It'd been a long day. A long, long, fucking long day. First, you'd woken up late. Thanks wake up call. Then, of course the hotel didn't have any hot water for your five-minute shower. You swore you could still hear the little soap bubbles in your hair from being unable to get all of the suds out. You hadn't had time for breakfast, not even for the half crumbled granola bar at the bottom of your purse. You'd miss-buttoned your blouse, broken a heel, and leaked ink all over your brand new skirt, all before you'd even arrived at your nine o'clock meeting with some very wealthy, very important clients.

While showing them around the property you were trying to get them to invest in for your company you'd managed to get all of you caught in the automatic sprinkler system you forgot went off every day at nine-ten on the dot, not to mention the raccoons you'd stumbled upon fornicating in the parking garage across the street. The clients had been less than thrilled, not only with the building's appearance but yours as well, so of course they turned you down, which you had to relay to your boss at your noon video conference. You were so distraught over the news you hadn't eaten before.

And since your boss fired you for losing the biggest clients your company had managed to land in the last decade, you hadn't been too keen on eating afterwards either. Instead of going back to your motel to clean up—and quite possibly drink yourself into oblivion—you'd spent the rest of your day aimlessly walking around a city you knew nothing about. Probably not the brightest idea you'd had.

By the time you reached your motel you were exhausted, your feet hurt from the uncomfortable stiletto heels you'd had to wear due to breaking your sensible pair, you were starving, cold, and pissed at the world. It wasn't your fault a string of bad luck had happened. Your boss should have been a little more understanding. Some days—like today—you thought you should just give up trying to have a normal life and go back to hunting. That's what you'd always been good at. It's what you'd been raised to do. It was the family business.

You sighed, digging around in your purse for your room key when a black, shiny Impala pulled up beside you, it's engine growling like a true, American made, muscle car should. You couldn't help yourself. You looked over and saw the beaten, sunken in, exhausted, and worried face of its driver, quickly making his way around to the passenger's side. You climbed out of your car, your adrenaline spiking. Someone was obviously in trouble. You watched as the driver helped another man out of the passenger's seat and you didn't miss all of the blood dripping down his arm.

You quickly made your way over. The driver was fumbling with the keys trying to get them into the outdated doors while balancing the other man who was obviously little more than dead weight. Without asking if you could help you ducked under the injured man, took the keys from the driver and opened the door, walking inside and turning on the lights. "Put him on the table and get some hot water going in the bathroom," you ordered as you pulled your blazer off and tossed it on the floor.

"And you are?" the driver asked, putting his friend down on the table.

"I used to be a nurse, now do you want him to bleed out and risk going to a hospital where they're going to ask questions, or would you rather I fix him now in the privacy of this shitty motel room?" You leveled your eyes on his intense, fierce green ones. He glanced at his friend and by the amount of protectiveness you saw flash in those irises you knew there was a stronger connection. He blew out a breath and walked into the bathroom, cranking on the hot water. "My name is Y/N," you told them as you helped remove the man's shirt.

"Dean, this is Sam." It clicked then. You knew exactly who these boys were. You'd heard their names more than once to be sure of it. The fucking car should have given it away. Your mother had worked a case with John way back in the day.

You nodded, dumping your purse out onto the floor. You found what you were looking for, hand sanitizer and a pocket knife. "Sam," you said, wiping down your hands, "I'm going to do this as gently as possible."

He nodded, grunting as Dean held him up. You cut away his shirt and examined the wound. It was deep, and still bleeding. If you had to guess you would say they'd been hunting a wendigo. He definitely needed stitches. You looked at Dean. "You got a first aid kit? Anything we can use for stitches?" If not you had your field kit in your car but you didn't want to tell them you were a hunter—ex hunter.

"Yeah, hold on." He eased Sam down again and ran out of the room, ignoring the amount of blood that covered him as well. "You probably want to know what made that," he said when he came back, setting a field surgeon's kit on the table.

"Only if there was rust, poison, or feces around." You sanitized the needle and ran the thread through. "I don't see anything for pain, you okay with that Sam?"

