprising, but Dean keeps inviting her on another hunt and then it’s the routine- the two of them together on the road, on the hunt.
“It´s yours,” Jo tosses a paper bag on Dean´s lap, and he quickly starts to open it up.
Jo sits down on the passenger seat and opens her box filled with Caesar salad. The line in the fast-food place has been unbelievably long, unbelievable in this wilderness.
“What?” Dean cries out. “Just two tortillas?”
“You didn´t say how much you wanted,“ Jo answers, defensive.
“I´m not a chick, I need food, you know?” he says when he sees her salad. “Shit,” he frowns and eats the big hamburger in five bites.
Jo is just about to put a tomato to her mouth, when he stiffens.
“Wait. There isn´t spicy sauce?”
“I don´t know… maybe I should have asked.” And she starts to feel miserable.
It ends with Jo going back to wait in another endless line four more tortillas and big hamburger with a ton of spicy sauce .
Jo knows how much Dean was missing Sam. She can see the hurt in his eyes and the emptiness in his behavior. So she can handle this treatment, because she can’t stand Dean the Great broken like this. But it’s hard and so exhausting.
Even harder was when Sam starts to call her. They have a lot of night calls about nothing. For Sam is everything, when Jo´s telling him how Dean is doing.
In the “Fat Fox” it’s almost the whole town. Jo sits at the wooden table, Coke in her hand, and the seat across is empty. Dean had disappeared forty minutes before for a pool game and now, he´s chatting with a pretty, busty girl at the bar. Jo tries not to looks and focuses on sipping her drink, when someone sits down beside her.
“Excuse me, miss, you look a little bit alone,” says a brown-haired cowboy. Because, wouldn’t you know it, they’re in in Utah.
He sits in Dean´s chair after getting Jo´s permission and he´s polite and nice. But, he isn´t- he isn´t Dean. Dean is kissing the busty girl´s neck and leading her out the door. He catches Jo´s stare- and changes his direction, pulling the girl with him.
“Who’s this, Jo?” he asks, storming towards her.
“That´s Rob,” and she knows this won´t end well.
“This is my chair, man.”
“Sorry, I didn´t know you´re here together,” Rob takes note of the girl behind Dean´s back.
“Yeah, I´m here with my sister,” and he nods towards Jo.
Anyway, it ends with Rob getting a broken nose. Jo feels bad and brings him chocolate at the hospital.
In the beginning Jo didn´t believe demonSam. But the more they hunt together, the more the feeling of a younger sister and school-girl grows stronger.
They sleep in motels, in one room, but each one with their own bed. They don´t talk much, just shower, eat and then sleep.
It isn´t actually fulfilling,after those horrible hunts. But they have no other possibility. No one wants to be left completely alone.
”Fuck, fuck!“ Dean swears and clenching his teeth together to hold the pain back.
”Jesus, sit down! Sit down!” Jo´s arms are pulling him down, to Impala´s leather seat. Hes breathing heavily, one hand over his ribs. It seems that his lungs have taken a holiday- it´s growing hard for him to catch his breath
Jo hunkers down in front of him and put her hands on Dean´s thighs.
“Breathe, it´s ok, just breathe.” She herself is taking long and slow breaths.
“Shit, it´s not ok! You had- had to be- at your place- and everything would be- ok!”
With Jo´s help, his breathing began to steady.
“It attacked you from behind! It could’ve been even worse!”
“You should stay away!” he says, finally.
“I can´t,” she whispers.
“Once more- and then we’re done.”
They rent a little house in New Mexico, for a time. Because two of Dean´s ribs are cracked and he actually needs a rest as much as Jo does. And although he’s still bitching about everything, Jo knows he’s glad.
On the second morning in the new house Jo dances barefoot into the kitchen in yellow dress and her hair pinned up.
When Dean grunts something like; “Humph,” she just turns from the sink and asks, “What?”
“Nothing,” and he continues with the breakfast.
Of course she knows, that her slim and long neck is finally very visible, as well as her toned legs. She´s smiling into her cup of coffee, the cold tiles on the floor cooling her feet.
A few last days are really fucking hot, even for a desert like New Mexico. Dean spends whole day watching stupid programs on TV, with a poor, little fan next to his face.
Every time when Jo comes from the porch in for a new glass of water with ice cubes, she feels his gaze in her more-than-usual-bare body. Even in this horrible weather, she shivers.
That night it´s the first time she hearshim have a nightmare.
She quickly goes to Dean´s bedroom, sitting on the bed and speaking to him.
”Hey, hey- Dean,” it seems like he doesn´t hear her, because his body, covered by a light film of sweat, is still trembling and jerking.
“Wake up, Dean,” she repeats and this time, she touches his arm gently and Dean is immediately awake, sitting up and panting.
He looks confused and scared and it scares Jo even more. She is staring at him, waiting for his eyes to meet hers, her hand still touching his.
Dean murmurs something and then, he finally looks at her.
“Was it a nightmare?” she asks quietly, he just nods.
“It was about Sam, wasn´t it?” and she knows the answer is yes.
He looks so tired and destroyed- so not Dean- it almost hurts to see him like this.
Jo´s starting to stroke his bare arm, up to the shoulder and down to the forearm. His skin is hot, too hot.
”I think you have a fever. I´ll bring you some pills and water.“ She stands up and starts to turn to the door, but Dean´s clasping her arm.
“I´ll be back,” she murmurs, confused.
And she´s back shortly after, handing him the glass and the pills.
“It was about Sam,“ Dean confesses when she´s sitting next to him again, wiping the sweat from his forehead by the hem of her old T- shirt.
“Maybe I should- I´ve never-“ he tries to tell her, but he can’t finish .
“He´s ok, I´m sure,” Jo calms him with a strong voice.
And suddenly, he´s looking straight at her. “Jo,” he breathes out, like he really realizes for the first time she´s here.
“What?” she asks him with a small voice, her stomach fluttering and full of anticipation.
“Come here,” and suddenly there is an empty place for her in his bed, his too small bed.
Jo half hugs him and starts to hum a song. One of the ones he likes.
Jo wakes up tangled in his sheets, her hand still on his arm. Deanis sleeping peacefully, slightly turned to her, with his cheek pressing against her scalp.
All over her is his scent, so calming, almost like the home. She represses a strong impulse to caress his bare body or to stroke his stubbly cheek.
It’s early; 8:21am and the sun is burning like crazy. So Jo takes a shower to cool her body and also her mind. She’s glad that Dean´s sleeping after the night and the fucked up hunt.
He wakes up in the late afternoon, disorientated and scowling. Like the night hadn’teven happened. His ego could have killed him. And Jo feels betrayed and hurt. But she ’s immune from it so far.
And then flash and thunder and she’s running out, towards the rain.
She´s lying in the wet grass, soaking throughout by the rain, smile on her face.
Suddenly, Dean´s next to her and they both let the water wash away everything.
Jo can see peripherally that Dean is watching her.
“What?” she raises her eyebrow. He says nothing, just starting to move towards her and Jo´s heart is thumping like mad and she feels Dean´s warm lips on hers.
It´s just nipping and brushing, Dean´s hand on her cheek.
“It´s cold here, come on.”
The rain is lighter now, but the sky is still dark.
Jo heads after him, inside, afraid of what´s going to happen. But Dean just opens the fridge.
“Want something?” he asks, as he´s pulling out the bottle of Jack.
“No, thanks,“ Jo answers sharply, watching him taking a couple of gulps right from the bottle. “You can´t just kiss me,” she states, still in shock.
It´s a simple response, and Jo doesn´t know what to say.
They are both in the damp clothes. Dean in his old t- shirt and Jo has on the yellow dress. Every piece of the cotton is sticking to their bodies. Jo can see his muscles through the thin sheet of the shirt and suddenly realizes, that she´s not wearing a bra, so he can also see everything.
But Dean is now fighting with the soaked shirt, but it´s quite hard when you have cracked three ribs. So he makes a few steps to Jo and with a pleading face he´s asking for help.
Jo hesitates for a second, but then she´s tugging on the hem and lifting the shirt carefully past his body and then over his head.
“Why not?” she´s back with the strange conversation. And then Dean´s arm is over her hip and his hand is cupping her cheek.
“Cause you´re sweet,” he rasps. “Your lips are sweet,” he says while he´s kissing her slightly parted mouth, “Your skin´s sweet,” he goes on, now kissing her neck.
Jesus, this is what she has always wanted. Finally, finally, she can know his lips and sink her nose into the crook of his neck, and the warm, pulsing skin there.
“Wait,” she breathes out, smile on her face. “Wait,” she´s still leaning on his firm body. “I- I´m cold,” she feels embarrassed, like a school-girl. But she is not a school girl anymore.
“Yeah, true,” his body´s shaking too and those green eyes are watching hers.
Jo doesn´t know how exactly, but all of a sudden, Dean´s sitting on her bed, in her room, with outstretched hands, waiting for her.
She takes a deep breath, as she´s coming closer to him, to stand between his thighs. Her hands voluntary take care of the dress buttons, popping out one after one to reveal more and more of the goose bumped skin.
Dean´s eyes are scanning her movements and when the last one is opened, just under her bellybutton, he takes her cold hands in his and bends forward to kiss her abdomen. Jo feels her eyes rolling back under the delicate feeling. She dares to put her hands on Dean´s broad shoulders and then runs into the hair on his nap, while he´s pushing her dress away. Then he stands up and with her help, he gets rid of his jeans and they lay down on the bed, under the sheet.
They kiss a long time, more and more passionately, and Jo thinks, that it’s finally happening, but she isn´t sure if it´s the right thing. But when Dean´s hand cups her breast, all these thoughts are gone. He sucks her; teeth grazing sensitive flesh while his other hand´s massaging her gently, in time with the stroke of his tongue against her nipple.
His fingers caress her more tenderly than she'd expected or ever experienced. She feels his fingers fall, curling and stroking at the back of her knees. Slowly his fingers slide higher, thumbs stroking as his fingers caress the back of her thighs, and higher still to the exposed curve of her butt. His hands fall lower, running over her sides and across her stomach.
She can feel his hard length against her stomach, confined by his boxers. She rubs against him slowly and feels him jerk up against her, his mouth parting and letting out a stuttered breath against her own.
Dean´s soft lips are everywhere, along her neck and her breasts and along her shoulders. His hands never stop touching her. She can hear herself breathing more quickly and louder. She moves more on top of him, kissing his chest and down to the hem of his boxers. She´s licking the delicious V, going towards his groin. The skin here is so soft and thin and obviously ticklish, since Dean´s wriggling a little. But Jo loves this part of his body, also the muscles on the abdomen. She would trace them with her fingers forever.
She shoves the unwanted piece of clothing down and away and she can see how hard Dean is. She wraps her fingers around his length, causing a low growl to sound from deep within his chest. Bending to his groin, Jo runs her tongue along the length of his cock, taking him into her mouth, her soft cheeks enclosing the cock. She tries to do her best to satisfy Dean, although she hasn´t had too much experiences. But from the way how Dean reacts, she thinks she could say, she’s not half bad. Anyway, it´s quite hard to breathe just by the nostrils when you´re so aroused, so she stops and go back to kiss his lips.
Their breathing is heavy, their bodies shaking with the need to move, to experience, to have all of each other.
Dean trails one hand gently up the inside of her leg as Jo writhes underneath him. She spreads out wider and accepts his weight. He begins to enter her slowly. His breath hisses out as her heat surrounds him. The look on her face is one of wonder. Her eyes quickly find his. She wants him to stare into her eyes and he does.
The way he holds her hands as he´s entering her over and over, fingers intertwined- Jo can tell that this is different, that he is different. They don´t speak, just continue looking into each other’s eyes.
Finally she tightens her legs around his hips at the same time her inner muscles startclenching around him. She knows she is about to come. He keeps the rhythm going—holding onto his own orgasm—praying that she will peak anytime now. He´s pulling out and plunging back in as deep as he can, as his world explodes around him at the same time as hers.
The morning after, Jo is woken up by her cell phone vibrating with SAM on display. She quietly tiptoes from the bedroom to the kitchen. It’s just another call with Sam. He tells her how he’s doing, and she tells him some of where they were. And when she hangs up and turns around, she’ss facing Dean, leaning to the door frame. He says nothing, which is even worse than yelling. What’s coming right then, when Jo tries to clear it up for him. God, she feels horrible. She knows, that she´s touched the most sacred spot- their brotherhood.
When Dean´s ribs and leg are finally ok, she knows she has to continue alone. No goodbyes, they can´t look at each other.
Jo does a few jobs before she realizes she´s missing her periods.
“You´re pregnant, miss.”
“No,” Jo laughs. “That´s not possible,” she shakes her head. But then she remembers the night with Dean the month before.
“How far am I along?” She´s absolutely serious now.
“Four weeks, three and a few days exactly,” the doctor answers her question. And Jo isn´t the strong hunter now, she´s crying the whole time the doctor is telling her about all that possibilities- and no, she would never let anyone kill something so little and vulnerable inside of her body, never- about the duration of pregnancy, about her health… and Jo´s still crying.
She´s crying the whole week after, although she´s taking the vitamin pills and knows what morning sickness is now. She still doesn´t talk with her mother, but she has to talk with someone, so she´s dialing Sam´s number.
“Something wrong?” asks Sam.
“Why?” Could he know?
“Just- you haven´t called for such a long time…”
“I´m not with Dean… It´s better this way, you know him,” and she feels tears welling up when she says his name.
“Where- where is he? Where are you?” He sounds confused.
“I don´t know where is he. And I´m ok.”
“Jo, what happened?” Now, he sounds worried.
“We had an awful fight and I don´t feel really good…”
She tells him a lot, but nothing about the little baby in her belly. But from her words and voice, Sam could tell something isn’t right…
One November´s evening someone knocks on the door of Jo´s apartment. She´s wearing a long baggy sweater and warm knitted socks. Jo isn´t paying much attention to the door, but when she raises her eyes to the visitor-
“Hey, can I come in?” Dean´s looking awkwardly friendly.
She wants to slam the door, but she lets him in instead.
“You can sit here,” Jo points to the chair next to the table, as she´s sitting on the other and sipping hot herbal tea.
“You look good,” Dean says, never meetingher eyes.
“Yeah… you know, working at Burger King isn´t a hunt,” she answers sarcastically.
He looks tired and jaded- but fucking handsome and manlike as usual. And she can smell his scent with her over-sensitive sense. It´s all him- the gasoline, sweat and cologne. No one could ever smell like him to her. She has to close her eyes, stand up and go to the counter.
“What are you doing here?” She needs to end this as soon as possible.
“I talked to Sam. He told me where I could find you.“
“So, you´re speaking to him. What a surprise” It´s full of venom, but this is the only defense for her.
“Actually yes, I think. Look…you were right, ok? And I´m sorry.”
“You can´t be sorry just like that. You have to mean it!”
“Jo, I mean it. The whole time I was acting like an idiot. I had no right to treat you like that.”
“But you did!”
“I really am sorry. What can I do?!”
“What can YOU do? What can I do!?” She shoves up the sweater to reveal her swelling belly.
“What the hell- you´re- pregnant?”
“Who- who´s the father? Should I kill someone?”
“Dean- it´s yours.”
“What?!” he nervously chuckles out. “How could you know?”
“I haven´t slept with anyone else. I mean- not at least a year before you and no one after you.”
“It- no, no.”
After a very long time.
“Girl or boy?”
“May I-” and he touches the belly and Jo wants to flinch away, but she can´t.
“It´s almost over four months now,” she whispers as Dean´s hands are touching her bulging stomach. She still wants him. After everything, because of everything. She lets her head drop ontohis shoulder.
“We´ll work this out, right?”
“Yeah…” Jo whispers back resignedly. She lifts his head up, to look at him, to find out, what he really thinks. She can see resolve and earnestness in his eyes. She wants to kiss him. She needs to kiss him. So she does.
He tastes even better than she remembers. The kiss is so comfortable and leisurely, like there hasn´t been any for a long time, when there were separated. It feels like kissing someone so familiar, who makes you feel good, protected, loving…
Eventually, they move to the bedroom, where Dean carefully, almost timidly, lays Jo down. He´s kissing her from neck to the belly and Jo sighs contentedly. They cuddle and pet- She hasn´t any sexual exploits since the beginning of her pregnancy. And now it´s the same. Although, it seems her body and senses are reacting to Dean´s care. How he´s nuzzling her neck and stroking breasts under the sweater…
“You´re so beautiful… so soft…,” Dean keeps telling her.
She can just lay here with closed eyes, little moans escaping her warm her lips. But she can already feel the wetness between her legs.
„Here, come on, baby,“ Dean helps her up and straddles his face.
Jo is unsure, moving slowly. “Dean, I´m not sure…” she´s biting her lip and looking down to him.
„It´s ok,“ he assures her as he´s pulling the sticky fabric to the side and kissing her clit, drawing his tongue over her slit, torturously slow.
She jerks, lifting her hips up a little, but Dean´s strong hands are holding her thighs, lips buried deep against her. He´s sucking her clit until she´s whimpering with need and then kisses along her outer lips, drawing them into his mouth, teasing them with his tongue and teeth.
Jo’s back arches as she moans Dean´s name while she meets her release.
She almost falls down, but Dean catches her.
“Thank you,” she whispers and kisses his lips lightly, still covering with her juices. “I´m so lonely, you know. It almost hurts,” she´s looking at him, tracing the lines of his eyebrows, fighting back the tears. “And scared and tired,” she adds, finally filtering the emotions out, as she isn´t sure if Dean is the right person.
Jo is really tired, so she closes her eyes and hears Dean rustling towards her belly.
“Hey little one, here´s your dad. I´m finally here, so I can take care of you and your mummy, agreed? Because I love you mum, you know? I´ll teach you to drive my awesome car and maybe, we can go fishing sometime...”
Dean´s hot breath against her skin and his words makes her fall asleep.
Not long time after, Dean and Jo get out from the Impala in California. Sam´s already waiting in the door with a big, bright smile on his face.
“Hey, bro,” Dean cries out, “you´re even taller!” And the brothers hug. They´re both smiling and cracking jokes. Then Sam turns to Jo.
“Oh, Jo,” he hugs her too.
“Sam,” she smiles.
Sam´s putting his big hand on Jo´s belly, to feel the kicks.
“Wow, he´s going to be a great soccer player!” he exclaims.
“It´s a she, Sam,” Dean grunts.
“Oh, yeah... so she will be a great soccer player,” he chuckles and Dean punches him to the arm.
“Sorry, let’s go in...” and they all go into Sam´s place.
Title: Shout When You Wanna Get Off the Ride
Rating: Adult (pegging, oral sex, dirty talk)
Summary: Set during "Dream a Little Dream of Me." The day after Sam's dream, Bela decides to make it reality.
Author's Notes: Sorry this doesn't follow your prompt as closely as I'd like, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Many thanks to my beta for the hand-holding and advice!
Dean, jittery with caffeine, had finally been ordered out to the bar down the road for a few rounds of pool, but with his pacing and cranky mutterings gone, the leaky faucet in the bathroom had taken over and Sam had made little progress for over an hour. Finally, the words swimming in front of his eyes, he shut the laptop with a little more force than necessary and sprawled onto the bed, clicking off the light above his head. It wasn't fair to sleep in front of Dean, but maybe he could catch a little shut-eye while he was gone. Even just closing his eyes in the dark would feel good.
Only it didn't.
He'd shoved the dream to the back of his mind for most of the last 30 hours. Dean and Bobby were more important, and keeping Dean awake and too occupied to start shooting anything had taken most of his attention for most of the afternoon and evening. With Dean gone, the memory suddenly flooded back with a vengeance.
More unfortunately, his thoughts were not the only thing flooded.
He didn't even like her, he reminded himself, pressing uncomfortably at his dick to try to calm it down, and outside of dreamland there was no reason to think the feeling wasn't mutual. She'd shot him, for crying out loud, and if that wasn't a clear message about her feelings, he didn't know what was.
Unfortunately, his body didn't seem to be taking the hint. The sound of her cries rang in his ears, and soon other memories crowded in as well. The swing of her hips as she'd walked away from them in Buffalo, the smell of her perfume, her smile as she'd turned away up in Massachusetts, inviting as the slip-slide of silk sheets and soft skin. The stiff, faded comforter on his bed suddenly started to itch.
With a grunt of annoyance, he stood up and stalked to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water, but the faucet dripped with even more enthusiasm when he turned it back off, feeling better, and no amount of twisting or banging would quiet it back down. Obviously, there would be no more sleep for him tonight than for Dean. Grumpily, Sam grabbed his jacket from the closet and the key from the top of the television. He'd walk to the bar - it wasn't far and the night air would do him good...
