Chicago Southland

DISCLAIMER: don't own them.

CHAPTER ONE

She just wanted to see Dean.

She stood in the dark yard, afraid to knock on the door. John Winchester scared the hell out of her. She'd rather DIE than knock on his door at midnight, but she needed Dean.

Before she could decide what to do, the scraggly lawn was flooded by the porch light. She gasped, covering her face with her hand and turning away from the glare.

"Gabriela?"

Oh God. She'd never met her boyfriend's father. In fact, she'd gone out of her way avoid him.

Despite Dean's assurances she'd only seen him from a distance. She'd also seen the sawed offs, daggers, and semi automatics throughout the small two story house. And then there was the warehouse of whiskey in the rickety kitchen cupboards.

Gaby was an expert on psychopathic men. But she was willing to risk proximity to this one if it meant staying close to Dean.

John Winchester tried to keep his irritation under control as he descended the porch's wooden stairs.

He'd just gotten home from a week long hunt an hour before. Other than the dislocated shoulder that Dean had just reset, he was relatively undamaged, just exhausted from several days of tracking in rain and dense forest. After checking that Sam was safely in bed, John was pouring himself a tumbler of Jim Beam when he heard footsteps in the leaves outside.

When he heard soft sobbing, his scowl disappeared immediately. Gabriela's long dark hair was obscuring her face, but John could still make out a large purple bruise high on her cheekbone.

"Gabriela?" he said quietly.

No response.

"Can you let me take a look at your face?" He could feel her body become absolutely rigid as he slowly raised his hand to pull aside the dark curtain of her hair. John recognized the fight or flight instinct. Gabriela seemed to be holding her breath. "I won't hurt you."

"Dad?"

Gabriela's long arms and legs were a blur as she raced past John and up the porch steps.

Dean stepped out into the cool night and caught the girl in his arms. In the porch light the bruises on her slender brown legs were more evident. The open adoration on his son's face caused John's heart to skip a beat.

So this is Gabriela, John thought. He scanned the street and yards making sure the girl hadn't been followed by whoever assaulted her. John had never met his son's girl before, even though he was pretty sure they'd been dating for at least a few months. Dean had been spending all of his free time away from the cheap rental house they'd been living in.

It wasn't like Dean to be so secretive with him.

"So who is she?" John asked one night while they cleaned weapons at the scarred kitchen table.

Dean raised carefully blank green eyes to his father's. He didn't respond. His face was unusually hard for a seventeen year old's.

"The person you whisper to on the phone?," John prompted. More silence.

It wasn't that John was surprised that Dean was spending time with girls; it was that this seemed to be only one girl. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. And by the look Dean was giving him, he could tell that his eldest knew he didn't necessarily approve.

"Tell me about her."

"Is that an order?" Dean asked warily.

John sighed. This was worse that he thought.

Dean gave a tense shrug. "Her name's Gabriela."

Dean's arms crushed her.

"Hey, look at me," he said to her, making his deep voice quiet, trying to get her attention. She kept her face buried in his neck. "Look at me." Gabriela finally raised her large dark eyes to his. Dean cradled her face in his hands, using his thumb to gently dab her bleeding lip. "Is he coming?"

She nodded tearfully. "I think so."

His jaw hardened. "Alright. I won't let anything happen to you."

She was already shaking her head before he could finish speaking. "No, he could really hurt you, let's just go."

"Gaby, we are not gonna run from him. Everything is gonna be fine."

"Please, I don't want to see him, let's just go…"

"Baby, do you trust me?" She nodded. "Please just trust me."

He wrapped her tightly in his arms again, already watching and listening, already on edge.

"Dean." John was heading toward the porch, frozen grass crunching under his feet. "Take her inside."

He knew that his father had no idea what was going on. All he saw was a battered girl, a child who'd been hurt. It was enough. Dean didn't need to explain, he could see that John was ready to fight.