Sam groaned, letting his head rest on Dean's shoulder. You felt bad, you really did. This wouldn't be fun. You glanced around the room and saw the whiskey bottle setting on the night table. Quickly, you grabbed it and brought it over, handing it to Dean who helped his brother take a few swallows. "That'll help."

You started in on the stitches. Twenty, that's how many it took to close up the wound. After which, you'd bandaged it and helped Dean undress Sam down to his boxer briefs and get him into bed. "He's going to be okay," you assured Dean. "He just needs to sleep."

Dean nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. "Scared the hell out of me. There was just so much blood…" You frowned a little as Dean turned away. You cleaned up the mess and looked at him. "Thanks, I don't know that I would have gotten that done as quick, or at clean."

You shrugged. "Change out of those bloody clothes and meet me outside in fifteen minutes."

"Why?"

You smiled a little. "Because you're taking me out to dinner to thank me." You held up your hand as he opened his mouth "Don't try to argue. He's going to be okay. He's sleeping. You can leave him a note. But you need to eat. You look pale as a ghost." You grabbed your things and headed for the door. "Clean clothes, outside, fifteen minutes."

xXx

Fifteen minutes later found you both clean and in the front seat of his car, pulling out of the motel parking lot and driving down the road to the bar and grill. Cleaned up and slightly more relaxed, but still tense, you could see just how attractive Dean was. You still weren't comfortable with telling him you were a hunter. Maybe you would, depending on how the night went, but for now you were happy to let him assume you were a normal civilian.

Dean pulled up to the bar and you both climbed out. "Go get a table, I'll get drinks." You walked up to the counter, ordered two beers and put in an order for two deluxe bacon cheeseburgers with everything before going to the table in the back corner Dean had chosen. You slid into the booth across from him and handed him one of the beers.

"Thanks," he said, holding it in his hands. "For everything." You nodded, taking a drink of your beer. "You said you used to be a nurse?"

Technically you'd picked up your skills from patching up your parents—or yourself—on the job. "Mhm," you hummed. "I ended up quitting after a while, it wasn't my cup of tea."

"So what do you do now?"

You laughed, bitterly. That was the big question wasn't it? "Honestly, I don't have a fucking clue. I got fired today." You shook your head and took a long pull from the beer bottle.

"Sorry to hear that. Can I ask why?" You recounted your story for Dean, explaining everything up until you'd seen them in the parking lot and decided to help. "Well, at least something good happened today. I gotta say, it was lucky for us you were there."

You weren't so sure your luck had turned. Yes, you knew who the Winchesters were. You also knew that people who usually helped them out ended up dead. You did not want to end up dead. Although, it would be the fitting end to your shitty day.

Once your food arrived you and Dean ate and talked and got to know each other a little better. You found out he loved eighties must almost as much as you did and that he loved four things, his brother, his car, pie, and bacon cheeseburgers—in that order. You'd let him know a little about you, favorite song, food, basic "first date" questions, even though you were not on a first anything with Dean.

By the time you'd both finished, and Dean being impressed with the amount of food you shamelessly put away, he'd spotted the dart board in the back of the room and offered to teach you.

You already knew how to throw darts, that and pool was how you made most of your money on the road, and still hustled unsuspecting men from time to time, just for the thrill of it and to keep up your skills. But, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't want a chance to hustle, and maybe press up against Dean Winchester. So, you'd agreed to let him 'teach' you.

The two of you stood in front of the dart board, Dean standing dangerously close behind you. He placed one of the darts in your hand. "I know they always say it's all in the wrist, but it's true." He chuckled a little, his breath ghosting over your ear, teasing your skin as he guided your arm up into the correct position. He guided you through the first set of darts and watched you try to hit the board. Of course, you were missing on purpose.

At least, until he started laughing at you. It was around the fourth hand and you'd been flirting shamelessly with him, rubbing your hips against his when he stood behind you, letting your eyes linger a little too long. You were soaking your own panties and you could tell form the way he tried to subtly adjust himself that you were having the same kind of effect on him that he was having on you. Maybe you wouldn't end up alone tonight.