He rounded the corner halfway down the hall and nearly ran smack into Bela as she stepped out of her own room. She gave a startled gasp that might even have been genuine.
"Sam!" she said. "I thought you were gone with Dean." She sounded unnerved, but even as he watched she collected herself, surprise smoothing over into her usual expression of smug amusement. "Don't you have to babysit?"
"Actually, I was just out for a walk," Sam said, aiming for lofty, but sounding petulant, even to his own ears.
"I didn't realize you were the walking type," she said, looking even more amused. She was dressed in black, her hair tied up in a snug bun, white face and neck nearly luminescent in the dim hallway.
"I just felt like it," he muttered.
"Well, enjoy," she said, pulling on the pair of black gloves she held in her hand and wiggling her fingers experimentally. "I have an appointment with a jewelry box."
"I knew you were lying about Flagstaff."
"Only partly," Bela grinned, sashaying down the hall. "Good night!"
Sam groaned inwardly. "Bela, wait!"
She turned back, smiling. "Yes?"
"You know I can't just let you go steal some dangerous object and send it off to god knows who for god knows what."
"Let me?" Her eyebrows shot up. "I wasn't aware you were my boss, Sam Winchester."
"You know what I mean!"
"What are you intending to do, tie me up?"
Sam made a strangled noise and closed his eyes, fighting the image. "Is there any point to asking politely?"
"No." She laughed.
Sam swallowed hard. "Well, then, I suppose, er, tying you up is one option."
"Kinky," Bela said approvingly, her smile deepening when he blushed. She held out her hands expectantly, pale line of skin visible at her wrists between gloves and turtleneck.
"I don't, uh, have any-"
Bela snorted and dropped her hands. "Better luck next time, I guess." She turned to go.
Dammit. Please, God, let her not slap me. Or shoot me, Sam thought desperately, crossing the gap between them in two big strides and grabbing her by the wrist.
"Bela, please!" he said.
"What are you doing?" she hissed, trying to tug her arm out of his grasp. "I could get you locked up for assault!"
"I could tell the police why I was trying to stop you," he retorted.
Bela scowled. "Fine. I won't go. Tonight. Are you happy?"
"Never," Sam said.
"Do you even realize-" she began, then stopped. Sighed. "Never. Happy now?"
"Thanks," Sam said, dropping her wrist.
She tugged off her glove and pushed up her sleeve to examine the fading white marks of his grip. "I wouldn't have thought you had it in you, Sam," she said, sounding annoyed. She yanked her sleeve back down to cover the marks.
"Sorry. Kind of." Sam shifted uncomfortably, hunching his shoulders. "Well, I, uh, guess I'll be seeing you around."
Bela rolled her eyes. "Really, Sam, is that the best you can do?"
She leaned in closer. "You were so much more enthusiastic yesterday."
Sam choked, dissolving into a coughing fit. "That was you," he managed, when he'd regained some of his composure. "You sent that with the dream root."
"I had to test it out, didn't I?" Bela said, shrugging. "And a girl needs a little fun now and then." She smiled, slow and hungry. "You wouldn't be up for a rematch, would you?"
Sam hit the wall without even realizing he'd been backing up, Bela's palm on his chest, long fingers teasing at the buttons of his shirt. "Uhh..."
"Oh, for heaven's sakes!" Bela said. "You can't possibly be a virgin. Stop acting like one!" Her other hand snaked up through his hair, pulling his mouth down hard for a kiss.
"You're serious about this?" he said incredulously when she let him go.
"I told you, a girl needs a little fun now and then," Bela said, tugging his mouth back to hers and quickly driving all thoughts of big mistakes and really bad ideas from his head. It had been so long.
"Room?" he gasped a few minutes later, emerging briefly for air.
"That's more like it," Bela grinned,grabbing his hand and running back to her door. She nearly fumbled the key, squirming against him delightedly as he sucked at the nape of her neck from behind, and they all but fell into the room as the door opened, breathless and laughing.
Bela tugged the turtleneck up over her head, revealing a black tank top, low-cut and tight enough to do magnificent things to her breasts. She laughed again as his eyes widened greedily, and unpinned her bun, shaking her hair loose as she backed him up against the wall by the light switch and began to tug at the buttons on his shirt from the top as his fingers worked their way up from the bottom. She was faster, and their fingers met not quite in the middle, shucked the shirt off together. He tugged his t-shirt up over his head after it, getting tangled for an instant in his haste, as she traced eager fingers down the muscles of his chest and stomach.
"Onto the bed," he said, hoarse, and she didn't need any urging, bounded over, shoving the covers down and squirming out of her pants in a few smooth, practiced movements, watched as he dropped his pants.
Sam leaned down, sweeping her under him as their mouths met, her hair fanning out unevenly around her as her head hit the pillow. Steadying himself, he moved downward, earning a sigh of pleasure as he licked feather-light down the pulse of her throat, sucked at taut nipples through the cotton-lycra of her shirt.
Her hands were tangled in his hair again, pushing insistently down, and he stopped to bite gently at her hipbones, not ready to take orders yet. She yelped, tightening her fingers in his hair, and he grinned, teased his fingers under the elastic of her panties to brush along the wet folds below.
"Bastard," she moaned. "Come on!"
"All in good time," he said from between her legs, grabbing her hand to stop her as she started to pull them down herself. He shoved the soft cotton to the side and licked experimentally, earning another soft moan, a shiver of pleasure in her thighs.
His dick throbbed at the taste, so familiar, and yet unique, and he slipped his fingers inside her, wanting more, slipping easily through the wetness as he continued to lick. Bela moaned again, pushing his head harder against her and he spread her a little with his fingers and pushed his tongue inside, feeling her shudder around him.
"Harder," he heard her gasp, and obliged, fucking her with his tongue and fingers, teasing at her clit with his free hand, licking and sucking until she tossed and whined above him, and his senses were filled with the scent and taste of her, the sound of her cries.
She came with a shudder that gripped her whole body and collapsed back onto the bed, dazed and flushed, as he crawled out from between her legs.
"Not bad," she said when her breathing calmed down. "Not bad at all, Sam Winchester."
"Oh, I'm only getting started," he said, flopping down next to her, trailing fingers still slick and wet down her torso.
She stilled beside him at the touch. "No," she said. "I have a better idea."
Sam propped himself up on his elbow to watch as she slipped off the bed and pulled a small suitcase out from under it.
"Holy sh-" He thought his eyes might pop out of his head when she flipped it open. Jess had blushed the first time he'd found her vibrator, though her embarrassment hadn't lasted long. This looked more like half a moderately sized sex store.
In fact, given Bela's proclivities, it probably was.
She picked expertly through the toys, not at all embarrassed, and pulled out a harness and blue silicone dildo. "Will you let me fuck you up the ass?" she asked.
"I, er..." he stammered, staring at the smooth plastic in her hand. He swallowed. "Do you know what you're doing with ... that?"
"Do I look like someone who doesn't know what she's doing?"
"No," he admitted.
She tapped the thing gently against her lips, making his dick twitch anew. "Come on. It will be fun."
She rolled her eyes and tossed him the container. "Scared?"
"No!" he said, with more bravado than he felt.
"Good." She grinned. Quickly, she locked in the dildo and buckled on the harness, then shoved him back onto the bed and climbed up to kneel over him. "Relax," she ordered, pulling off her halter top to loose her breasts, squirting a liberal amount of lube onto her hands, and bending over to take him into her mouth.
Sam groaned as her tongue swirled down his dick, and felt her smile through the warm heat of her mouth. Slippery fingers brushed across his inner thigh, stroked delicately at his balls, and trailed downward. He flinched a little at the first probe and Bela paused, humming deep in her throat. The vibration made him gasp in pleasure, and he felt her finger push gently further, adding a second as he squirmed, not quite comfortable yet, not quite not.
She popped her mouth off his cock, the sudden rush of cool air making him gasp again, and began to work her fingers gently back and forth, then harder, and suddenly she got it, got the rhythm and the spot that worked, and he felt his eyes widen, breathing sharpen, speed up, shallow, panting gasps that wracked his body.
"Good boy," she murmured, lips still red and swollen from sucking him. "Good job. There."
"Bela," he panted. "Bela, I-"
She leaned down to kiss him, easing her fingers out. "Shush," she whispered. "Haven't even gotten to the good part yet."
He let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a disbelieving snort as she slicked up the dildo and moved herself into position.
"Ready?" she asked, fingers working over his dick.
Sam's eyes fluttered closed at the touch, but he managed to grunt an assent and she slowly eased the head inside. "Fuck," he gasped, startling himself, the dildo already thick and strange within him.
"That is the general idea," Bela said, leaning to give him a better view of her breasts, fisting his dick in a lube-slicked hand as she pushed in further. "You like that?" she murmured. "Like me fucking you?"
"Nnnngn," Sam said, squirming.
She laughed, hand moving faster, tighter around his dick. "You'll be screaming my name before I'm through with you," she said.
"Is that a promise or a threat?" Sam gasped,
She smacked him on the flank. "Relax, big boy. It's a promise," she said, and pushed the rest of the way in. Sam grunted at the sensation as she hit something interesting, and she began to move gently back and forth above him, shifting in her search for the right angle.
His breath caught When found it. "Do that again," he panted, and she grinned, thrust in harder.
Sam growled, arched against her, and the next thrust hit home, blinding pleasure washing over him. He heard his own keening as his body writhed under the dildo, saw Bela's smile through unfocused eyes as her hand closed again around his cock.
"Holy fucking-" he heard himself say, and let go.
Title: rêvez un petit rêve de moi
Summary: Some missing scenes during Dream a Little Dream of Me.
Author's Notes: I didn’t change the events of the episode, most of the same dialogue is there but I just added some new scenes. The pov sifts from Dean to Bela and back.
"So how do we find our homicidal sandman?” Dean asked as the brothers made their way down the hospital hallway.
“Could be anyone.” Sam replied.
“Anyone who knew the doctor, had access to his dream-shroom.”
“Maybe one of his test subjects or somethin’.” Sam suggested.
“Possible, but his research is pretty sketchy. I mean, I don’t know how many subjects he had or who all of them were.” The two turned a corner and Sam scoffed. “What?” Dean asked, slightly defensive.
“In any other case we’d be calling Bobby, asking him for help right now.” Suddenly, Dean stopped, his eyes lighting up. “You know what, you’re right.” He stopped Sam.
“What?” Sam asked confused.
“Let’s go talk to him.”
“Sure,” Sam replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “but I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided.”
“Not if we’re trippin’ on some Dream Root.” Dean snapped triumphantly.
“You heard me.”
“You wanna go dream-walking inside Bobby’s head?” Sam asked with a disbelieving look. Dean hesitated.
“Well how bad could it be?”
“Bad.” Sam answered shortly.
Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, it’s Bobby.”
Sam paused, assessing the situation. “Yeah, you’re right.” Sam agreed before scoffing again. “One problem though, we’re fresh our of African Dream Root, so unless you know someone who can score some…” Sam trailed off as Dean’s brain started churning before closing his in eyes in displeasure.
“Bela? Crap.” Sam scoffed once again as he put two and two together. “You’re actually suggesting we ask her for a favor?”
“I’m feeling dirty just thinking about it, but, yeah.” Dean let out an irritated sigh before brushing pass an equally irritated Sam and heading for the parking lot.
A few hours later, Dean woke up from a nap, papers scattered across his lap and table. He rubbed his eyes then set the papers in his lap back on the coffee table before standing up and stretching. He started to say something but when he took a look towards Sam, his younger brother was passed out on the desk with his head in his arms. Dean grabbed his jacket and keys as he headed out the door, careful to not slam it. He drove to the nearest diner in town, order a burger, fries, and coffee, then resentfully pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. The phone rang three times and Dean was about to snap the phone closed when a voice traveled through.
“Miss me already, sweetie?”
“Hardly. Look, Bela, the only reason you have the blessing of hearing the sound of my voice is I have a favor to ask.” Dean said through a snarl.
“Really? The infamous Dean Winchester is asking me for a favor? You’re not a little short on cash are you, honey?”
“Look, sweetheart, I don’t have a lot of time or patience for you or your smartass mouth. Sam and I are on a job and we need you to do us a little favor.”
“Someone’s a little bitter.”
“Considering the last time we spoke you gave Sam and I up to Gordon, I’d say I’m being quite hospital.”
“Oh don’t be so dramatic. You’re big boys, I knew you’d take care of it.” Dean scoffed. “So what’s this favor?”
“We need some African Dream Root. It’s some kinda hoodoo plant that lets people take a nice little stroll in other people’s dreams.”
“I’m aware of it. Why do you need it?”
“This wasn’t originally our job. Bobby Singer was on it but we got a call saying he was in the hospital and comatose. So we checked things out and found out that Bobby was on the trail of a doc who was doing some experimental tests with the Dream Root but then all of a sudden, doc goes to sleep, doesn’t wake up.”
“So you’re thinking someone is using the plant to become a real life Freddy Kruger.”
“Exactly.” Dean said with a mouthful of food. “And we need the Dream Root so we can go ask Bobby who he thinks it is.”
“As much as you can get in a hurry.”
“No, Dean,” Bela said with an amused voice, “how much you’ll be paying.”
“Are you frickin’ serious?” Dean barked.
“You don’t really expect me to do you a favor for free?”
“Dammit, Bela!” Dean shouted, attracting funny looks from the other customer.
“Don’t raise your voice at me, Dean. Considering the fact the last time we spoke you threatened my life, I’d say the fact I’m even considering, warrants a small fee.”
“Fine. I’ll give you three grand and that’s all your greedy ass gets.” Dean said through clenched teeth.
“Then no deal.” The line died before Dean had time to get in a witty retaliation.
“Problems with the girlfriend?” The waitress asked as she poured Dean another cup of coffee. Dean gave the woman a horrified look.
Dean returned to the room to Sam still drooling over the desk. Dean chuckled as he took his place back in the comfy sofa chair and began going through the good doctor’s research for the hundredth time. He was just beginning to become seriously pissed off at all of the doctor’s schoolteachers for not making it a standard for illegible handwriting when a soft moan erupted from over by Sam. Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he stilled all motion. After a few seconds, another escaped Sam’s lips and Dean’s mouth twitched into a lopsided grin as he heard his brother being made very happy by some mysterious person. Dean spent the next five minutes trying to tune out his brother but when Sam let out a long, throaty groan, Dean could only take so much.
“Sam, wake up!” Dean shouted, causing Sam to slowly regain consciousness. Sam suddenly jerked upright and wiped the drool from his cheek to which Dean looked on with amusement. “Dude, you were out, and making some serious happy noises. Who were you dreamin’ about?”
“What? No one. Nothing.” Sam snapped back.
“Come on, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?”
“No.” Sam said briskly.
“Brad Pitt?” Dean asked with a slightly grossed-out look.
“No. No. Look, it doesn’t matter.” Sam answered in a tone of a child who got caught doing something embarrassing.
“Whatever.” Dean mumbled as he let the subject drop. “I called Bela.”
Sam shifted uncomfortably and his face twitched. “Bela, yeah? Sh-What’d she…you know…say? Is she…gonna…help us?”
“Shockingly, no, which puts us back to square one. I’ve been tryin’ to decipher the doctor’s notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting that you do. You gonna come help me with this stuff?” Dean asked as he looked at Sam who unconsciously took a quick look down and adjusted his shirt.
“Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.” Sam began to stretch out some kinks in his arm when there were some knocks on the door. Dean put down the paper he was holding and went to the door. He cracked it open as Sam looked on in horror. Dean made an exasperated look towards Sam as he walked the door open fully.
“Bela, as I live and breath.” Dean said as Bela entered the room, giving Dean an unabashed look on her way in. Sam stiffened at the sight of her.
“You called me, remember.”
“I remember you turning me down.”
“Well, I’m just full of surprises.” She smarmily said before giving Sam a quick glance to which he responded to with an awkward hand raise.
“Hey, Bela. What’s goin’ on? Dean gave Sam a puzzled look before reverting his attention back on Bela who was unzipping her purse.
“I brought you your African Dream Root.” She handed the glass jar over to Dean. “Nasty stuff, and not easy to come by.” She set her purse down on the television.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” Dean asked as she began to remove her black trench coat and Sam perked up.
“What? I can’t do you a little favor every now and again?” She asked with faux sincerity.
“No! You can’t.” Dean barked as Bela completely removed her coat, causing Sam to relax and release a breath he had been holding. “Now, come on. I wanna know what the strings are before you attach ‘em.” Bela laid her coat on Dean’s bed before giving him and irritated look.
“You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?” Dean nodded. “Well, I’m doing it for him, not you.”
“Bobby?” Dean asked, truly confused. Bela just nodded. “Why?”
Bela tucked both her lips in and looked down. “He saved my life once,” she looked back up at Dean, “in Flagstaff.” Dean gave same an unsure look to which Sam just shrugged. “I screwed up and he saved me, okay, you satisfied?” Dean looked down awkwardly.
“Maybe.” Dean said sheepishly.
“So,” Bela started as she put her hands on her hips, “when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?”
“Oh, you’re not going anywhere.” Dean answered as he headed towards the closet. “I don’t trust you enough to let you in my car much less Bobby’s head.” Dean placed the jar in the safe next to the Colt then spun the dial. “No offense.” He added sarcastically.
“None taken.” Bela replied with an equal amount of poise. She sifted her eyes to Sam, perhaps for some assistance, but he promptly averted his gaze so she returned her eyes to a hardened Dean. “It’s two a.m.. Where am I supposed to go?”
“Get a room.” Bela gave Dean an unamused look. “Ah, they got the magic fingers,” Bela’s look turned infuriated, “a little Casa Erotica on Pay-Per-View. You’ll love it.” Bela’s jaw jutted out as fury washed over her beautiful face.
“You…” Bela said exasperated before grabbing her purse and coat on her way to the door.
“Nice to s-seein’ you,” Sam called out as he awkwardly rose and Bela slammed the door behind her, “Bela.” He said the last part a little too whimsically, causing Dean’s to stare baffled at his brother.
“You drank one of his beers? While on the job? How idiotic can you be?” Bela condescendingly asked.
“How the hell was I suppose to know he was the killer?” Dean said defensively.
“You do a background check, you have rules. Seriously, a test subject should have been your first suspect.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look, I already heard enough from these two,” Dean motioned to Bobby and Sam behind him, “I don’t need your bitchiness too.”
“Then I suggest you desperately try finding him.” Bela said as she made her way to the door of their room.
“We would, but,” Sam quipped as Bela paused in front of the door, “we can’t find him. He wasn’t at his dorm and we already checked the doctors.”
“So, what? You want my help now?”
“I say, we all just coffee up and start digging in the mornin’. We ain’t gonna find anything at this hour.”
“Right, well, since you or I can’t go to sleep, neither can you two.” Dean said as he made himself comfortable on his bed.
“What?” Bela asked.
“Well, we can’t go to sleep and somebody has to make sure we don’t.”
“Sam can take care of that.”
“Then you two take shifts so the other can get some shut eye.” Bobby suggested. “We all don’t need to be sleep deprived.”
“Fine. Then, Sammy, you’re on the first coffee run so…giddy up.”
“This is unbelievable.” Bela quipped as Sam closed the door behind him.
Bela let lose a good one to the back of Dean’s head.
“Stay awake. I’m not getting blamed for your incompetence so stay the bloody hell awake.”
“Well, if someone could let me go to the nearest bar and shoot some pool, maybe I wouldn’t be so Goddamn bored!” Dean shouted as he jumped off Bela’s bed.
“Because that would be ideal. Sure, let’s go to a bar and get drunk so then after you hustle of few cads, you pass out from intoxication. Sounds brilliant.” Bela sarcastically said, not once looking up from her magazine.
“Well, miss smarty pants, what then do you suggest to not die of boredom.”
“Exercise? That’s your solution?”
“It’s healthy and gives you energy.”
Dean’s displeased face suddenly turned amused. “I can think of one exercise I might be willing to do.” That caused Bela’s attention as she finally looked up. Dean just smirked deviously.
“My offer of angry sex expired with that job.”
“Sure it did.” Dean purred as he nonchalantly glided towards Bela’s side of the bed. “That’s why I caught you starin’ at me earlier when I changed my shirt.”
“Obviously you’re beginning to hallucinate from lack of sleep.” Dean’s smirk grew into a leer. Bela refocused her attention back to the magazine, which Dean promptly snatched away and threw across the room. “Hey! What the bloody hell-”
“Have I ever told you I find it incredibly sexy when you use English curse words.”
“Good Lord, how many time has that line-” Bela was cut off by Dean’s lips crushing onto hers. The kiss lasted a millisecond before Bela roughly pushed him away.
“I gotta stay awake some how, sweetheart.” Dean’s eyebrow rose and his smirk reappeared as Bela began to breath heavily.
The bed creaked loudly and the headboard made a thumping noise sure to annoy the neighbors as Dean roughly pounded in and out of Bela. Bela was on all fours as Dean gripped her by the shoulders and if the thumping and creaking of the bed wasn’t loud enough, their moans and groans certainly were. To be fair, Bela had remarked about how she had never been with a man as well endowed as Dean and Dean kept repeating throughout the whole ordeal how tight Bela was. She was also quite impressed with his stamina since he hadn’t slowed down since he first slipped inside her and Dean was seriously regretting not taking her up on that angry sex offer sooner. If sex with Bela was this good all the time, he might actually have to start asking her for favors more often. No matter the cost. But that could just be the sleep deprivation talking.
Bela let out a throaty moan as Dean thrust deep into her. Dean thought he might lose the battle just by her moans alone. Even when they were having sex the two were fighting for dominance. Dean had started out on top, then Bela had rolled them over, then Dean decided to play a little dirty and take her from behind, but he seriously doubted he could win the-battle-of-who-can-hold-out-the-longest with Bela clenching and moaning as she was now. Perhaps it was the accent. Suddenly, an idea popped into Dean’s clouded mind and he stilled, almost pulling out completely, then flipped Bela over onto her back and pulled her forward. Immediately her legs wrapped around his waist as her arms did the same to his neck. Dean smirked before picking her up and carrying her across the room to the bathroom. Bela gave him a quizzical look before he turned the shower faucet and realization dawned on her. Her lips curved into a grin as she laid a lingering kiss on Dean’s awaiting lips and he gently set her down on top the counter, waiting for the water to heat. He began nuzzling her neck and leaving butterfly kisses but was jerked forward when Bela squeezed her legs, effectively bringing him deeper into her. Dean took the hit and began roughly and unevenly thrusting into her. Bela’s perfectly manicured nails dug into his shoulders as he nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck and sucked. The two were close to release when Dean remembered his brilliant idea and swiftly picked her back up and set her down in the shower. The water was scorching hot and Bela made a squeal of protest when the water came in contact with her exposed body. She quickly evened out the hot and cold faucets so it was a nice warm level as Dean stepped in behind her. He started to position himself behind her but she quickly turned on him, pushing him up against the wall.
“Uh uh. She purred in his ear and Dean could have sworn he got a little harder, if that was possible.
Bela began nipping at his neck as she slowly stroked Dean, her other hand gripping his hair. She made her way down Dean’s neck to his collarbone, then his shoulders, then his chest before stopping and grinning deviously up at him. She flicked her thumb over his head, causing him to jump a little before she backed away and rinsed her hair under the water. Dean quickly caught on and rushed up to her. He pinned her against the cold tile, picked her up, then roughly thrust into her, causing both to cry out in pleasure. Bela’s hands went up and around the faucet as Dean’s gripped her buttocks. He lifted his head and caught Bela’s lips with his own as the water rained down on them. Dean began to sporadically thrust into Bela and Bela’s legs were clenching desperately around Dean’s waist when suddenly they both stilled. Bela’s head collapsed onto Dean’s shoulder and Dean once again nuzzled his head into her neck. They stood just like that, under the shower head, for a good five minutes before Dean turned the water off and carried Bela back to her bed.
Dean looked at the clock for the ninth time and groaned. 4:30 p.m.
“Where the hell are Sam and Bobby? I mean come on, how long does it take to find out were someone likes to hang out?”
“Relax, Dean. I’m sure they’re doing the best they can.”
“I know, I know. It’s just,” Dean paused and gave a sheepish glance towards Bela as sat down next to her, “I’d really like to go to sleep now.” He ran his hand up Bela’s smooth, thin leg. “You’re a liar you know. Exercise does not give you energy.
“I’m sorry, did I wear the you out that badly? Doesn’t say much for your previous conquests.” Bela said, every word dripping with sass. “I thought you’d have so much more stamina.” Okay, that was a lie, but she wasn’t about to let his ego get blown out of its already oversized proportion.
Dean scoffed and crossed his arms, a little unnerved. “You think I’m wore out because of that? That was child’s play for me, honey. You wouldn’t last five minutes with my top game.”
“Oh really?” Bela said huskily as she sat up. “Give me you best shot, tiger.”
The two were mere inches away from each other and with Bela staring at him in that way and huskily challenging him, Dean had no choice. Right?
He roughly pulled her head into a kiss, she threw her leg over his lap to straddle him, and then he rushed them up against the door. Bela quickly drew him into her as the both moaned in unison. Bela expected him to slam into her full force, much like he did with the kiss, but instead he moved in and out of her at a slow even pace, almost completely sliding out before burring himself fully in. Bela’s fingers restlessly clawed at his back and head as Dean smirked in triumph.
“Told you, you wouldn’t be able to handle Dean Winchester at his finest.” That got him a hard pull of his hair which made him yelp as she pull his head back and began to suck on his collarbone. Dean’s yelp quickly turned into a growl as his hip began to pick up their pace.
“I think the truth, dear, is that you cannot handle me.” Bela said through a full-fledged grin. Dean grinned back before locking his lips onto hers, thrusting erratically in and out.
They were just beginning to feel tingles in their stomachs when a knock sounded behind Bela’s head. They both stilled and looked at the door in panic. “Who is it?” Bela called out, her legs and arms stilled wrapped around Dean’s frame.
“We’re back, Bela.” Sam called out from the other side of the door.
“Um, okay.” Both Dean and Bela looked at each other in alarm.
“So, you’re time babysitting is up. You can tell Dean to get his sorry ass out of there.”
“Hey!” Dean called out but was silenced by Bela’s hand.
“I’ll gladly tell him.”
Dean and Bela paused; making sure Sam was gone before speaking again. “You might want to make this a quick one.” Bela suggested with a smirk.
Dean didn’t have to be told twice.
TWO DAYS LATER.
(A/N: The story follows the episode so Sam and Dean have already taken care of Jeremy and have returned back to the hotel so everyone could get some overdue shut eye.)
When the boys returned back to the motel, they found Bobby already passed out, dead to the world on Dean’s bed and Bela nowhere to be found. “You wanna flip a coin?” Sam asked.
“Nah, you take it. I’m sure Bela won’t mind if I use her bed for a couple hours. That is, if she hasn’t took of already.” Dean laughed and hit Sam on his chest. Sam gave him a surprised look but he was already halfway out the door to notice. Plus, it really shouldn’t have surprised him; Dean would always bite the bullet if it were for his little brother.
Dean headed down the hallway until he was in front of room 113 and knocked loudly. After a few seconds, no sound could be heard on the other side of the door, so he knocked again, this time with a little extra force. Nothing. He was seriously debating whether to pick the lock or just kick it in when he heard the racquet of something falling to the ground, followed by a series of interesting curses. Dean put on his smuggest grin as the door was practically ripped off its hinges to reveal a very angry, very bedraggled looking Bela. She was wearing black silk pajama short with a matching tank top and Dean indiscreetly looked her up and down.
“What?” She spat, her eyes glaring daggers.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Dean asked in faux sincerity.
“I swear to God, Dean, if you came over here just to get some perverse satisfaction of waking me up and seeing me in my nightgown, I will gladly remove any indication that you are, in fact, a man.”
“As much as I’d enjoy saying that was my reason, that’s not why I’m here, sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes lingered a little too long below Bela’s neck and when they rose to look her back in the eye, he could have sworn she was foaming at the mouth. Her mouth moved to make some sassy remark but Dean’s lips cutoff her off. He forced his way into her room, kicking the door shut behind him as he rushed her up against the wall. Bela let out a groan as he head smacked the wall but Dean showed no indication that he had heard her or cared. His lips moved from her lips down to her neck where he gently sucked on her soft, sensitive skin.
“You woke my up for a bloody booty call?” She half-whispered in disbelief. As if to answer her question, Dean ground his hips harshly into hers. Bela half-heartedly pushed Dean off her. “Dean, I’m serious.” She had to use both hands to yank his head from in between her chest. “I’m not one of your easy conquests that you share stories about over a beer. If we do this, it’s because I’m using you. Understand?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Dean said hastily as quickly returned to kissing her neck. Truth be told, they were probably both using each other to fill some kind of unknown, unwanted loneliness. And perhaps as an outlet for some perverse tension that had been built up between them out of shared hatred of the other or whatever. The only thing they both knew for sure was it felt fucking great.
It was as if they were in another world.
A world where when Dean lifted Bela up, her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and her hands buried themselves in his closely cropped hair. Where, when Dean’s warm hands slid up her smooth, thin legs to cup her cheeks, she grinned as she used her teeth to pull on his lower lip. Where she could leave little bites all over his chest and shoulders and he would respond with a throaty growl, thrusting roughly against her.
It was a world where it was just the two of them and great sex.
Dean roughly pulled Bela’s hips towards his as she nibbled on his ear, his grip on her tightening. Bela chuckled huskily in his ear. “Easy tiger, this is 900 dollar silk.” Maybe it was the way tiger rolled of her tongue or maybe it was just her accent, but Dean found his hands sliding the expensive, itty-bitty shorts down her smooth legs.
There lips hastily met, as Bela’s hands slid down his chest to pull at the hem of his shirts. Dean quickly shrugged out of the button up and briefly broke away from Bela’s lips as she helped him pull his shirt and wife-beater over his head. Their lips hungrily met as Bela’s hands roamed over his back and Dean’s hands slid under her tank top, bunching the silk under her breasts. She smirked against his lips as she ran her nails down his back, causing his back to arch and his hips to buck into her. He let out a throaty moan as his fingers dug into her skin. Bela’s smirk grew into a sexy grin as she used Dean’s necklace to pull him into another kiss. Dean’s thumbs slid between the thin material of Bela’s black lace panties and slowly wiggled her out of them. Once discarded, Bela immediately went to work on his belt, harshly tugging on the leather until it unclasped and unbuttoned him. She slid her hand between the cotton of his briefs and teasingly cupped him. Dean moaned into their kiss, motivating a slight squeeze from her. He let her tease him a bit longer. Let being the key word for when he had enough, he quickly pinned both her hands above her head with one of his, pushed his jeans down enough to pull himself out fully, and equally tease her back. Bela bucked and squirmed under his hold, but he had her pinned. Her back arched as he playfully pretended to enter her. Her breasts strained against the black material, her legs squeezing painfully around him, and Dean decided enough was enough. He released her hands, which went immediately to his hair, gripped her hips and roughly thrust into her. Bela’s head rolled backwards as he filled her completely, her hands clawing clumps of Dean’s hair so hard that Dean briefly wondered if he would have bald spots after they were done.
Slowly Dean began to slide in and almost completely out before ramming back into her, each time eliciting a rasping cry from her lips. After a couple minutes, Dean decided he better pick up his pace or he was going to release from Bela’s moans and cries alone. Beads of sweats started dripping down their warm bodies, Bela’s nails digging into Dean’s shoulders as he furiously pounded into her. The thwap of skin on skin was as loud as the thump Bela’s backside made against the wall as she bounced up and down against Dean’s chest. She desperately tried to push away any thoughts and just focus on the building heat in the bottom of her belly, but staring down at Dean with that serious look of concentration on his face, she didn’t have the strength to let a few slip.
Of all the men in the world, she had to choose this one to develop odd and foreign feeling for. This infuriating, poorly mannered, messy, self-destructive hunter who had the uncanny knack of making her job that much harder. Yet here she was, up against a wall in some shitty motel with none other than the one and only Dean Winchester between her legs.
Daddy would be so proud.
But that was forbidden ground that she wasn’t going to trek through.
Best to focus on the now instead of the then.
Dean’s head had snuggled into the crook of her neck as he continued his unforgiving rate, and when Bela started to roll her hips in perfect timing with his thrusts, Dean went over the wall. With newfound energy he sporadically thrust in and out of her, causing Bela’s legs to tighten for dear life as she was practically beaten against the wall. But Dean didn’t slow and she couldn’t have cared less. She’d be sore for a week, but right now, she never wanted this to end. If there was some time loop and they were trapped in this embrace for eternity, she might actually be truly happy for once. Sure, she be stuck with Dean Winchester the rest of her life but she could think of dozens of other horrible people to be stuck with and frankly, right now, there was no one else she’d rather be with.
Of course, this was still just sex. Bloody fantastic, amazing, wonderful sex, perhaps the greatest sex she’d ever had but still strictly no-strings-attached-I-still-despise-your-every-fiber-sex non the less.
When she felt the wall crack behind her, Bela knew it was like a timer going off. Their time was up and as if on cue, the tingling in her stomach started growing exponentially. Dean must have felt similar because his pants were coming in awkward rhythms and his body was practically convulsing. Bela clenched one last time around him as her back arched, toes curled, head rolled back and nails drew blood. Her body started to tremble as Dean roughly caught her swollen, bruised and together, they released. When their bodies finally stilled, Dean slowly pulled away, Bela sucking on his bottom lip momentarily, and then rested his forehead against hers. Both desperately sucked in air in a comfortable silence and as much as Bela was enjoying this, she was still Bela Talbot and he was still Dean Winchester. She pulled her head away then patted him on the shoulder while giving his a cat-like smile.
“Good boy.” She said, to which Dean replied to with a caveman-like grunt. “Now, as much as I enjoy our time together, Dean, sweetie, I’m not one for post-coitus cuddling.” She gave him another pat and loosened her hold around him as if an indication to let her down.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he pushed away from the wall, carried her to the bed, his feet shuffling between his fallen jeans and briefs, and fell back. “Dean!”
What was he thinking? This isn’t what they do. He was suppose to make some smartass remark, rudely drop her, pull up his trouser and leave before Bela had the time to shimmy back into her shorts. Instead, her he was lying on her bed with his face snuggled into her neck, arms tightly wrapped around her, drawing lazy shapes on her lower back.
“Just shut your trap for once.”
“I don’t do cuddling.”
“Yeah, yeah, I call bullshit you know you’re a big fat cuddler.” There was that annoying, cocky smirk.
“And might I ask where this amazing hindsight came from?”
“You’re ruining the moment.” Dean shifted his hold to cradle her bottom. “Besides, you cling like someone who knows how to cuddle.”
“I don’t cling.”
“Honey, I think we’re a little past petty denials. I mean, I think I know you pretty well now.”
“I don’t think so.” Bela asked a little melancholy.
“Well,” there was the boyish charm again as Dean’s hand squeezed. “I know you a lot better.”
Bela quickly sat up and swatted his hands away. She proceeded to roll of him. “Yes, well, now that our little adventure is over, so is whatever that was.” She slipped under the covers and tightly wrapped the sheets around her as if to punctualize her point. Dean just rolled his head and unabashedly stared at her. “Aren’t you going to at least cover yourself up?” She asked slightly flustered.
“Why? It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.” Dean’s eyebrow quirked up. “Or is my magnificent body too much to handle?”
“Magnificent, hardly.” Okay, that was a lie. Dean had an amazing body and plus, he wasn’t poorly endowed. Dean chuckled as he finally got up. But to Bela’s disbelief, he kicked off his boots and jeans then pulled up his briefs. He stretched, patted his stomach and bobbed his head as if a song was in his head before resting his eyes on the semi-large crack in the wall and snorted. He turned back to the bed and crawled over Bela to the other side, much to her chagrin. She stared at him like his was insane.
“What?” He asked as he slid between the sheets.
“You can’t be serious.” Bela’s perfect eyebrow arched.
“Oh, come on, you know you’re enjoying every second. Besides,” Dean scooted closer, “Bobby took my bed.” His arm wrapped around her hips and roughly pulled her down, garnering a squeal of surprise. Finally, she gave in and let Dean cuddle into her back with his arms around her and hand joined with hers.
Dean gave a satisfied smile before planting a kiss between her shoulder blades. “Told you so.” Dean said triumphantly. “Ouch!” He yelped as Bela pinched him. She grinned then pulled his arms tighter. “Shit, I’m tired.”
It was long after the two had fallen asleep when Bela woke up in a sweat and breathing hard. She had had another nightmare and waking up in an unfamiliar place did not help matters. It was only when she felt arms pull her against a warm chest did she relax. She was running out of time. They both were. As much as Bela despised the infuriating, annoying, charming man, she felt a connection with him. They were both lost souls tainted by their childhoods. He was burdened by the passion to protect his family, which had turned into an obsession and him into a self-sacrificing brute. She was burdened by the need of self-preservation, which had turned into loneliness and her into a conniving, thieving bitch. Plus, the two had enough sexual tension between them to suffocate an elephant.
And Bela couldn’t lie to herself anymore. Not with so little time.
She had feeling for the man.
The one and only Dean Winchester.
Which was going to make what she had to do even harder.
Staying here, with Dean, was against her nature. Was against her programming. Staying here meant danger and risk, two things Bela tried to avoid like the plague. She was a self-preserving, conniving, thieving bitch and staying here especially with him, would make every part of her body itch. She had a job to do it and she never failed to follow it through.
Dean Winchester be damned.
So Bela carefully and quietly slid out of Dean’s grasp, gathered her discarded clothes, changed into the clothes she had set out, made herself as presentable as possible, then stood over the bed. She stared at Dean’s peaceful face for what seemed to be hours but in reality was only a couple of minutes. She lightly sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his messy hair. She bent down and left a lingering kiss on his temple.
Yes, this was going to be hard and she might even cry on the drive but it was necessary, for both of them.
With one last glance at the door, Bela felt her eyes water.
Maybe she’d cry sooner than she thought.
When Dean woke up from what was probably the best sleep of his life, he woke up to a cold, empty bed and equally cold and empty room. Quickly he got out of bed, took a shower and headed back to his room. He found Sam and Bobby already ready and preparing to go out.
“Where’ve you been?” Sam asked slightly amused, slightly annoyed.
“I had a sleep over with this really hot girl.” Sam huffed. “So where are you goin’?”
“We’re going to go follow up on Jeremy,” Bobby said as he pulled on his jacket, “you ready?”
“Nah, I’m goin’ to stay here. I’m not exactly completely recuperated yet, if you know what I mean.” Dean gave Sam a nudge and a wink.
“Whatever. Lets go Bobby.”
When the two were out the door, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed a number. When no one picked up he quickly shut it off then dialed again. Again, no one picked up. Dean sighed loudly, threw his phone on the bed and sat down, his head in his hands.
He felt cold.
He felt empty.
But mostly, he felt alone.
Title: Let Me Put My Love Into You
Rating: PG-13ish (cursing and sexual situations/day dreams)
Word Count: ~ 6,500
Summary: The dancing started at eight, and at ten, he fell in love.
Author's Notes: Thanks to my buddies for the beta work. I really appreciate it, and left over mistakes are all mine because I'm a poker. Title from AC/DC.
"All right, Sammy," Dean grinned, blinking to clear the spots out from in front of his eyes. The interior of the building was dim, lit by widely spaced colored and black lights. "You know I'm not the kinda guy to pass up a strip bar, but what are we doing here?"
Beside him, Sam fidgeted, keeping his head down and his shoulders hunched as he tried to avoid looking at anything but his own shoes. Dean rolled his eyes; sometimes he could swear that Sam was adopted. He flashed a couple of fingers at the bartender before he scoped out the place for an empty table. Luckily for him, there was a table just in front of one of the two catwalk stages at the front.
"Bobby called, said he had a friend named Skyler who needed a hand. We were close, so I told him we'd take care of it," Sam answered, mumbling a little as he winded his way behind Dean through the maze of mostly empty tables and chairs. "Apparently, something set up shop around here, preying on young women."
"Well, we can't have that," Dean said absently, licking his lips and squinting at the wall. Quickly he counted forward, decided it was probably Thursday, and turned grinning, "Dude, look! It's amateur night!"
Sam, Mr. I-wouldn't-know-fun-if-it-creamed-on-my-face, glared at Dean. "We're here to work, Dean, not perv on barely legal co-eds," he said, shuffling around until he could wedge his chair in between the table and wall as far from the stage as he could get while still sitting with Dean.
"I can do both."
The waitress brought Dean the beers he'd signaled for, and Sam scowled even harder. It was too early for much to be happening yet. Sam spread his notebooks and research over the table and Dean went to play a game of pool with a guy already sloshing every time he moved. Easy money.
The dancing started at eight, and at ten, he fell in love.
The other girls had been obviously preppy, no doubt sorority girls from the nearby college, but she was different. Her hair was dark, not box blonde and pulled away from her face in two messy pigtails. She was the first girl to come out with enough meat on her bones so Dean couldn't count every single rib bone. Unlike the others, there was a slight hesitation before she came down the catwalk closest to their table.
The theme for the night seemed to be costumes that included headgear. There'd already been a cowgirl, construction worker, two firechicks, a sailor, and a nurse. The girl headed straight for Dean had on a black skirt so short that he could see the white of her panties any time she moved her hips, a blue top, and a police officer's hat.
She got to the end of the platform, made eye contact with him, but threw her hat at a guy who was definitely too old to be leering at girls half his age. For once, the music wasn't obnoxiously techo, and the girl hooked her hand around the pole in the middle of the stage and did a slow turn. Her ass was perfect, wide enough to hold on to, and small enough to fit against his crotch. When she turned, he caught a glimpse of a lacy white bra holding breasts that had to be real, bouncy and just enough for a handful.
"So, four women have gone missing, and two have been found dead in the last four weeks," Sam said, finally finishing his research and straightening all the newspapers and notes so he could shove them in his bag.
"Okay," Dean said, not taking his eyes off the girl in front of him. Her makeup was barely there, but her eyes were smoky and always found his when she turned to face the audience. She grabbed the pole and tossed her head back, baring the long column of her throat as she swayed with the music.
"The ones the police found were like mummies, dehydrated until they started to crumble. Of course, they didn't say that outright, instead …"
Dean grunted, watching as the girl danced, swinging her hips wide and bending at the waist. He'd been half-hard for the last hour, but when she looked at him through her eyelashes and bit her bottom lip, all his blood rushed south. The knot holding her shirt closed over her chest came loose under her fingers, and then she was sliding her hands up her breasts.
"… and that's why I think it's a demon called Adramaleck."
"Bless you," Dean answered, leaning forward in his chair as the girl went down to her knees in front of him. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and run his hands down her chest and between her legs. She leaned back and he imagined climbing on top of her right there, with everyone watching and Sammy still droning on.
"Sam!" Dean tore his eyes away from the girl to glare at his little brother. Really, the man had no sense of propriety. Or timing. Or whatever. "Do you mind? I'm kinda in the middle of something."
The girl was standing again, dragged her hands up her thighs, barely missed fingering over her cunt, and trailed upwards. She swung down the pole, one leg on either side and ended up with her finger in her mouth, hollowing her cheeks as she pushed it in and out.
"Christ," Dean muttered, shifting in his seat and reaching down to adjust himself in his jeans. Colored lights crawled over her body, shadowing the dips on her hips and the hollow between her breasts. The girl on the other stage was topless already - Dean could tell by the hoots of the men surrounding it - but he wouldn't look.
It was definitely love, and as soon as he buried himself between the thighs of the angel in front of him, he was going to die and go to heaven.
She looked over his shoulder and it was like a bucket of ice water sluicing down his back when she smiled a slow and seductive smile at someone else. The girl tugged one bra strap down her arm and turned to look back over her shoulder. She bent down, making her skirt flip and flashing her panties.
"Looks like you've got some competition," Sam said, smug written all over his annoyingly squashed face.
He nodded at a guy to Dean's right dressed like a banker and clearly making eyes at Dean's girl. She was wiggling at him, and seriously, who wore slacks and a button down dress shirt to a strip club? He smiled up at her, and she sauntered to his side of the catwalk to accept a bill into the top of her skirt.
"Yeah," Dean narrowed his eyes. He pulled a ten from his pocket, wadded it up and tossed it at Sam's head, "Hey, why don't you go get another round so I can drown my sorrows?"
Sam smirked and got up, heading toward the bar. As soon as he was halfway across the room, Dean leaned over and fished Sam's wallet out of his coat. He took two twenties and folded them to make sure the presidents showed. Scooting his chair closer to the stage, he waved the bills until he caught the girl's attention again.
She sank gently to her knees, then to her hands and knees, and crawled toward him. Each time her shoulders dipped, Dean got a tantalizing glimpse of firm, pale breast. She stopped at the edge of the stage and lowered her head down, pushing her ass in the air. Her hair curled across her chest, and Dean leaned forward thinking he'd get his money's worth at least.
Her eyes were the clearest green that he'd ever seen.
She licked her lips and reached up to hold the cup of her bra away from her skin. It took a couple of tries to swallow the lump in his throat. His hand was nearly steady as he reached out and slipped the money against the soft press of her skin. He started to pull back when she grabbed his hand.
His eyes widened as she brought their joined hands up to her mouth, her breath ghosting over his knuckles. She looked up and locked eyes with him, her mouth moved, but he couldn't hear what she was saying over the pounding music. He squinted, trying to read her lips.
"Gold?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows as her fingers drifted over his palm. She nodded and let go of his hand.
The music switched tracks, and the announcer cut in asking for applause while the girls retreated backstage. Just before she disappeared, the girl glanced back at him over her shoulder.
"Here," Sam said a few minutes later when he shoved a beer in his face and slumped back into his seat. "This looks like a bust. The bartender's new this week and doesn't know anything about the missing girls or a guy named Skyler."
Dean grabbed the bottle on reflex, snapping out of an elaborate daydream where he and his mystery girl played house together. She sucked like a vacuum cleaner and bent over anytime he raised his eyebrow. "I dunno, maybe we should hang around for awhile," he said, craning his neck to try to find the door from backstage. He wasn't leaving until he found out what her name was. And then fucked her hard and fast against the back of the building.
"Uh, Dean?" Sam poked him back to reality again and gestured to the far wall. "It looks like your friend might be in trouble."
Dean turned, almost giving himself whiplash as he looked. There she was, dressed in a skirt only slightly longer than the one she wore on stage, talking to the skeezy banker. Her hair piled on her head, held with one of those long chopstick looking things that went shiny anytime the light hit it. The halter-top she was wearing didn't leave much to the imagination, and Dean was momentarily distracted by the strong line of her bare back.
Skeezy Banker put his hand on her back and led her down the bar toward the door. She got in front of him and didn't see when he got a little too close to a black light and changed. It was just a heartbeat, but Dean saw the guy's skin change into scales with a red glow peeking through the edges.
"Let's go," Dean said, up and moving in a second. It was always good to save people, but this was personal. That was his girl that demonic bastard had his hands on.
It took too long to get through the crowd, and by the time they hit the sidewalk in front of the club there was no sign of the girl or the demon. Without a word, Sam went left and he went right, trotting and scanning each alley. A tiny bit of movement caught his attention and he jerked to a stop.
Down the alley two bodies were pressed together just outside the glow of the streetlamp. Dean narrowed his eyes trying to figure out if they were his marks or just a couple out for a good time. The guy hiked the girl up, holding her against the wall.
"No," the girl said, her voice spiraling into fear and pain. "Stop it, stop now."
That was enough for Dean. He pulled his gun from the back of his pants and ran down the alley. Closer to them, he could see in the soft glow of the security light that it was them. She was fighting against his hold, but he held her easily, sucking on her jaw. The skin on his face and arms started to crack, red fire peeking through.
He skidded to a stop through a puddle that soaked him up to his knees. He aimed, and shouted, "Hey!"
The demon pulled away, glaring at Dean and flashing his empty black eyes. He squeezed the trigger and the bullet smashed right through the demon's forehead staggering it. Too bad Sammy had the Colt, but he had to have heard the shot so Dean just had to distract the demon for a while.
The girl slid to the ground hard enough to make Dean wince, she'd have gravel under her skin for sure. Dean moved to stand between her and the demon already struggling to its feet. He could hear her coughing behind him and spared a moment to hope that he'd gotten there in time.
"You think you can stop me, boy?" the demon asked, pushing up from the ground. He cracked his fingers and power arced between his palms. He gestured at the girl, "She's mine, and no one gets between me and what's mine. Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Wow," Dean cocked his head to the side and smirked. "It's been awhile since I met one of you who didn't know who I am. It's kinda refreshing."
"I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going to take the girl. Maybe I'll even fuck her before I suck her dry," the demon said and spat on the ground. He gestured and Dean slammed back against the brick wall held immobile. "Your arrogance won't save you."
"No, but I will," Sam said, his voice echoing down the narrow space.
Dean smiled, but the demon howled and flicked out a band of power in an instant that made Dean gasp in pain. Down the alley, he heard Sam grunt and then a loud bang that was probably his body slamming into something large and heavy. Anger boiled through Dean's gut at Sam's low groan.
The demon turned back and matched Dean's earlier smile, "And now, I think, it's time to die."
The demon's mouth fell open and he glanced down to see a slim golden stick poking through his chest. He fell to his knees and released his hold on Dean at the same time. Dean stumbled but once he looked up, he was caught again in the girl's eyes. She glanced back down at the demon, and Dean saw that he was beginning to shrink and crumble into dust and ash.
Sam limped over and stood on the other side of the girl, watching over her shoulder as the pile of decomposing demon started to blow away. He whistled and looked back up at Dean. "Nice," he said.
"Yeah, good thing you two were here to save me," the girl said, sarcasm rich in her voice. She bent down and poked through the dirt until she found the golden hair stick she'd pushed through the bastard's heart. "If Bobby wanted me dead, there were probably easier ways."
"Bobby?" Dean asked, struggling to wrap his mind around the girl going all Buffy on the demon and saving his ass. It just made him hotter; made him want to haul her close and let her scratch her fingernails down his back.
"Um, oops," Sam said and reached up to palm the back of his neck.
"'Oops?" Dean repeated, shoving his gun into the back of his waistband and glared at Sam.
Sam grimaced and shrugged. "Maybe I wasn't really listening to everything Bobby said," he explained and turned to the girl, "So, you're Skyler?"
"In the flesh," she answered, standing up and wiping the golden stick on her skirt. "And you're the legendary Winchester brothers."
"Right," Dean clapped his hands together and stepped through the pile of former demon. Now that the introductions were over, he was pretty sure that he and Skyler had unfinished business to attend to. "Sam, don't you have that thing to do?"
"What?" Sam asked, clueless as ever when Dean was trying to score.
Dean jerked his head back to the street and lowered his voice. "You know, Sam," he said, emphasizing his words. "That thing. That you have to do. Somewhere else."
"Oh, right," Sam flushed and back away. "I'll just, um. Going now."
Skyler had turned away, looking through the shadows for something. She bent over, her skirt stretching across her ass like an invitation. Dean cleared his throat and leaned against the wall behind her, "Hey, how about you and me go back to my place and we can celebrate the pleasures of being alive?"
She looked up at him and her mouth twitched "Seriously? Has that line ever worked for you?" she asked and then pushed past him following the path out of the alley that Sam had taken. "I've got to get out of this getup before I break an ankle on these stupid things."
Dean watched her walk away, and felt a tug in his chest and groin. Yeah, he was definitely in love.
A few months later, they ran into her again. Actually, they ran into the barrel of her shotgun.
Money was tight, so they were checking outside of town for a place they could camp in while working the job. Apparently, they weren't the only ones with the idea. Although there'd been no sign from outside that the place was occupied, inside, Skyler had her gear stacked neatly and research spread out over the floor.
Dean looked her up and down. She was wearing torn jeans and a fleece pull over zipped up under her chin. The laces on her boots were untied and trailed down dragging through the dirt of the abandoned barn. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail with her bangs tucked up behind her ears. She was even more beautiful than the last time he'd seen her.
"Oh, good," she said, lowering the shotgun and leaning it against the wall. "Just in time to help me dig up a couple of graves."
"Jackson and his mistress, right?" Sam asked, letting his duffle fall to the floor as he walked over to look at the newspapers she had spread out in the corner.
Skyler kept Dean in her line of sight even as she turned to talk to Sam. "Mostly," she said and leaned over to point at a particular piece of paper. "It's Mrs. Jackson and her mistress."
"Nice," Dean said, and whistled, "Gotta love lesbian poltergeists."
The twin looks of irritation of their faces were so worth the silent treatment they gave him for the next half hour. It was good to work with another hunter again, watch her and Sammy geek out over Latin and trade stories. Sky, she'd smiled when he first used the nickname, was smart and funny. She was good; obviously she was good, bad hunters didn't last long.
At the graveyard, they split up, Sam to Jackson's grave, and Skyler and him to the mistress'. He was about four feet down, digging toward the coffin when the silence finally got to him. "So," he asked, grunting a little as he heaved another shovel full of dirt on the pile, "been hunting long?"
"About six years," she answered, looking up from one of Sammy's exorcism texts she'd been studying. "My grandma's Irish, and she followed the old ways. I'm not a witch or anything, but it doesn't take much power to salt and burn a ghost."
"So, you do the job just to do it?" Dean asked, pausing so he could look at her while he gasped for breath. He didn't remember meeting a hunter who started without a need for revenge, but it must be nice not to have so much baggage.
She shrugged, stood up and jumped down in the hole with him, taking the shovel from his hands. "It's a job that needs doing; people need help," she said and stuck the shovel in the ground, digging and throwing the dirt up over the side. "Besides, I never really fit in well with other people."
"A girl after my own heart," he said, wiping his sleeve over his forehead to get rid of the built up sweat. She was making good headway, throwing her whole body into digging up the grave. "Here, I'll finish."
"No, just get out of my way," she said, continuing to fling the dirt out of the hole. "I manage fine when I don't have a big strong man breathing down my neck. It's my turn, I'll finish it."
Dean grinned and hauled himself out to sit on the side where the dirt wouldn't cave in. "Yes, Ma'am," he said, itching to smear the dirt into her skin and lick the sweat off her neck. "So how did you meet Bobby?"
"Through a rare book dealer," Skyler answered, concentrating on the front of the grave where they'd open the casket. "I needed a book that he'd just traded for. That was a couple of years ago."
"It feels like I've known Bobby forever," Dean said, arching his back to pop his spine. He settled slumped back over, and watched her work. Things weren't exactly quiet, but hell hadn't specifically been gunning for him or Sam for the past couple of years. "I wonder why he never introduced us before."
She hit wood, the shovel skidded across the smooth surface, and she handed it up grinning. "Gotta be careful when it comes to you and Sam," she said and kneeled down to pry up the coffin lid. "You never know if you'll run across another whackjob Gordon Walker acolyte."
"You have trouble with some of them?" he asked, leaning over to snag the matches and lighter fluid. It was obvious that Sky could take care of herself, but the idea of some lunatic with his hands on her made his gut twist.
"Nothing I couldn't handle," she answered, hauling back the lid and climbing out the other end of the grave as Dean doused the mistress' bones.
The coffin went up like kindling when he dropped a handful of lit matches down into the pine box. Sky watched as the orange glow of the fire spread up her face as she dusted her hands off on her jeans. She licked her lips, and Dean's cock sat up and took notice.
Shifting closer, he let his arm brush across her shoulder, hoping maybe she'd be in the mood to fool around. Fire always made him horny. "Hey, do you want to-" he started to ask.
A hoarse yell echoed from across the cemetery and cut Dean off. He jerked his head to the side and saw the wind pick up and mist rise from the ground. "Sammy," he whispered, and took off running.
Sam was struggling against Mrs. Jackson's ghost and losing to her rage. The wind picked him up and slammed him through the lattice wall of a gazebo. It was only half finished and the construction materials wobbled like mad. Sam didn't get up.
"Sammy!" Dean yelled, trying to put on an extra burst of speed. It was a mistake, drew the ghost's attention to him, and it tossed him away from the pavilion. He stumbled and ended up falling into the grave Sam had dug.
He got his head up to see Skyler race in from the side and fling herself over Sam's limp body, protecting his head and chest. She was just in time to take the brunt from a stack of lumber and bricks that fell on them. Mrs. Jackson's ghost growled in anger, and Dean realized he was still holding the matches and lighter fluid.
"Say goodbye, bitch," he said, wrenching open the coffin and setting her bones on fire. He could feel the heat of the blaze as he scrambled out of the grave.
The wind and mist settled as he crawled across the grass until he managed to get his feet underneath him. "Sam! Sky!" he yelled, stepping over the rubble into the gazebo. He started pulling broken two-by-fours and bricks off their bodies while they wiggled out of the debris. "Are you guys okay?"
"Just peachy," Sky grunted, holding her lower back as she crawled backward. "Sam?"
"'M okay," Sam answered, grimacing slightly and holding the shoulder he'd used to make the Sam-sized hole in the gazebo's lattice wall. "It's not too bad."
Dean let go a sigh of relief when he saw them both moving under their own power. "All right," he said, scrubbing his hand down his face. "You guys just laze around here, I'll go fill in the graves."
They were all limping when they made it back to the barn with their gear, but he thought that Sky had it the worst. Sam had been able to stretch through his soreness, but she could hardly bend over. When she climbed out of the impala, her shirt rose up and he saw bruises already forming over her back. She got as far as her mat and sleeping bag and then collapsed on top with a groan.
Dean watched her curl up and couldn't help feeling bad for her. She was tough, independent, and kicked ass, but she was so small compared to him and Sam. The job was tough for them working together, and she'd been doing it by herself. Respect didn't go far enough in what he felt for her; she was amazing. He lowered himself to the ground and slid in behind her. She stiffened and tried to pull away but he stopped her with a hand on her hip.
"If you get cold while you sleep, you'll be so stiff in the morning that you won't be able to move," he said, trying to sound both gentle and nonchalant when he thought he might burst if she made him move away. "I just want to keep you warm."
She snorted, but didn't try to pull away and said, "You're such a manslut."
"Dude," Sam laughed, shaking out a couple of blankets they'd stolen from a motel or two. He flung one in their direction and settled down into the other with a sigh. "It's like she knows you."
He locked his jaw, ready to pull away; he didn't need to take that shit from both of them. Sam did laugh more often, and Dean enjoyed it, but he still preferred when it wasn't at his expense. Sky put her hand on his and held it there on his hip.
"Gee, Sam," Sky said, her voice light and teasing. "We're awfully comfortable here. You mind getting up to turn the lantern off?"
Sam grumbled, but hauled himself off the floor and across the room to get the light. On his way back, he picked up the spare blanket and shook it out on top of them. "Good night," he said sinking back on top of his own pallet made of a sleeping bag and blanket.
"Night Sammy," Dean murmured quietly, settling in closer to Sky's back.
He woke up once in the middle of the night on his back while Sky curled up against his chest. She was shivering, and moving restlessly while her face scrunched in pain. He reached over with his hand and softly massaged her back and hips until she sighed and rolled back over to her side. He followed her, breathing the sweet smell of her hair until he fell asleep again.
She was awake when he woke up the next morning with the early morning sunlight slanting through the decrepit barn walls. Sometime during the night, their shirts had rucked up leaving his bare belly pressed against the skin of her back. They lay quietly listening to Sam's even breathing.
"Yeah?" he asked, shifting to rub his chest against her, and at the same time he pulled his hips away so she wouldn't feel his morning wood. As much as he'd like to just roll on top of her, he knew that all he'd get was a knee to the balls, and he was really getting too old for that.
Sky moved her head, rubbing her cheek against his arm and reached up to hold his wrist, brushing her thumb over his pulse point. "I just wanted to … I," she trailed off, still talking quietly so they wouldn't wake Sam up. "Just thanks. That's all. It's been a while since anyone touched me. Since I let anyone."
"It's not really an imposition," he answered and dared to stroke his fingers against her hip. She yawned and he felt his chest constrict when he watched her nose scrunch up and her throat work as she swallowed. "Go back to sleep for a few hours. Sam's impossible to get up without an air horn, a clown mask, and slinky anyway."
When they split up that afternoon, they swapped cell numbers before Dean watched while Sky's jeep disappeared over the horizon.
"Well, you're in a good mood," Sam said when he came out of the bathroom.
Dean looked up from where he was cleaning their weapons and realized that he'd been whistling. He felt like dancing. He wouldn't of course, some lines weren't meant to be crossed, but he could barely keep his feet still. "Sky called while you were in the shower," he said, and finished reassembling his gun. "She wanted to know if we could swing by Arches and give her a hand."
Sam grinned back at him and dipped his head. "We'd better get going then," he said, and walked over to his bed to pull on a clean t-shirt. As soon as his head popped back up, he continued, "Don't want your girlfriend to kick your ass 'cause we're late."
"She's not my girlfriend!"
They glared at each other for a full minute before Sam cracked up and Dean followed, laughing until he had tears in his eyes. Sam bounced on the bed, going breathless as he wheezed too hard.
"Wow," Sam gasped, holding his side as if he had stitches from running too fast. "I never thought I'd be on this side of the teasing."
"Yeah, me neither," Dean answered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. Then his mind wandered back to Sky. "You really think she likes me?"
Sam sat up and the look on his face was so serious that Dean held his breath and leaned forward. "I don't know Dean," he said, putting on the expression he used with grieving families or the girls too good for Dean. "Do you want me to pass her a note for you?"
Dean threw the bottle of gun oil at Sam's chest as hard as he could and then launched himself too. He got his hands around Sam's neck, "You're such an asshole."
"'Dear Sky'," Sam laughed, twisting to the side and holding Dean off with his longer reach. "'Do you like like Dean? Check yes or no.'"
"I hate you," Dean said, gritting his teeth. He finally got his legs around Sam's waist and turned them until he was on top.
Sam was crying with laughter again, struggling wildly, and holding Dean off with luck more than skill. "Hey, maybe Missouri can set you up with a love potion," he said.
Dean growled and Sam surged up, and they rolled until they hit the wall and sank between the bed and the wall. They wiggled for a few more minutes before both of them went slack realizing that neither one could move much more than a couple of inches. The bed frame pinched painfully into Dean's arm, but at least he wasn't on the bottom.
Sam should have known better than to tease him about Sky. He was out of his depth and he knew it. It wasn't like he could just flash her a grin, turn of the charm, and ask her to bend over. The last time he'd tried something more, it hadn't turned out so well, but she wasn't Cassie. Sky knew exactly what the life was like, and maybe she'd be willing to cut him some slack.
Dean planted his elbow on Sam's chest and leaned up. "Seriously," he said, "do you think she likes me?"
"I gotta pee," Sam whined.
That summer was hot, and a drought spread across nearly the entire Midwest. Tempers flared, and he and Sam were constantly busy putting ghosts to rest, exorcising demons, and killing black dogs. They went from one job to the next without a break or a chance for Dean to call Sky until he woke up one morning and realized it was September.
A front from Canada and hurricane season finally broke open the sky and rain fell. Normally, Dean wouldn't think that eighty degrees was that awesome, but it definitely beat the triple digit temperature they'd been dealing with. It was dusk, he knew this part of Oklahoma like the back of his hand, and his favorite mixtape was just finishing side a. He and Sammy were doing okay, and life didn't get much better. He idled at a four-way stop so he could switch tapes when he heard music outside his window.
He grinned and turned left, following the signs he spotted beside the road and his spotty memory. "Hear that, Sam?" he asked, reaching over to close the laptop Sam was staring at. He glanced over and raised his eyebrows with a manic smile plastered across his face.
"What?" Sam looked up, startled. He cocked his head, and then widened his eyes. "No, Dean."
"C'mon," Dean said, watching for the turn off; he should have realized where they were earlier. The music and crowd noise got louder as he drove slowly down the twisting path. "If anyone deserves a break for some beer, it's us."
"Last time you got in a fight with a guy twice my size who was wearing lederhosen. You couldn't chew solid food for three days!" Sam griped, but followed Dean out of the car when he parked at the end of a long line.
They started walking toward the giant tents lit with hundreds of strings of white lights. His mouth watered when they finally got close enough to smell all the meat roasting on the grills. It took an eternity to wait in line to get one of the paper bracelets proving his was old enough to drink. "That was years ago, Sammy," he said, "I'd like to think I'm a little older and wiser now."
Sam just snorted but held out his own wrist for the woman to slap a bracelet on.
"Seriously," Dean said as he circled a crowd waiting for funnel cakes. "As long as I avoid the Jagermeister Girls, I'll be fine. I just wanna eat a ham hock bigger than my head and drink enough beer to drown in."
"Are you sure that's all you want?" Sam asked with a wide smile and nodded off to his right.
Dean followed Sam's gestured and saw Sky standing in the shadows between the face-painting tent and the pretzel stand. She was holding a glass of dark brown beer and had her hair down, cascading over her shoulders. He could have stayed there watching her all night if Sam hadn't nudged him.
He walked over to her, shoving his hands down in his hip pockets as he got to within speaking distance. "Well, this is a coincidence," he said, and then gestured around. "Is this Oktoberfest haunted, and we just didn't realize?"
She smiled and shook her head. Her tank top fit her like a second skin, hugging all her curves and dipping low in the front. "Actually, Sam called me a couple of days ago and gave me the address," she answered and offered him a drink from her glass. "He said you had a thing for polka and schnitzel."
Laughing, he took a drink, swallowing the bitter taste and handed the glass back to her. He looked over his shoulder, but Sam was already gone. "You know, sometimes I think he's still psychic and just likes to mess with me," he said, shaking his head at his little brother's meddling.
"I'm sure it's out of love," Sky grinned and tugged on his arm. "I'm starving; let's go get something to eat."
With their food firmly in hand, they retreated away from the noise and heat of so many drunk people flailing their way through the chicken dance. Sky led them up to a small rise where they could sit back against a tree and watch the wind make the strings of light wobble and shiver. The sun was all the way down, and it actually felt a little bit cool.
Sky finished her chicken before him and sighed, patting her belly and resting a little more of her weight against his shoulder. Dean decided it was now or never and lifted his arm to curl it around her shoulder. He wanted to crow out loud when she let him keep it there.
"Can I ask you a question?" he asked when he set his plate well off to the side. He thought about her all the time, but one thing had bothered him. "The first night I met you-"
She cut him off with a groan, hiding her face in her hands and shaking her head.
"See, that's it right there," he teased, shaking her a little until she'd look back up at him. She obviously had never been that kind of girl, but he couldn't get the image of her stripping for him out of his mind. He'd given his right hand a work out to the memory for the last several months. "But you were good. Real good."
Biting her lip, she twisted so she could look up at him and asked, "Promise not to laugh?"
"I went to the library and stole a pole dancing for fitness dvd."
Dean was laughing before he could help himself, and she shoved him over sideways, slapping at him like a girl who hadn't spent years killing the supernatural would have. It felt good to have someone besides Sam to be himself with.
"You're such a jerk," she squealed, leaning over him and hitting him on the chest. Her hair fell over his face, and she was laughing too. "I hate you."
"Don't," he sobered up immediately and rolled them over, the grass cool beneath his arms. She was still smiling up at him, her hair fanned out around her head. He rested a little of his weight against her, pressing their bodies together. "Don't hate me."
She reached up and traced his eyebrows with her fingers. "I won't," she said, and then took a deep breath. As she exhaled, she let all her muscle relax and her thighs fell open so he could slot his hips in between.
When he kissed her, he didn't die, but his world exploded all the same.
Title: Hidden Mouths of Stone and Light
Word Count: ~ 4,900
Summary: There’s only a beat, a moment’s indecision before she fires off the shot, and her life changes forever.
Author's Notes: Warnings for sexual situations/language. For chase_acow, from the prompt, Dean/Female!Hunter. Title and opening quote from Leonard Cohen’s poem, “Beneath My Hands.”
I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.
She’s at the bus stop in front of her trailer park the first time she sees him. She watches as a sleek dust-covered classic Chevy rumbles to a stop beside the tin-roofed shotgun single-wide neighboring her parents’ lot.
A rough-and-tumble sort of man clambers out of the driver’s seat, followed by two skinny boys. The trio moves quickly from car to trailer, carrying a couple boxes and duffels between them.
She thinks to go and introduce herself to her new neighbors, offer a handshake and a friendly smile. But instead she just watches them. The boy with a mop of dark hair and a sullen tilt to his slouch waits on the cement-block front steps. The slightly taller one, pale and freckled, jeans torn, flannel worn, smile tired, sits down besides him, bumps their shoulders companionably.
Not ‘til the school bus rumbles to a stop do the boys even glance her way. She catches the eye of the one with freckles. He nods a greeting. She winks, smirks, and reluctantly steps on the bus.
She tells him her name when they’re first introduced, the pale sun sinking into the trees, the air still and smelling of desert flowers. But somehow he never seems to remember. Calls her Stella, Maybelle, Luanne.
“Georgia,” she tells him for the third time, with a slight growl to her pronunciation. He’s working on the Chevy. Always is. Classic rock pumping out loud enough to piss off the dead, or just Mr. Merriweather two lots down. She jealously eyes the car—the clean line of the dashboard, the smooth upholstery, the black shine of the hood. It’s cared for, loved. It belongs.
He steps out from under the hood to test the soft purr of the engine. “Georgia, you say?” he asks after a pause. When he finally stops tinkering with the car, he leans against the driver-side door, lopsided smile deepening, curlicue lashes batting. Too long in the sun, his freckles now layer his skin like a dusty star-pattern, a map to nowhere, everywhere.
“Yeah.” She stands there, hands on her hip, blinking the sun out of her eyes. “Like the state. Can you believe it? My Mama named me for a state neither of us has ever been to.”
To emphasize her point, she starts to trace her name into the dust on the windshield of the Impala: G- E- O, before he scowls and bats her hand away. He leans over to wipe down the window, shoots her the evil eye. Everything here is always coated in a fine layer of dust. That’s what you get for living so close to a desert.
When he’s done, he backs up to give her another considering look. She knows she’s not much to look at. She’s fifteen, but could pass for much younger; she’s short, reed-thin and flat as an ironing board. But the smile Dean gives her, well, it makes her feel kind of beautiful.
Even though he’s just fifteen, he’s already more tortured than she’ll ever be.
She wears black lipstick, dies her hair blue, skips Ms. Robinson’s third-period Geometry class to smoke up in the bathroom.
But Dean? Dean carries his alienation in the grim set of his shoulders, wears it in the cool faux-bravado of his smile. He hides it in his eyes—there you can glimpse the entire weight of the world, a heaviness made of breath and bone.
Neither of them dresses out for PhysEd. They sit in the bleachers and watch the other kids knock around a volleyball. She eyes his never-opened school books poking out of his tattered backpack. He eyes her black nail polish and Sony walkman. She lets him listen to her Slayer tape and when he’s not looking she steals his Ozzy Osbourne cassettes. They get along well.
He’s her first everything, really. Kiss. Grope. Fuck. She’s probably none of his firsts, but that’s okay. She doesn’t mind being somewhere in the undefined middle.
That first kiss is messy; all tongues and no finesse, stringy spit and clanking teeth. It tastes like orange pop and Doritos.
When they fuck, it’s a little better. Hurts a lot more, but she’s use to pain.
Dean’s rough fingers snake along her waist, trace down the groove of her thin frame; his right hand slip-slides up her hips, crawls under her shirt, struggles for three minutes to unhook her bra.
They’re both sweaty, even in the dry October chill. She’s shivering by the time his hand winds down across her belly. His fingers pop open her jeans and come to rest at the elastic of her cotton panty. She arches and sighs as his fingers make their way lower, wind through the damp, coarse hair of her cunt, settle there in her secret warmth.
When they’re both naked, he regards her silently, wet honeydew eyes shadowed in the dim light of her bedroom. She feels uncomfortable at the searching looks he shoots her way; she shifts her eyes to take in her squalid bedroom and the rest of her sad surroundings. He doesn’t seem to mind that her clothes that now litter the floor come from charity, her socks are full of holes, her blanket shredded or her trailer filthy. That both her parents are usually too drunk for house upkeep, too drunk to stick around.
She turns to him, smiles. She spiderwalks her fingers up his arms, over his ribs. She likes the feel of his rough patches. She sometimes wonders at the bruises and scars that mark his skin, the ones that mirror the ones on her own legs and belly. He doesn’t ask her about hers, and she doesn’t ask about his. It’s just nice that he isn’t repulsed by marred skin, by slight imperfection. Instead he runs calloused fingertips over her arms, his dirty, half-bitten fingernails catch on the raised ridges of old scars.
That first fuck is without finesse too, a little clumsy, a little awkward. Long limbs dangle off her twin bed. Torn floral-print sheets stick to wet skin, desert dust clogs in her nose.
But Dean’s body is warm and lean against her own. His lips make a soft drag down the length of her chest, his spicy hot breath puffs out on every ragged exhale.
She’s caught up in the feel of her own arousal, too heavy to speak. Her lips lock in nervous anticipation.
“Ready?” he grits out, voice threading wildly as he searches his wallet for a condom. He finds one of those free ones they both got in health class, the wrapper the color of grape bubblegum.
She nods jerkily as his hands gently urge her legs apart. She tracks the movement of his hands, which are shaking a bit as he tears open the condom pack.
Her eyes are slowly drawn down to his cock, flushed thick and full, curving against his belly. He wraps long fingers around his full length, gives it nice firm stroke before rolling the condom on.
She takes in a deep breath, widens her thighs, gasps as cool air hits the ache and pulse of her center. Her body arches every so slightly, and Dean leans into her shifting position, lines up and pushes into her. She lifts her hips further, concentrates on the slow burn of his entrance.
As he presses in, one hand squeezes the small curve of her breast. A few rapid thrusts, a couple of jerky motions, and she’s taking him all in. She welcomes the feel of his cock working in and out of her, the deep stretch and burn.
“God,” he rasps out, his fingers gripping hard into her slippery hips. His eyes shut tight as he pushes into her one last time. He comes with a garbled shout as she clenches tight around him.
“Not God. Just Georgia,” she pants out, her voice ripped to threads. Her lips curl to match the blissed-out smile on his face as she winds her arms tight around him, holds him close inside her.
The land they live on is a parched and scalding mouth, cracked wide from thirst. But everything’s so wet in this new aftermath. Their open mouths meet for sloppy kisses, their thighs rub moist and sweat-slick. They treasure the squishy mess they made, the flood between their legs. Their damp hair spreads across her pillow. Their breaths, warm and humid, mingle.
He collapses, limp and boneless at her side. She leans over and kisses his damp brow. A soft red blush spreads across the length of his body. The tawny scatterplot of freckles stand out along his cheeks, his nose, his chest. His eyes, deep green and flecked with sunrise gold, watch over her.
“What’s your trauma?” she asks him after a while, sweat-sticky and bone-weary tired. They lay on their backs across her bed. They’ve been trying to guess the shapes of the water stains on the ceiling, occasionally singing along to the low-moan of Lynyrd Skynyrd winding from her tape player.
Dean rises up on his elbows and turns to look at her. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told ya,” he huffs, offers a fleeting smile as he turns to lie on his belly.
“Your mom run off?” she asks, frowning a little.
He stiffens, lets loose a heavy exhale. His hand comes to settle on the sharp jut of her hipbone, his thumb rubs back and forth. “She died when I was four.”
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, nodding. She figured it was something like that.
He doesn’t say anything for a while, just splays his fingers across the crescent moon tattoo on her hip. “We’re leaving soon. Me, my brother, my dad.”
She swallows thickly, throat suddenly gone dry. “But what about school?”
He shrugs, makes an amused noise. “Finish somewhere else. I’m use to it.”
She’s goes quiet, thoughtful for a long time. She wonders what’s so bad his family has to keep running away. She’s afraid to ask. Knows he wouldn’t tell her if she did.
After a while, she cocoons them both in her Nanna’s patchwork quilt, lays her head against his shoulder.
“Was it good for you?” he mumbles softly, his fingers skidding along the crease of her thighs.
“Not too bad, Winchester,” she says, smile tugging at her lips. She leans over and kisses him once on the cheek.
His own smile is almost shy, his twilight eyes large and luminous. “I’ll do better next time.”
She knows she shouldn’t. But she does it anyway. She follows Dean and his daddy to Old Miss Millie’s house that last night. The haunted house on the hill, charred as black as cinders, with broken windows that gape like empty eye sockets.
Through one of the basement’s broken windows, she watches a scene unfold like a horror movie. The two Winchesters move in tandem, like a dance. The thing they’re fighting is huge, agile, wild. Claws and talons. Dark fur and red eyes. It knocks Dean’s father onto his back and lands heavily on his chest.
Dean has a shotgun lifted to his shoulder, fires at the thing from across the room. The sound ricochets through the basement as the creature turns its focus on the boy.
“Sonofabitch!” Dean groans when it suddenly lunges at him at an otherworldly speed. It has to weigh as much as he does—its coat a sheen of pure black, ragged fur; its face like a warped pit-bull; and its jaw coming unhinged to bare rows of blood-covered fangs aiming for his throat. His sawed-off shotgun crashes to the ground, skitters across the floorboards.
She runs into the house, doesn’t even stop to think. She’s makes it to the basement in three seconds flat, jumps down the stairs just as Dean hits the ground. The weight of the beast pins him to the floor.
Around her the house shakes, dust showers from the ceiling. Her world shifts, falls into place.
Everything is in slow motion then. See, once upon a time, before the alcohol, before the beatings, her daddy took her hunting quails. Funny, the things she remembers in the heat of an impossible moment. With a quiet sigh, she picks up Dean’s shotgun. Her eyes meet the dancing red orbs of a creature she has no name for. In her peripheral vision, she can see Dean’s daddy stirring. No time to wait though. She takes in the feel of the hot metal in her hands, the weight of the gun. The creature’s eyes flicker toward her. There’s only a beat, a moment’s indecision before she fires off the shot, and her life changes forever.
The warm night air kisses her fiery cheeks. Flickering flames create highlights and shadows on the sharp arch of Dean’s face. He watches her with a quiet smile. She watches him in return.
“So…?” he offers as a break in the silence.
She wipes sweaty palms on her jeans, looks over at him slyly, catches his eye and grins. “So…I take it the Bogeyman exists?”
“Yep,” he replies, his smile is still a bit of a secret.
“And you’re what? A Ghostbuster?” she asks, brow cocked, hands across her chest.
Dean comes over to stand beside her, a grin dancing in his eyes. “Just call me Dr. Venkman, baby.”
She giggles at that and can’t stop for a whole two minutes. She knows this is the night, the beginning of the rest of her life. There’s a tingling in her belly at that realization, something blooming inside her chest, warm and right. She controls her giggles, nods her head slowly, sucks in the desert heat. She lets her eyes linger for a moment too long on the ruptured earth, dry and cracked beneath her feet, on the burning creature in the distance.
“How’d I do in there?” she asks, biting at her lower lip.
“Not too bad,” he says with a thoughtful air and a playful tug of lips.
She watches the little flickers of light behind his brooding eyes. Sees something of herself reflected there. “I’ll do even better next time,” she promises.
Dean leaves on a Saturday in December. In a car he loves, with a father he idolizes and a brother he cherishes.
He leaves her with a broken heart, a sawed-off shotgun, and a keen love of Black Sabbath.
She’s just shy of twenty-three the first time she sees him again. She’s been hunting solo for two years. Ran away from the trailer park at eighteen, found herself a mentor in a half-crazed, but well-meaning hunter named Reynolds out in New Mexico. Turns out that the creature in Old Miss Millie’s basement was just the tip of the iceberg. Demons, witches, vengeful spirits, poltergeists, wraiths, succubi.
The whole world had already gone to hell and she never even knew it.
She runs into Dean in a gritty dive bar on the outskirts of Spokane. It’s a Saturday night, the bar is buzzing. The crooning sounds of Waylon Jennings flow from the jukebox.
“Remember me?” she asks, but she doesn’t expect he will. She sits down beside him at the bar, orders a rum and coke.
Dean squints at her, blinking away the liquid shine in his eyes. He stares for a long moment, eyes raking up and down her curvy form, just drinking her in.
She sips at her drink and he downs a shot of whiskey. He finally settles on a glib, cocky grin, asking, “Trailer park outside of Tucson. Gina, right?”
“Georgia,” she whispers, a soft pout to her lips. “Like the state.”
He flashes white teeth, offers her a lopsided smile in apology. “‘Course you are.”
She snorts, leans back and shakes her head. Three drinks in, she tells him she’s here to catch the vengeful spirit killing off hikers in the foothills.
He only lets his surprise show for a moment, wide eyes blinking in rapid succession before he leans back against the bar and whistles. “I can’t believe you’re a hunter.”
Her smile is very smug. “I told you I’d get better.”
He cocks an amused eyebrow, tilts his head, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. “I bet you did.” His voice pitches high in admiration. “But let me take care of this one, darling. He’s a real nasty sonofabitch.”
“How about we both take care of him,” she suggests, smiling good-naturedly, before leaning in to whisper heatedly, “And then you can take care of me.”
It’s been six years but he’s much the same, just filled-out more. Firm muscles where once lean, wiry strength was only hinted at. Coy-smile and leather jacket. Classic car and ragged jeans. Rough hands and slick moves. He still smells like gun oil and engine grease.
He’s hunting alone at the moment. Baby brother left him behind for college, his daddy’s working another case across the state.
Dean Winchester’s got a hole in his heart can’t nothing fill.
She lets him blast rock salt into the angry spirit. He lets her use his machete to hack through the wall to locate the bones of Mr. Richard K. Fourcade.
They both do the salt’n burn.
Only two letters work in the flickering neon sign outside the fleabag motel he chooses. They stumble through the door, slam so hard up against the wall they send the entire room shaking. His fingers fumble at the zipper of her jeans, and she’s barely gotten them pushed down over her thighs before Dean picks her up, presses her back against the wall, and pushes into her. He pulls out slow and shoves hard again, groans as he sinks into her tightness, the slick warmth of her cunt flexing around his cock.
She wonders if her body is all that she can give him. The pillow of her tits, the comfort of her hands, the pressure of her mouth, the heat of her cunt.
He takes what she offers, without complaint.
Days and nights flicker in and out. Time is a silent refugee, out of place amongst the ghosts on the highway.
Wake up to the fire-gold blister of a South Dakota sunrise. Down strong coffee, read yesterday’s paper. Record old hunts and contemplate the next one. Get lost in the shift-change of landscape, flat earth to rocky mounts.
She doesn’t know when the road becomes her home. When dust and dirt, burning rubber and exhaust, become her oxygen. It’s a broken, bone-weary transience, living out of motels and her beat-up pickup. Gas stations and all-night diners. Cheetos and greasy fries. She’s been back to the trailer park a few times over the years, her parents too out of it to notice.
She’s twenty-four when she finally makes it to Georgia. Lives in Athens for a solid two months. Gets a job at a little bakery. Thinks about going to college.
Two days into her third month she’s standing over the grave of Louis Dawkins, watching his spirit dissolve as a fire kindles his bones.
Before long she’s counting the cracks in the blacktop. She’s got a knuckle-tight grip on her steering wheel. In the rear view, she watches Georgia fade away, melt into the burning horizon.
She’s exorcised two demons by the time they meet up again.
They share a bottle of whiskey in the bed of her truck, which is parked in a field in the middle of Wyoming. Nothing but prairie below and starry skies above.
He licks salt and lime off her tits before he goes down on her, his velvet tongue traversing the dark districts of her body.
With his face locked between her legs, he presses plump lips against her cunt, slowly dips into her slick heat, tongue pushing deep, the gentle pressure of his teeth brushing against her clit. She whimpers and arches, releases pained little gasps and moans as he fucks it into her, a slow-ride perfection.
She comes with his face tight between her thighs, Dean lapping greedily at the wet folds of her sex, eating into her likes he’s starving. When he pulls up, her fingers trace the come-slick smears across his lips. He kisses her and she tastes the spicy musk of herself on his tongue.
It’s sort of a competition, really. How many solo hunts can they each do before they get together for another fuck? How many sonsofbitches can they send to hell before they need a reminder of what’s in heaven?
Three thousand miles. One Pagan god, two zombies, one werewolf, four hauntings, and three cursed objects.
Sometimes the smells never come out. Fucking coin-operated laundries can’t handle her job. Everything she wears ends up reeking of sulfur and decay.
He has a knack for stealing her heart, right alongside her hunts. She aims to reclaim them. And sometimes she manages. Salt and burn the bones before he does, crawl out of bed before he wakes up.
Dean Winchester. Sometimes, she thinks she’ll shoot him soon as fuck him. But fortunately, most of the time, fucking’s better than shooting.
A carnival funhouse in Tulsa. Classic haunt. Or so you would think.
The angry spirit of a psycho serial killer leaves her black and blue, her new favorite colors.
Back at the Motel 6, she watches her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her clothes are heavy, a sodden unbearable weight. She slowly shrugs out of bloody denims and a sweat-stained shirt. It’s like she’s still staring in the funhouse mirror, her distorted body stretched and pulled like an elastic band. She can barely see through her puffy eyelid. Dried blood crusts in her hair, over her face, shoulder and arms. She’s painted in it.
No broken bones. Not this time.
She’s under the motel’s showerhead for fifteen minutes before Dean joins her, his hands running over her too-tender body. Her whole body aches, she feels hollowed out, wrung raw. Dean’s fingers glide across the purple bruises that bloom on her shoulders, his lips gently kiss her swollen cheekbone.
His breaths are a shallow warm pant against her neck. “You did real good,” he says and that’s all there is to it. They’ve seen each other scarred and broken so many times since that first reveal so long ago in that trailer park in the desert.
The pressure from the spray chases blood and dirt and gunk down the drain. When her bones don’t work anymore, and her body’s too heavy to stand, Dean holds her up, presses her gently against the tile. As he slowly sinks into her, the steam surrounds them like a cocoon.
“I know something better to do with that mirror,” he tells her when he catches her looking at her battered reflection later that night. “Watch us.”
Dean licks down her body, sucks at her warm skin, leaves his own bruises along the meat of her breasts. She watches herself with him, reflected in the motel room mirror. Two naked bodies, blue-black in the half-light, as they twine and entangle, writhe on blood-stained scratchy sheets.
The shadows, how they love their curves. The darkness curls around their bodies, in every new dip and angle.
She shivers slightly as his lips land on the sensitive flesh around her latest bruises. Her fingers ghost over his newly bandaged chest wounds. She moves slowly, her lips creating a lazy drag over the flat planes of his chest and the lean muscle of his upper torso. She traces the ridges of scar tissue, maps the imperfect geography of his history.
Her eyes never leave their reflection in the mirror as she rides him long and hard, takes him farther inside her. In the mirror she watches his cock slide in and out of her cunt, pushing, deep, deeper. The slow rhythm of the ride is hypnotic.
She loves the way he looks when he breaks, when he comes just for her.
Maybe, every fuck is another way of saying goodbye.
She peels down the back roads, crosses the border into the next town, sends the road signs shaking in her wake.
Coming down from a hunt is hell and heaven both. The fire burning low in her gut, the heartbeat pounding out of her chest. A need so fierce she shakes with it. He fucks her in a 7-11 bathroom. It’s a tug-of-war wrestle inside, hands clutching at the filthy tiles, the cold sink digging into her back.
In these moments in-between hunts, blood, come, sweat and tears are the only thing that signify life. Sex becomes the single desperate act of the living.
In that small, cramped space, their bodies grind, dirty-hot-slick-wet as they wrestle-tumble-twist-yank-bite, searing skin against skin. Their struggle, an intricate battle; the pair of them clashing like warriors.
Some nights, the road runs straight as an arrow.
Some nights, it carries all her weight.
After his brother returns, she doesn’t see Dean for nearly three years. When she does see him, he’s got a date with the devil. He’s making his final rounds, maybe seeking some kind of redemption.
She’s walking down Main Street, Jackson, Mississippi., 2 a.m. on a Friday.
He calls out to her with a “Long time no see, sweetheart,” his honeyed voice slurred by liquor. His bow-lips twist into a Cheshire-cat grin, his swagger is easy and familiar as he approaches her. But his face is worn and tired, eyes hiding the pain of burdens past and those yet to come.
His boots crunch over broken glass, track soot and ash into her motel room.
She memorizes the feel of Dean’s dick inside her, fucking her open, rough and deep and final. He shoves, thrusts hard, fierce and merciless, sweat-slick skin slapping in a panicked rhythm. Her fingers dig into the curve of his ass, squeeze his buttcheeks as he rocks forward, her cunt clenching tight around him, milking him dry.
She touches him everywhere with her hands and mouth, memorizes him. He fucks her raw, makes it hurt, makes it last.
“Georgia,” he cries out, exhales the urgent, breathless moan into the curve of her neck. The force of his vibration thrums up her spine like a livewire. Dean’s whole body goes rigid as he comes, shoots slick and warm inside her, fills her up.
They lie tangled together afterwards, skin melded by the sticky glue of body heat. He’s still snug inside her, slowly going soft. Neither of them moves.
Voice sex-rough, she finally asks, “How long?”
He scratches the back of his neck, closes his eyes, shuts out the world. “Three weeks left,” he breathes out, voice shaking like hell might come up and swallow him whole right then and there.
They’re quiet for a long time. In the silence, there’s just the sound of their rattling breaths, their steady exhales.
After a while, a small smile curves her lips. “You never remembered my name.”
His gaze flicks to her face, a flush creeps up his cheeks. “Actually I did,” he admits, ducks his head like he’s embarrassed. “I just liked to see the look on your face when I pretended not to.”
“Asshole,” she gives a soft, choked laugh, wants to kick him for frustrating her all these years, for playing her so well. But she doesn’t because she knows this is it. This is the last time she’ll get this. Dean Winchester, bloody and broken, coming to her bed.
Sadness cloaks the green of his eyes, his burden revealed. “You were my first, you know,” he admits, the corner of his mouth lifting gently.
She blinks up at him, mouth agape. “I didn’t know—”
Dean hushes her with a finger to her lips, adds, “And I wanted you to be my last.” He leans in close, slides bruised lips across her chin, settles a kiss against the indent of her right dimple. He whispers, just barely a breath, her name again and again and again. A goodbye.
- fini -
Title: Atheists in a Foxhole
Summary: It was time to face two fucking depressing facts: they were dangerously low on ammo and supplies, and their gun-runner was two weeks late.
Author's Notes: ~7,700 words. Speculation but no spoilers for season four. Written for the prompt, ‘a pickup truck and an OFC that's a reformed nun turned gunrunner who knows exactly how strange that sounds’.
It was time to face two fucking, depressing facts: they were dangerously low on ammo and supplies, and their gun-runner was two weeks late.
“We can’t do any patrols beyond the salt lines until we get new flame-throwers, glocks and rock salt,” Dean said, flipping his knife idly. He set it down and grabbed a pair of darts from the bucket beside his chair, throwing them at the target. They both hit close to the bull-eye, courtesy of the last week’s frustration and inability to do anything, which had led to lots of dart-throwing practice. He turned around, facing Sam. “And I need more dead man’s blood bullets if we’re going out to MacMillan’s again. The blood-suckers have set up a base three miles out from the road.”
“We can’t do anything on the patrol front yet,” Sam said, rubbing his temple tiredly as he looked over their acquisition sheets. “So you’ll have to wait. If Jimmy’s dead, then we’ll have to find another guy to make the runs to the coast.”
“We’ll be trapped like rats here, if our supplies run out,” Dean reminded him. “The salt line and the armed sentries are—”
Sam glared at him. “I’m aware of the problem, Dean. I’m the one who picked this place originally and I did the calculations. I know how long we can last without.”
“So how much longer?” Dean asked, his voice soft. He leaned forward in his chair. “’Cause the kids are getting spooked every time we head out to the supply shed and see that small pile gettin’ down to nothing. If you’d just let me go…”
“No,” Sam said, his voice quiet as Dean’s, but with the dangerous undercurrent that everybody but Dean had learned to avoid. “You are not going past that line again. I’m fucking tired of having to ward you with a million-”
“We may not have a choice, Sam, so put on your big girl panties and realize that we’re in a shitty situation that’s gonna require us to move out and face them sooner rather than later.”
“We are not going anywhere yet,” Sam insisted.
The tension in the room was palpable, and Dean thought that if he didn’t get some answers or action soon, he was going to strangle the secrets out of his brother.
They glared at each other. Dean could feel a twitch in his face and to his horror, he couldn’t prevent the huge yawn from escaping. He saw Sam try to avoid doing the same, but unable to resist the temptation. Dean smirked and Sam smiled his rare half-grin.
“When was the last time you slept, asshole?” Sam asked with a tired chuckle. He stretched his arms over his head.
“Don’t know, sometime yesterday?” Dean said. He snapped his fingers, remembering. “After the four a.m. watch. “ He eyed the purple bruises that had taken up residence under Sam’s eyes. “You?”
“Uh.” Dean could see Sam was thinking about it. “Maybe… yesterday.” Sam groaned, pushing aside papers on the rough desk.
Dean snorted, “Get to a bed, Sleeping Beauty, and we’ll talk strategy when you’re not dead on your feet.”
He stayed where he was, watching Sam lurch to his feet and stumble into the room beside the study, with a half-hearted good-bye that sounded suspiciously like ‘Fuck you.’
Dean breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut, waiting a few minutes to make sure Sam was dead to the world. He pulled out his kit, opened Sam’s sickening easy-to-pick locks, and went riffling through the drawers. But like the last time he had checked, there was nothing new, no document that indicated the master plan of why they were waiting out the war in one of the most densely demon-populated areas and doing nothing except sitting on their asses and conducting surveillance patrols.
There was a knock on the outside door. “Dean?” It opened and a small head poked through. Alex, their youngest recruit, was the designated runner for their operations.
Dean shoved the last of the papers in the last drawer shut, and locked it.
“Dara spotted Jimmy’s pick-up coming down from the pass,” Alex said, a wide grin splitting his face.
Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “About fucking time.”
He joined Alex and they jogged their way to the base of the look-out point. Originally a grain silo, there was a platform 50 feet off the ground inside the structure, with two six-foot wide windows that allowed them to see for miles north or south of their base. Alex scurried up the ladder with Dean following close behind.
Dara was on look-out and she had the binoculars trained on a bobbing white spot on the horizon. “Definitely Jimmy’s truck,” she remarked, handing the binoculars over to Dean. “You can recognize his crest on the hood.”
Sure enough, when Dean focused in, he could make out the faint outline of two crossed shotguns on the truck’s hood. “How far out?” he asked. “15 miles?”
“Yeah, ‘bout that,” Dara agreed. “So you probably want to haul ass now, and get down to the roadblock.”
“Why’s that?” Dean tracked the truck as it turned onto the road towards their roadblock.
“’Cause that’s not Jimmy in the truck,” she answered.
“What?” Dean pulled his eyes away for a second to look at her.
“S’not Jimmy. Probably some demon in a meat suit.” Dara smiled a disarming grin. “Dean, can I come with you and waste the motherfucker when they come in?”
“Um… I need you to stay here, keep watch,” Dean said, perturbed despite himself. 16 year old former cheerleaders were not supposed to use that kind of language or have that kind of glee on their faces when they talk about killing people. At least, they didn’t in the world he was used to, which, admittedly, had changed in the past eight months.
Dean bent down and grabbed the look-out’s walkie-talkie, radioing ahead to the gate. “Robbie? Code 5. Be ready with all you got. Do not, I repeat, do not allow that truck past the gate without my okay.”
“Dara’s right- that’s not Jimmy,” Robbie said, sighting his rifle along the road at the approaching truck. “It’s a woman, brown hair, kinda hot,” he said, lifting his head. He spit a stream of tobacco out of the side of his mouth.
Dean nodded. “Any scope on her eyes? Scales, horns, fangs, anything that might indicate non-human?” He was only partially kidding on the last details—some weird shit had happened to the human race since Sam had brought him back from hell.
“Not that I can see, sir,” Robbie said, his eyes already lined back up with the target. “You let me know if you want me to light ‘er up.”
“Everybody get ready,” Dean called. All along the reinforced gate, the rag-tag band of recruits – mostly teenagers and college kids too stubborn or stupid to have fled with their families to the coast and safety – aimed their assorted weapons at the truck.
Dean hopped the lowest section in the gate, and stood on the other side of the salt-lines. He breathed in a deep breath, smelling the sulfur-tinged air and felt the prickling of electricity cover his skin. Different on this side of their Line. “Robbie, cover me.”
The former marine joined him on the other side, and together they stood in the middle of the road. “Sam isn’t going to like this,” he said in a low voice to Dean.
“Sam can go fuck himself,” Dean said with a pleasant smile. He pulled out one of his only remaining holy water grenades, and held it in his hand.
The truck slowed, as it approached and stopped ten feet from the barricade. The passenger didn’t exit right away and Dean could feel tension rising from the group at his back as the seconds dragged on. “Steady,” he called.
The driver’s door swung open, and a pair of no-nonsense boots exited, followed by the rest of the driver. She started walking towards them, a woman in her early thirties, light brown hair tied back in a braid, wearing a Kevlar vest, sweatshirt and jeans. She stopped five feet from them, still far enough out of range to touch.
“Quite a welcome,” she said, clear blue eyes crinkling at the corners with tiny laugh-lines as she surveyed the scene ahead of her. “This is the Winchester place?” She addressed the question to Dean.
Dean nodded confirmation. “It is. Where’s Jimmy?” he asked.
“Jimmy’s dead,” she answered. “I’m Magda, his cousin.”
“Dean Winchester, and this is Robbie Goulding.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” she held out her hand and took a step forward.
Robbie stepped in front of Dean, rifle on his shoulder and pointed straight at her. “No offense ma’am, but we need to be sure you aren’t a creepy-crawly or devilly before we’re going to be treatin’ with you.”
She stepped back, and in the mid-afternoon light Dean could see a silver cross glint against the matte black of her vest. Didn’t necessarily mean anything- higher level demons could wear crosses so long as they took precautions.
“By all means,” she said seriously. She held her palms up and turned to show them they were empty. “Human, unarmed, and willing to prove it.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call a gun-runner unarmed,” Robbie said, observing her with a thoughtful look, lowering his gun. “Or don’t you have massive amounts of weaponry in the back of your truck?”
“No personal sidearm?” Dean added, wondering who would be stupid enough to travel anywhere in this day and age without one.
“Guilty of the first, and left it in the passenger seat for the second, ” Magda said easily, letting her arms drop down beside her. “I figured I better be friendly.” But there was a relaxed ease and alertness about her that Dean thought she might have other means of protections at her disposal, likely in the form of protective wards or perhaps a rare blessed weapon.
She easily passed the holy water bottle test, and the body search for weapons and she could follow Dean and Robbie back over the salt-lines without any problems. The last test involved driving Jimmy’s truck between the gates. None of the sigils flared, indicating that she was as human as she claimed.
Dean relaxed slightly, but he still fell slightly behind while Robbie and Magda walked up the path to the farmhouse, observing. Never could be too careful. And if he was being honest with himself, the view wasn’t bad either.
Someone must’ve warned Sam ahead of time, because he was waiting at the front door, standing ramrod-straight and tall, with no indication that he hadn’t had more than an hour’s sleep in the last 24.
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t let surprise color his voice as he took in their visitor. “Jimmy…?” he asked.
“Indisposed, permanently,” Dean told him bluntly. “This is Magda, his cousin. She’s taking over for him.”
Sam nodded, and held out his hand, which Magda took and shook firmly. “Pleased to meet you, I’m Sam Winchester.”
After a brief nod from Dean, Robbie headed back to the roadblock and they moved to Sam’s office, shutting the door on the curious eyes of the dozen or so young people off-duty and hanging out in the main complex.
“Shall we get down to business?” Magda asked. She opened her backpack to pull out a massive pile of papers, and grabbed the pen clipped to her vest, checking off points as she made them. “I have most of Jimmy’s last order… glocks, flame throwers, m-17s, two Berettas, holy water grenades, bullet casings, … a couple other odds and ends-, and a huge order of dried foods.”
Dean nodded. “Excellent, exactly what we need. I’ll have some of the kids unload your truck.” He swiveled back in his chair to open the outside door, yelling into the hallway. “Whoever’s out there, get off your lazy asses and help unload the supplies.” He turned back around with a grin on his face, noting with satisfaction the look of amusement that flashed across Magda’s face. “Gotta keep them busy somehow.”
Alex came running towards the door first, followed by two other boys and Dean directed them to the pick-up truck.
“Tell them to just take the cases off the first two rows to start,” Magda called.
“You got that, kid?” Dean asked and Alex nodded eagerly.
“In the meantime, we need to talk about rocket launchers…”
“I’m not equipping you with them.” Magda’s quick and dismissive response wasn’t exactly the response Dean had anticipated.
Dean blinked. “Look- we need gonna need RPGs and Jimmy said…”
“Look, you’re a rag-tag band of paramilitaries trying to eke out an existence beyond the Line, just to prove you can, like any other number of Jimmy’s other clients,” Magda stated, her arms crossed and her face impassive in Sam’s study. “You’re not a unique group—maybe larger than any of the others, but not special. If this ever ends and things go back the way they were… I’ll give you the smaller weapons, but I’m not going to equip every group with enough arms to start a small war.”
Sam looked over at Dean, and Dean shrugged. He’d let Sam handle this one. “It’s a little more complicated than that,” he said, and then let Sam take it from there.
“Doesn’t make a difference,” Magda said, shrugging.
“I’m betting you also have another client, buying them up,” Sam guessed.
“That’s a good guess,” Magda answered swiftly.
Dean had to admire her ability to cut through the bullshit quickly.
“Who?” Sam asked, his voice dangerously soft.
“Divisions of the Marine Corps, and the 60th Air Mobility out of Travis,” Magda met Sam’s eyes without hesitation.
Dean snorted loudly. “The military? Sweetheart, what those boys know about supernatural warfare they could fill with teaspoon. You’re better off giving it to us.”
“They’ve managed to keep more than half a million Bay Area residents alive so far in this environment. I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss them,” she retorted. “They might not have the experience, but they do have the discipline and manpower to help humanity survive in this new… situation.”
“They pay you well?” Dean asked, quickly reevaluating his first impressions of her.
“Well enough, but money’s not everything.”
“You have an awful lot of morals for an arms runner,” Sam observed. “You’re sure you’re related to Jimmy?”
Other than one quick, unimpressed eyebrow arch, Magda ignored the question. “I have heard of you though, the Winchester place. I’ve brought you some of my other cache. From what I’ve heard on the grapevine, I have a feeling they’re more to your style. You can take a look at what I brought- likely’ll make the difference for you than any heavy weaponry.”
Sam looked at Dean, and Dean shrugged. “Let’s take a look then.”
Magda led them out to the lightened truck, and jumped onto the bed, pulling out a key and unlocking a long, grey metal case.
“They’re blessed by the church,” she said, pulling the cloth back to showcase the shining rounds. “And I won’t even charge you extra for them.”
Dean let out a low whistle of appreciation. “You tracked down a member of the clergy who hasn’t been slaughtered yet, and convinced them to perform benedictions on rounds of ammo? Jimmy once claimed he could find us a priest for the right amount of money, but we didn’t think he could do it…”
“I did them myself,” she answered, a small, proud smile stealing across her face.
It took a moment for the significance to sink in for both Dean and Sam. “What?” Dean blurted out in surprise. “But that would mean…
“That you’re talking to the former Sister Magda of the San Francisco Sisters of Presentation,” she answered, the look on her and her tone warning them that this was the only answer they’d get at the moment. “So, do we have a deal, gentlemen?”
“I think I have whiplash,” Dean said conversationally, as they watched the white pick-up disappear in a cloud of dust into the horizon.
“Hmm?” Sam grunted, lost in his own thoughts, or perhaps just his exhaustion.
“I thought I had her pegged,” Dean replied. “Yuppie lawyer, business woman, yoga instructor maybe… former nun, never would’ve guessed with those legs.”
“Guess you’re not such a good judge of character as you thought,” Sam said, stifling a yawn.
“Maybe,” Dean said. “Shame though.”
“Former nun, did you say?” Robbie asked, joining them. “If she’s not working for God no more, no reason why you can’t.” He scratched idly at his three-day-old beard. “Hell, I’d tap it.”
“You’d tap it if you didn’t think Leah would cut off your balls for even thinking about,” Dean said, grinning at his second-in-command.
“Yeah… true,” Robbie admitted. “She wouldn’t be fond of that idea.” He looked around. “Speaking of Leah… if I’m not needed anymore for babysitting this post, I’m going off for a little R&R.” He leered good-naturedly. “She promised something good next time I came off watch.”
Dean nodded. “I think we should be good. Megan’s coming on and she can handle the ‘block for the daylight watch.”
Robbie gave him a quick salute.
“Oh, and make your R&R count,” Dean called after him. “Because we’re starting patrols again now that we have supplies that’ll inflict serious damage on those demon motherfuckers.”
“Hoo-rah,” Robbie answered, and he set off with a new spring in his step.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam shaking his head. “We’re still just doing surveillance patrols, Dean. No offensives.”
Sam turned to meet Dean’s eyes. “You promised you would trust me. I need you to keep doing that. We’ll get out there, I promise, but it’s not the right time yet,” he said, his voice filled with intensity tinged with exhaustion.
“Alright,” Dean said, reining in his frustration. “But if we’re attacked, we’re blowing them away.”
“Fine,” Sam said, with a tight smile.
Magda came back a week later with six large barrels of rock-salt and another load of consecrated ammo. Dean invited her along on a tour of their camp, ostensibly for the purpose of laying down new lines of salt and showing her exactly what they were doing here. In case she changed her mind about those RPG’s and rocket launchers.
“Where’d you find your recruits?” she asked, as they passed by a group of the younger kids picking beans in their late-summer garden. She had taken off her Kevlar as soon as she passed the roadblock, and was wearing her hair in a messy braid, with little wisps of hair glowing golden in the afternoon sunlight. It was surprisingly distracting, and Dean found his eyes sliding sideways to take a look more often than was necessary. His fingers itched to tuck this one strand behind her ears, but he valiantly resisted.
“First couple of months there was a long stream of refugees who passed by, fleeing from whatever the hell happened further inland,” he answered. He waved back at some of the kids, continuing. “We saw kids whose parents were killed along the way, and while the younger ones were taken care of, no one else was helping out the teenagers. Sam and I set an age limit—12, as we’re pretty much sitting ducks here, and we don’t have time to baby-sit, but we told anyone who wanted to stay and pull their weight could.”
He shrugged. “That was the beginning. We also picked a group of Stanford students who had been working on one of the university’s experimental farms just on up the road. We’ve left them in charge of our food and energy. Other than that—it depends. We’ve gotten strays, people who survived on their own but ran into trouble and decide to join us. Most adults tend to move on to the city the first chance they can, usually catching a ride with Jimmy or any other human passing by.”
He snapped his fingers. “How did Jimmy die, anyway?” he asked, remembering that that fact had been skimmed over the last time they’d met.
“Ambush outside the city Line, from the reports I’ve heard,” Magda said, her lips tight. “I was in the supply warehouse when his bodyguard dragged in his corpse. The guard said it was ghouls, but I don’t doubt it was demons who ordered the attack. Jimmy was getting too well-known as an arms dealer.”
“You work for him long?” Dean asked, sending her a sideways glance, wondering if she was worried about the same fate.
“About a month. I had just arrived back in the Bay area after running my own small operation in SoCal, and Jimmy asked if I wanted to help with inventory. I took him up on it, ‘cause I needed the break from the constant running. About two weeks in, I got a call from a client. Demons had found a way to smash through the barricades in most SoCal outposts. Most survivors were head up north, so I decided to cut my losses and stay up here, build up my own client base again while helping Jimmy out. The army contract helped as well.”
“Arms dealing run in your family?” Dean asked, grinning at her.
“Illegal activities run in my family,” she said, with a quirk in her mouth as she answered. “I was one of the few to originally go into a respectable profession.”
“So… a nun, huh?” he said, finally letting the curiosity get the better of him. “Bet you don’t see many high school counselors pushing that option anymore.”
A light flush rose in her cheeks. “Reformed nun. I learnt my lesson.”
“What was the lesson?”
She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable and Dean began to regret asking the question. “That God and religion lets you down,” she finally answered.
“Can’t argue with that,” Dean said, thinking back to his own hunts and the stubborn belief that Sam still clung to.
He stole a glance out of the corner of his eye, and saw she was fixedly looking at the horizon.
Dean searched for a safer subject but there was one question he realized still needed answering. “So, how’d you escape the initial purge after it happened?”
“Luck, mostly, plus the fact that I wasn’t officially part of the church anymore,” she answered flatly, clearly wanting to change the topic. She pointed over to their water tower. “Where do you get your water? From the stream that follows the road?”
Dean was only too happy to bring her over to Megan and Bradley, letting them explain their irrigation and water conservation techniques until Magda’s eyes began to glaze over, and then he and Robbie rescued her and showed her where they started their patrols.
“So, any chance of those RPGs?” Dean asked hopefully at the end of her visit.
“Not a chance,” she answered, but there was a smile playing on her lips. “I’ll see you in two weeks, likely on the Friday.”
It was sheer luck that Dean was on watch the night the white pick-up truck came barreling up next. He was staring out into the empty night when rapidly swerving headlights appeared in the distance.
Heather, one of the former Stanford students, was dozing beside him, and she woke up with a start when gunshots went off. “What’s happening?” she said sleepily, making a grab for the rifle beside her.
“I don’t know,” Dean stood up, straining his eyes in the distance, wishing for the thousandth time that they had any kind of decent night-vision. “Keep sharp.” He grabbed his radio and rifle and headed down the steep ladder.
He was almost at the roadblock when he heard shots being fired from their position ahead. “Shit,” he muttered and started running.
“What do we have?” he shouted over the crack of guns.
Leah turned around from where she was shooting, and he could see her teeth gleaming white in the dim light. “Ghouls, and we think possibly black dogs running alongside the gun-runner’s truck. Some of ‘em came onto the road, trying to cut her off and we lit ‘em up.”
“There’s a lot of them, Dean,” Robbie said calmly, as he paused between shots. “Doesn’t help in the dark, either.” He aimed again, pulling his trigger and Dean could see a dark shape drop.
“Do the best you can, and ease off when the truck gets close. We don’t want to lose another gun runner,” Dean said. “Are they coming near the ‘block and our lines?”
Leah shook her head. “Not as far as we can see.”
Dean ducked inside their small shack to grab an extra rifle. “Alright, let’s provide cover for Magda so she can get within the safe zone.” He joined the others in attempting to pick off ghouls that came within range.
Two minutes later, the white pick-up came screeching up, and Dean could see the remaining dark shapes melt away into the surrounding darkness outside their lights.
“You okay?” Dean shouted ahead.
Magda poked her head out of the window. “Yeah. Might need some minor medical treatment though.” Under the bright spotlights, Dean could see red, arterial spray coating her windshield and driver’s door. Not hers though.
“Head towards the main complex,” Dean replied. “I’ll join you there as soon as I can.”
Leah and some others opened the gates, and Magda drove through. The sigils stayed blank and Dean relaxed his hold on the rifle, noticing Robbie doing the same.
Dean waited at the roadblock for a good 45 minutes, but the night in front of them remained silent. “Keep scanning, make sure nothing else is coming, and radio me if you see anything,” he ordered.
The others nodded and Dean started jogging towards the main buildings.
She was waiting in a bedroom that doubled as a spare medical room when he came to offer his assistance. Cam, their only trained medic, was busy treating the two new refugees they had stumbled across in their patrols earlier that day but promised to be over shortly. One of the other girls still awake had told Dean that she had already helped Magda as best she could.
“Can I do anything?” Dean asked, hanging back in the doorway.
Her back was to him. She didn’t react, and Dean walked closer, concerned. He noticed that she was breathing rapidly, her chest heaving up and down, and he saw that she was silently mouthing words. He also noticed the red staining her crudely wrapped upper arm. “Bandage, Magda?” he asked sharply.
He leaned down over the bed, and he saw her squeeze her eyes closed tightly, and then open them, consciously forcing herself to slow her breathing. She flicked her eyes over to him.
He sat down beside her, and tentatively touched his hand to her shoulder. “Here, let me help you.” She turned slightly, not speaking and he started to push her sleeve up before realizing that it wouldn’t roll up that far.
“One second,” Magda answered, finally speaking and she moved away from him, starting to pull her arms out of her sleeves. She then lifted the shirt over her head, leaving her in a tight white blouse.
Quickly, he grabbed some gauze and antiseptic from the counter behind him, and turned his attention to the ugly scratches that marred her right shoulder. “Black dog?” he asked, trying to distract her.
“Think so,” she said breathily, as he probed gently as the wound. “They jumped at my window when I slowed down to cross the ford. Had to shoot them with my pistol.” That explained the blood on her door.
They didn’t speak for a few minutes while Dean cleaned the wound and bandaged it, all the while acutely aware of her slowing breaths against his face and the faint smell of Tide laundry detergent.
When he was finished he looked up, and was surprised to see her face less than an inch away from his.
She shifted forward and their lips brushed against one another. She lifted up her hands and lay them against his shoulders.
In the dim light, he couldn’t see her expression but the tightening of her hands around his biceps encouraged him to a deeper exploration. He could taste the sweat and fear on her lips, and even though logically he knew that he couldn’t kiss away her fear, he was going to try his damnest. It had been a long time—the age difference between himself and the rest of his recruits had him reconsidering any trysts. He’d been in the ‘commander’ role long enough and he longed for a release from the responsibility.
“Distract me,” he heard her say, drawing him back to the present.
“You sure?” Dean asked, the fog in his brain clearing enough to remembering the former nun part. God, he hoped she was serious and this wasn’t some random PTSD shit that Cam had warned him might happen. Because it would be wrong to take advantage of her offer in that case. Yeah.
“Look, I nearly died tonight. I’d like to forget that fact for the moment, so yes, I’m sure,” she said, and there was a note of laughter in her voice.
Dean hesitated, but then she was licking along his neck, and fuck it, he had her blouse open, palming her breasts through the thin fabric of her bra. He bent down and sucked along the edge of fabric and skin, feeling her shiver under his hands, her nipples becoming prominent underneath his fingers. He pushed her bra down to gain full access to her breasts, sucking on her tiny areoles. He wondered briefly if she was a virgin, because that could make things complicated.
She let him stay there for a few moments, letting out tiny sounds of contentment, and then she pushed against his chest, and he fell back on the bed. She clambered on top, straddling him. She helped him pull off his shirt, while he fumbled with her jeans, managing to push them down to her knees. Her panties were wet and he could feel his own jeans tightening uncomfortably, with his cock straining against the denim in response. She palmed a hand over his groin area, and he groaned.
“Gonna fuck you, gonna fuck you hard, baby,” he whispered, and pulled her on top of him, maneuvering his hand to rub against the wet fabric before pushing it aside, and fingering her clit.
“Stop talking about it, and do it,” she hissed in his ear, grinding against him urgently. Not a virgin, his senses were telling him. Fine with him.
Goddammit, he was going to come in his pants if he didn’t… she unbuttoned and tugged and his jeans fell down, releasing his cock, which she immediately began stroking.
“Condom?” he managed breathlessly. “I… can…” he reached into the back of his pocket, pulling out his battered wallet and it fell open beside them on the bed. She snatched at the condom the same time he did, and there was brief scuffle before Dean claimed it, managing to tear open the package with shaky hands and then handed it off to her. She rolled it onto him expertly, and then positioned herself on top of him, slowly lowering herself onto his cock.
Dean rocked back, the tight, hot wetness driving any other thought from his mind. Fuck, he had missed this. She rode him, settling her hips in a slow, torturous rhythm and he followed blindly, burrowing his fingers in her slippery cleft and attempting to stroke in a similar fashion.
She tightened around him, letting out quiet sounds of panting. “Yeah, sweet Jesus, yeah, sweet Mother… please…”
The last coherent thought Dean had was that there was something deeply wrong with her calling on those particular people but holy… he didn’t care. She let out a long moan, and could feeling her tighten around him even more, pushing him over the edge. He came hard, and clung to her while riding it out.
When it was over she gingerly disentangled herself and bent over him, her silver cross swinging over him like a star. He lifted up his head to give her a hard, bruising kiss. She collapsed beside him.
“Thanks,” she said, after a moment.
It seemed like an incongruous statement and Dean could only reply with the obvious. “You’re welcome,” he muttered.
Both of them exhausted from the night’s activities and events, they fell asleep soon after, with Dean waking up only after Cam discreetly knocked on the door.
She left early the next morning before breakfast, kissing him briefly on the cheek with an enigmatic smile on her face. He didn’t know where they stood.
Dean prepared a speech in his head for the next time they’d be alone together. It came at the end of a day when they had finished tallying the inventory and she was preparing to leave for her four hour trip back to the city.
“You need to get back tonight?”
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why, are you offering some incentive to stay?” she asked mildly.
To his dismay, Dean felt himself stumbling in his response. “Well, I uh, I thought. If you ever need another distraction…” he offered lamely. His seduction skills had definitely taken a hit without practice these last few months.
But it turned out he didn’t need to worry. “I’d love one,” Magda said, her eyes crinkling in a pleased, cat-like shape that was slowly becoming familiar to him. She leaned forward and pushed her palm against his chest, walking him back against the wall of the silo. He circled his palm around the back of her neck, and drew her in for a messy, open-mouthed kiss.
“I don’t do relationships,” she warned him, when they broke apart.
“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he answered. “Neither do I.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth, but near enough to it that he felt comfortable saying it. Besides, for all he knew, she had a fuck-buddy at all the stations she stopped at. Just a way to scratch the itch and relieve some stress, he could work with that.
It became a routine. Magda would make the trip out every couple weeks, unload the guns and weaponry she had brought, and then she and Dean would steal off for a tryst wherever they could find the space.
“Oomph,” Dean heard her say during a particularly enthusiastic session against the supply closet’s wall.
On the other side of the wall, they could hear muffled giggling, and a blush rose on Magda’s cheeks.
Dean hammered on the wall. “This area is off-limits. Scram, you guys.”
“Aye aye, Dean,” came a voice on the other side.
Dean shook his head as Magda buried her face in his chest, shaking with laughter.
They rarely talked about anything personal in their lives. It was either business, or pleasure. Nothing in between. Guns, surveillance patrol tactics, or fucking. Dean didn’t mind it like that.
“What’s it like in the city?” he asked her one afternoon as they took a post-coital walk through the tiny fruit orchard on the property.
“Chaos, controlled chaos, but still chaos nonetheless,” Magda told him. “The civilian government has ceded most of the power over to the military in efforts to control the population, but it’s not doing much good. Everyone’s running scared ‘cause of the demon threat, when you can’t tell who’s the enemy, it’s hard to trust anyone else to protect you.”
Dean nodded. In their relatively isolated bubble of calm, it was easy to forget that there were others fighting the same war they were.
“Sam and I… we’re working on a plan that might work,” he said, knowing how thin that promise sounded. A plan that Sam was still mostly keeping him in the dark on.
“Mmmm,” she said, lost in thought. “I’ve pretty much given up on anything going back the way they used to be, even if we do find a way to kill all the demons.”
“No hope at all?” he asked. “You ever pray for anything different?”
Her eyes were sharp and sad when she looked at him. “No,” she answered.
The next time she visited, she brought them RPGs and rocket launchers.
“I stopped at the Jones’ farm today,” she murmured against his neck. “Every family member slaughtered. I found their heads twenty feet from their bodies.”
Dean paused from where he was kissing her neck. He looked up to meet her eyes. “Hate to say this, but this isn’t exactly pillow talk,” he said wryly.
“Sorry,” she answered, but she didn’t meet his gaze. She leaned back against the bed’s headboard, sighing. “I just need something to distract me, anything to get those images out of my head. There’s too damn many of them in there nowadays.”
“Just lay back and let me take care of that, sweetheart,” Dean assured her. He eyed her no-nonsense black panties and his mouth watered. Jesus, if only she’d let him… well, it was worth a try.
He started by sneakily trailing light, whispery kisses down her stomach, watching her eyes close and her face relax. Without stopping he hooked a finger under the band and pulled down her panties, approving of the sight of white skin and a tiny strip of hair underneath. Magda let out a little squeak as he bent down and drew his tongue along the raised pink folds.
“Dean, what the hell-” She half-raised herself off the bed.
“Relax, just trust me,” Dean said, gently pushing her back down. He let a smirk cross his mouth. “Believe me, when I’m done here, there won’t be anything in your head but the thought ‘Dean Winchester is a fucking star at eating pussy.’”
The look on Magda’s face doubted that, but she settled back against the pillow, her brown hair catching red highlights from the dim lamp as it sprayed out on the pillow. Dean paused to admire the picture in front of him before returning to his work.
He sucked along the edge of her thigh, and then pressed his finger down and dragged it along her fold, pausing at her hole as if marking the spot. He licked along the same strip, letting his lips briefly grab and release rapidly on her clit. Her breathing changed, and Dean could feel the shuddering sign that had him excited, he pushed a finger inside her, feeling the wetness and she bucked her hips, thrusting up into his finger. He sucked, his nose filled with the faint musk and her unique taste on his tongue. Her fingers curled around his ears, guiding him in the direction she wanted. He was only too happy to oblige.
She came three times, and as she shuddered around him for the last time, he looked up and saw her smiling.
“Go on, say it,” he teased, after she had recovered.
She whacked him gently on the back of his head. “All right, I’ll give it to you. Dean Winchester, you are a fucking star at eating pussy.”
“Thank you,” he said with mock gravity. “Distraction enough?”
Her smile faded, and he could’ve kicked himself.
“Yeah, I think so,” she said, and then leaned forward to kiss him. “Here, let me return the favor.”
Not gonna argue with her there.
One cool day in February, she arrived to find a different sort of action going on in the main compound.
“This is it, isn’t it?” Magda asked in a low voice, hardly pitched loud enough for Dean to hear above the excited chattering of his group as they busily began unpacking the truck.
“Naw, this is just for the fireworks. Gotta celebrate the fourth of July sometime this year,” he answered glibly.
He saw her take in the mounds of supplies around them. They had been stockpiling for the last few months, and a windfall with a group of truckers the week before had produced the last piece to the puzzle. “Bullshit, you have enough fireworks to blow the Golden Gate Bridge to smithereens and enough protected and blessed ammo to take on Satan himself,” she said, catching his arm. “What do you have planned?”
He threw her a wild grin. “Maybe we’re taking on the big Hoobah himself. Maybe we’re tired of him making the world his playground. Maybe we’re going to take fight there.” He knew he was babbling, but after months of inaction they were finally going into the big finale. Sam, the sneaky bastard, had finally let him know the full plan the night before and Dean was riding high on the sheer brilliance and amazingly difficult insaneness of what they were about to attempt.
“Are you fucking serious?” Magda raised her voice, and in the lull it carried and the frantic action around them stopped.
The kids were staring. Dean cleared his throat. “Carry on, everyone,” he told them, drawing Magda to one side. There was a bit of awkward shuffling and then they started up again.
“Did you bring the…”
“I have everything you ordered,” Magda said, interrupting him. “You told me it was for new patrols, not a suicidal assault. Dean… do you know what’s been happening in the city and around the limits lately? The Line is breaking.”
“Yeah, the demons are getting stronger, we get that, which is why now is the time to strike.”
“This is suicide,” she stated again, crossing her arms.
“We all die sometime,” he challenged. “Might as well go out fighting.”
“Risking their lives too?” Magda asked, nodding her head at the kids.
Dean ground his teeth. The one weak spot in the plan that he couldn’t allow himself to think about. “They knew what they were signing up for when they agreed to stay,” he said. “Besides, we told them that any one who doesn’t want to take part in the assault can catch a ride back to the city with you and wait it out.”
She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. Dean waited for the ‘is there anyway I can talk you out of it?’ part, but it never came.
She closed her eyes, as if gathering her strength. “Okay,” she said.
“…okay?” Dean said cautiously.
She opened them, looking cross. “Okay, I’ll take anyone back who wants to come with me,” she said. “Also, I’m going to help you out, so gather everyone around with the main weapon they’re going to be using. Can’t promise that it’ll work, but I can attempt a blessing on them.”
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. He wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Don’t mention it,” she replied, the lines on her face burrowing deep, making her look old.
The rest of the afternoon and into the evening a line threaded through the compound, ending beside Magda’s truck. She took each rifle, assault gun, machine gun and knife that was offered, quietly speaking the Latin blessing over the gleaming metal. She handed it back to the kids, and as Dean watched each kid walk away, their backs a little straighter, he concluded that this had been a good idea, if only for morale. There was a look of peace of Magda’s face too, and he commented on it while they took a quick break and ate dinner.
“I’ve been doing some thinking these last couple of weeks,” she said guardedly. “Reconsidering my stance.”
Dean remembered that she had always worn her cross, despite her professions of faith otherwise.
“No atheists in the foxholes,” Sam said from across the table. In the weeks leading up to finishing the plan, he hadn’t slept or eaten much, and Dean couldn’t help but feel a stab of concern whenever he looked at his brother. But the stress on Sam would all be over soon, one way or another.
“Maybe,” Magda said thoughtfully.
Dean decided it would be wise to keep quiet on the issue. No reason to upset the balance or start a fight, not on the last night together. Personally, he didn’t think that God had started to pay attention to the world again the last few weeks… or ever, so he saw no reason to start believing now that he was facing death.
Too soon, she had finished up with the last weapon, and was holding his own personal gun. She kept her eyes on his face as she moved her hands in the traditional movements over it, going through the Latin prayer in a practiced cadence. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritūs Sancti ,” she finished.
Sam and the others had left to do the final preparations and they were alone in the open yard.
“Well…” he started awkwardly. “Take care of yourself, Magda.” He wanted to thank her, for being an anchor, a release for him these last few months. It hadn’t been love, but it had been enough for the time they had.
“You too,” she said, with a half-smile. She walked towards him and he bent his head down for a final, lingering kiss. No time this night for anything else. And nothing more to be said. He knew she wouldn’t stay.
She got into her truck alone. None of the kids had wanted to miss out on the final battle, despite persuading otherwise, and Dean and Sam hadn’t the heart to refuse. She waved a hand and shouted out the window. “I’ll be back next week—if you’re here, I expect a warm welcome.”
“You’ll get it,” Dean promised.
The engine started and the truck slowly rumbled along the narrow road to the roadblock. Dean resisted the urge to jog alongside it. He turned his back, walking towards the front door.
He didn’t look behind, but he could hear himself straining to listen for the truck’s noises until it was too far away and the noises ceased. He went inside, heading towards the sound of the voices, where Sam and Robbie were going over the final battle plans.
Outside the windows, a blood-red sun rose as the white-pick up truck disappeared into the horizon.
Title: who is the third who walks always beside you
Pairing: Dean/Impala, slight Mary/John
Summary: When he speaks to Her, there's something different about his voice.
Author's Notes: This pairing was much harder than I thought it would be to write, but I hope you like it!
She wasn't always a car. No, in the last 10,000 years, she has been many things. She has touched the Great Wall in China, felt the clear warm water of the Amazon river on her fingers, and driven through every continental United State.
She has given life, and she has taken it away. She has been born, and she has died.
But its only been in the last 50 years that she realizes well built cars last longer than human bodies.
She's there in 1971 when 17 year old Mary Winchester makes a deal with the crossroads demon. Anything, Mary pleads, blond hair whipping around her face. Anything to make sure that her boy comes home.
John arrives two weeks later, shell shocked but alive.
It's a warm April day in 1978 when Dean is conceived. The sun shines into the backseat and off of Mary's engagement ring as she bucks underneath John, back arching up against him.
The empty coffee cans and old shoes bang loud against the weathered pavement as She drives off from the church, Mary's laugh high and full, her belly starting to swell with beginning of their family.
Baby Dean cries a lot, leaves his mamma tired, and daddy frustrated. On a last ditch effort they put him in his car seat and drive for hours.
It's the only peace and quiet they've had in days.
Dean tells everyone who will listen about his new baby brother on the way. He even offers to give up his old car seat for the new baby.
But he won't give up his side of the backseat, and if She could, She would wrap her arms around the talkative four year old.
Baby Sam is not like Dean was. He is a quiet, shy baby, who hates to be held by anyone but Mary. It is not lost on Her that he is Mary's first child conceived in wedlock.
Dean's tears soak the leather of the backseat as John drives them out of Lawrence, out of Kansas, and out of the life that they'd always thought they would have.
She makes a silent promise to Mary that She will protect them and keep them safe.
Over the next fourteen years She watches them, feels them grow up inside of Her. She's there for Sam's first words, Dean! Dean! Dean!, She's there when Dean speaks again, after so many months of not talking, and he's spent the rest of his life trying to make up for it.
She's there when Dean shoots his first ghost, when Sam kills his first chupacabra, and when John realizes that there is no turning back.
Dean nicknames her Betsy during the summer of 1996. He's seventeen, palms itchy for the feel of skin softer than his own, and when he loses his virginity in Her backseat to Laura Paulsen, She's not really sure what to think, but it's the first time she wishes she'd picked a human host.
She mourns the loss of Sam with Dean, She pushes herself harder, tries to move him faster and farther away from the pain, but She knows that it's Her who holds the pain and the memories.
And somewhere along the way, She realizes that what She feels for Dean, She hasn't felt that in centuries.
When he speaks to Her, there's something different about his voice, something so raw and exposed, like She's the only he'll ever truly let see the real him. She's the only one who knows how much he resents his father, and loves him in the same breath; the same for Sam, perhaps more so.
In 2001 John buys a truck and from then on its just Her and Dean, and thousands of miles of interstate.
He plays the radio loud and booming, and when John takes off - sending him on his very own hunt without any warning, She's there as he beats his fists on the steering wheel, tears rolling off the weathered vinyl.
And for a second time in the last 50 years, she wishes she was human.
Having Sam back in the car with Dean is comforting and familiar. And its not just the weight of Sam's body, the stretch of his legs against the interior, its the way Dean feels - lighter and happier.
At least for a while anyway; there is so much unsaid between them - apologizes and forgiveness that they've both come to terms with except to each other.
But She's there, holding them together.
It's not supposed to hurt when the truck smashes into them at 80 miles an hour. She's just metal and leather and rubber, but she feels their pain, his pain and so she finds her own, waiting in the crumpled pile of debris. And this is her grief, this is how she deals with the fact that she couldn't keep them safe, and that regardless, she'll lose one of them.
A year later and Dean drives her out to the crossroads. It feels like an unfunny joke that she already knows the punchline for, but there's nothing she can do to stop from hearing it again, watching as the crossroad demon makes one more deal with the Winchester family.
When Dean finally concedes that he doesn't want to die, but he mostly likely will she realizes that its time. That her time with Dean is running short, and there are only so many days left until he leaves Sam, leaves her.
And so she pulls herself from the car, the process is exhausting and when she falls into her next host, its odd to feel the flex of fingers and toes - something she hasn't done in 57 years.
She doesn't have much time, three maybe four days at the most until someone notices, and then she'll be sent back into the car.
Easy punishment for a girl her who tried to get out of her own deal with devil.
They're having a beer at the bar when she walks in. Dean's chatting up the blond bartender, and Sam's got his head buried in an ancient book. They stick out like sore thumbs even if they don't realize it.
"Lemon drop," she says, her voice is still a little shaky but she forces a grin as the bartender nods, walking away from Dean's incessant chatter.
"Classic drink," he says, tipping the head of his beer bottle in her direction. "I'm Dean."
"I'm a classic kind of girl," she says, sipping slowly, the bittersweet liquid sliding quickly down her throat. "I'm Betsy."
It's strange, standing so close to Dean yet feeling so very far away from him. But she knows he can feel it, the connection between them, the chemistry that's been building for the last thirteen years. She wants to reach over, brush her hand over the day old stubble on his chin and feel the tingle on her fingertips. Her fingers make it half way before she realizes what she's about to do and he's looking at her with one eyebrow raised.
"You wanna get out of here?" he asks, taking her hand that's hovering in midair. She nods, draining the rest of her drink as she slides off the barstool. "Don't come home for a while," Dean says to Sam, patting him on the shoulder as he takes her hand, leading her out of the bar.
They don't make it past the parking lot when his hands are in her hair, and her mouth is flush against his, seeking and searching as his tongue pushes into her mouth.
It's all they can do to duck around the side of the bar, hidden from view. His hands are on her hips, sliding up to her breasts and he palms them roughly through the cotton of her t-shirt. Dean groans as her hand slides into his jeans, finds him hard and aching and oh so willing to her touch. She's missed this, the heat of skin between human flesh, the insatiable ache that continues to fill her every second he isn't inside her.
They don't have time for niceties, and she doesn't even take her panties off, just lets him push them to the side as he lifts her up, fucking into her in one long thrust against the decaying brick wall.
It's like nothing she thought, and yet she knows his rhythm, finds it quickly, one hand on the back of his neck, the other on his ass, pushing him in deeper.
He licks and grates his teeth over her neck, teeth grasping her ear lobe as he whispers into her ear.
"God, so fucking tight, girl. Want to fuck you hard, so fucking hard." That and the pressure of his thumb against her clit sends her right over the edge, into an explosive orgasm that she hasn't had since 1843 and she pulls him right down along with her.
She gets two and a half days before they find her; pull her down into the fiery pits of hell. They torture her just enough to remind her why she doesn't pull that stunt more than once a century, but she doesn't regret it and she's okay with going back into the car.
She and Sam have work to do.
In case you hadn't noticed, we've now finished posted all the stories for this year's exchange and all the names have been revealed. Feel free to post your stories elsewhere on the 'net!
If there's anyone who wrote a story for this exchange and did not receive one in return, please email the mod account (spnsummerlove @ gmail dot com) and we'll fix this oversight.
Look for a wrap-up post and masterlist of stories to go up tomorrow.
And so the 2008 spn_summerlove fic exchange has ended. All that's left is the big reveal, and the masterlist, so without further ado...
1. Title:I Will Show You Fear in a Handful of Dust
Summary: For theemmer (Dean/OFC/Sam, NC-17) But after weeks upon weeks of watching…everything filtered through the dim glass, she ventured out into the world that was no longer her own, no longer anyone’s but theirs.
2. Title:Divided Loyalties
Summary: For tvaddictgurl, (John/Ellen, Adult) You concentrated on the game, because it was a thing you could control. There was no pleasure in it, neither satisfaction in your skill nor triumph in clearing the table. Only this: what you could control, because it kept the chaos in your mind at bay. Only the familiar, simple action of the pool cue in your hand, keeping you from screaming the pain in your heart.
3. Title:fields of mud and bone
Summary: For brin_bailey (Sam/Jo, NC-17) The case was reduced to a simple manila folder overflowing with highlighted clippings and scribbled notes, and it sat squarely in the passenger seat of the van, right where Sam ought to be. Some people need to be alone to deal with their grief. Others need something to hold on to, so they’re not going down on their own.
4. Title:Thy will, love
Summary: For stars91 (Sam/Jo, PG-13) Everything Jo knows and loves has gone up in flames with the Roadhouse. So she does the only thing she can, she hunts. When she tries so save a little boy from a djin, she ends up falling under its spell instead. What is the only thing Jo could ever wish for?
Summary: For chasingtides (Sam/Jo/Dean, NC-17) Jo lost everyone at the Roadhouse and learns to deal.
6. Title:My Fate, My Sweet
Summary: For buffyspazz (Bobby/Wife, R) The only one left to remember was Bobby. And there was no one to tell him different.
7. Title:First Date
Summary: For sacasim (Sam/Jess, PG) Sam smiled back at her, and at that moment, he didn’t know how hooked on Jess he was going to be.
8. Title:Those Who Favor Fire
Summary: For joans23 (Sam/Jo, R) How do you repair something that wants to stay broken?
9. Title:Something Attempted, Something Done
Summary: For ashe_frost (Dean/Jo, R) This just might be the best morning ever.
10. Title:I Left (My Sam in San Francisco)
Summary: For briarwood (Sam/Jo, PG) A chilly San Francisco night, a hunt or two, Sam, Jo, and some kitchenware.
11. Title:Those Hot Summer Nights
Summary: For snugduff (Dean/OFC, R) Pre-Series – Dean’s ‘something’ turns into a night he’ll never forget.
12. Title:Sweet Surrender
Summary: For littlestclouds (Bobby/Ellen, PG) Bobby and Ellen find a measure of comfort in one another.
13. Title:Wednesday Night Special
Summary: For sprbitch1313 (Sam/OFC, R) A Forest Ranger agrees to help Sam and Dean locate a “missing” mining town by letting them go through her late father’s old box of legends.
14. Title:Past Changes
Summary: For muses_circle (Dean/Chloe, PG) They snark, hunt and stop. Then do it again.
15. Title:Past Changes
Summary: For muses_circle (Sam/Sarah, PG) The body says what words cannot.
16. Title:From What I’ve Tasted of Desire, I Hold With Those Who Favor Fire
Summary: For quiet_rebel (Dean/Jo, NC-17) "Keep your heart broken"
17. Title:The Weight of Water
Summary: For violettestars (Dean/OFC, Adult) Dean and Sam are hunting a phantom mustang herd on the property of spitfire ranch owner Mandy O’Malley. She can’t stand Dean. He finds her irritating and oversensitive. So of course they must have sex.
18. Title:The War Drums Are Gonna Sound
Summary: For diva5256 (Sam/Ruby, PG-13) Sam started coming apart at the seams long before his brother died.
19. Title:Through Hell
Summary: For romani_65 (Dean/Bela, Adult) After months of hell, Dean and Bela have to stick together to find their way back to their old lives.
20. Title:Press my Luck and Try for Three
Summary: For thatfilmgirl (Dean/Sister!Alex, Dean/Sister!Alex/Sam, NC-17) They didn't fuck until after Sam left them.
21. Title:Trouble Sleeping
Summary: For evenasiwander (John/Mary, R) It rained the night Dean was conceived.
22. Title:Road to Nowhere
Summary: For thenyxie (Dean/Bela, PG-13) Dean begrudgingly enlists Bela's help on a case with rather personal implications.
23. Title:The Last Hurrah
Summary: For stuffs_inc (Sam/Bela, R) Sam pulled over at a homey looking diner three days after the world ended and ordered a cup of coffee. What he got instead was a cup full of boiling blood, an electrical storm that he registered as the telltale swarm of demons, and Bela Talbot.
24. Title:Spot Check
Summary: For caithream (Dean/OFC, Adult) Dean, trying to tie up loose ends.
25. Title:A Moment is All It Takes
Summary: For meg_dallen (Dean/Jess, Sam/Jess, PG-13)
Summary: For cynicaloptimis (Dean/Jo, Adult) A story about the things that are passed down.
27. Title:Demons Lie
Summary: For montisello (Dean/Jo, PG) Back from the dead, Dean stumbles upon a woman performing an exorcism and wonders where he's seen her before.
28. Title:Light Up the Darkness.
Summary: For vinylroad (Dean/Jess/Sam,NC-17) 86 days after the world ends, when angels and demons have put each other to rest, all that's left is to start rebuilding.
29. Title:you and your eyes light the darkest room
Summary: For fonapola (Dean/Lisa, PG-13) Three times Lisa asked Dean to stay.
30. Title: Shotguns and Heartstrings
Summary: For dragonsinger (Dean/Chloe, PG-13) They’re both a little crazier for knowing each other
31. Title:I Close My Eyes and Dream That I’m Awake
Summary: For samescenes (Dean/Jess, NC-17) In Hell, even mercy is a punishment.
32. Title:Swimming in Suwannee
Summary: For zelost_mind (Dean/OFC, NC-17) Dean's seventeen years old and finds himself falling for a swimmer who gives as good as he dishes out.
33. Title:Send You Down to War
Summary: For kickaboutheart (Dean/Jess, NC-17) In the rearview mirror, he can see her twist around, her delicate white dress splattered with blood twirling in the wind. Watching him drive away.
Summary: For twasadark (Dean/Ellen, PG-13) It’s not the Roadhouse, this isn’t her life, and maybe she’s a little bit thankful for that.
35. Title:File No. M-124-16
Summary: For iluvroadrunner6 (Sam/Claire Bennet [Heroes], PG-13) This file is classified at level 13. All agents must file form G-165 with their supervisor to gain access.
36. Title:The Little Things
Summary: For sasha_davidovna (Dean/Bela, PG-13) Dean and Bela find themselves together in Hell, which is not-awesome, just in case you were wondering.
37. Title:Sings to me
Summary: For oh_thatsgreat (Dean/OFC, PG-13) Sings to me.
38. Title:Cicatrice Road
Summary: For that_september (Dean/Kaylee [Firefly], PG) The first time Dean and Kaylee met, he was skulking around the barn out back.
39. Title:New Times
Summary: For my_sam_dean (Dean/Jo, Adult) Jo woke up tangled in his sheets, her hand still on his arm. Dean was sleeping peacefully, slightly turned to her, with his cheek pressing against her scalp…
40. Title: Shout When You Wanna Get Off the Ride
Summary: For ryuutchi (Sam/Bela, Adult) Set during "Dream a Little Dream of Me." The day after Sam's dream, Bela decides to make it reality.
41. Title:rêvez un petit rêve de moi
Summary: For peganix (Dean/Bela, Adult) Some missing scenes during Dream a Little Dream of Me.
42. Title:Let Me Put My Love Into You
Summary: For staci_x2 (Dean/OFC, PG-13) The dancing started at eight, and at ten, he fell in love.
43. Title:Hidden Mouths of Stone and Light
Summary: For chase_acow (Dean/OFC, NC-17) There’s only a beat, a moment’s indecision before she fires off the shot, and her life changes forever.
44. Title:Atheists in a Foxhole
Summary: For regala_electra (Dean/OFC, Adult) It was time to face two fucking depressing facts: they were dangerously low on ammo and supplies, and their gun-runner was two weeks late.
45. Title:who is the third who walks always beside you
Summary: For connery_is_bond (Dean/Impala, Adult) When he speaks to Her, there's something different about his voice.
1 Sam/Claire Bennet
Special Thanks to our pinch hitters -- ryuutchi, joans23, cjmarlowe, amchara, peganix, nyoka, chase_acow and kickaboutheart
The mods, amchara and sasha_davidovna, would like to thank everyone who chose to participate in this year's exchange! To those who wrote stories, those who wrote pinch-hits, and to all those who read and commented on the stories-- it wouldn't have been a success without all of YOU! SPN het may be a smaller niche in the fandom, but we've grown in the number of stories produced for this year's exchange, and also in the wide variety of pairings written for this year, and hopefully we'll continue to grow.
Thanks again, and keep an eye on this community-- we may very well be back in the future.