"Are you sure you were a nurse? They're supposed to be good with their hands. You're just bad at this."

Your temper, and let's face it, your ego got the better of you. You plucked the darts from the floor or the wall and stomped back. Dean watched you turn, face the board and hit a bull's eye every single time. His eyes narrowed as he looked at you, studying you closely. "You hustled me." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement.

You could have kicked yourself. Those green eyes knew too damn much. He knew that you weren't just a civilian anymore. No one was that good at stitching people up and hustling if they were just a common civilian. You turned, going back to the table and taking a drink of your beer.

You didn't hear Dean come up behind you. You had no idea he was there until he put his hand on your hips, leaning in closely. "You were never a nurse, were you?" he asked. You bit your lip, shaking your head slightly. "You're a hunter, or were a hunter." You nodded. Dean turned you around to face him. He stared down at you with those eyes, so damn intense. A lick of the lips, that was all the warning you'd had before those lips were on yours, demanding, firm, needy.

A moan slipped from your throat as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. This was definitely not how you saw your night ending. But you would rather a demon come and kill you now than give up a shot at Dean. He pulled back, leaving you both breathless. "Sam's sleeping…anyone in your room?"

"Nope." You both threw some cash on the table and quickly made your way to the car, his wheels spinning and kicking up dust as he peeled out and sped back to the motel. As soon as you were there you jumped out of the car and hurried to the door, digging your keys from your purse. The door closed solidly behind you and Dean had you up against it, his lips on yours again

You let your hands start to unbutton his shirt, needing to feel skin on skin. Your brain tried to do the math, tried to calculate how long it'd been since the last time you'd had a man this close, this ready, and found in damn near impossible to think that far back, especially as Dean pulled your shirt and bra off with one tug.

The cool air hit your heated skin, your nipples tensing up, begging him to touch them. They didn't wait long. Dean's mouth closed around a pebbled nipple, drawing it into his mouth and sucking. Your fingers gripped his hair, holding him closer against your skin, your back arching, offering yourself over to him. While his mouth worshiped your skin his hands quickly undid your trousers and got you naked.

You found this quite unfair and began to pull at his shirt, needing it off of him. Dean straightened and watched, following as you turned and backed towards the bed. He removed his clothes as he moved. "Fuck Y/N, I just knew it, had to be more to you than just a civilian."

"Yeah, you knew it," you conceded at you fell back against the bed. "Gloat later, fuck me now." Dean didn't argue. He covered his body with yours, groaning as his cock hit your dripping sex. It'd been too damn long. "Fuck Dean, I need you in me now."

He took hold of himself and quickly grabbed a condom from his jeans, slipping it on hastily before he started pushing his way inside of you. "Fuck, you're tight," he groaned out. "So tight and hot and wet," he breathed, bottoming out inside of you. Your back arched and you wrapped your legs around his, hooking your ankles in the small of his back as he began to move.

You knew this wasn't going to be slow, or passionate. It was going to be hard, it was going to be fast, and it was going to be amazing. You could feel that coil in your belly tightening with every hard thrust from Dean. The headboard rhythmically hit the wall as you cried out, unable to remain quiet from the pleasure coursing through your veins. "Fuck, Dean I'm already there," you breathed out, finding it difficult to even get that far. It felt like with every trust from Dean, his hard cock just pushed the air from your lungs

"Me too, Y/N, I just can't last."

"Go slow next time, just make me come." You felt Dean nod as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, biting down on your pulse as his hips sped up. Sweat clung to your bodies as the sound of your skin slapping against skin filled the room, adding a companionship to the headboard and the moans falling from both of you. Without warning your orgasm hit, crashing down hard, clawing its way up the back of your spine with claws and teeth, stealing your breath as white hot pleasure filled your body, blinding you to everything else.

You faintly heard Dean groan as his own orgasm over took him. You were too high, too blissed out. You felt him pull out and shift as you assumed he removed the condom and threw it away. The mattress shifted and you bounced lightly when he fell beside you, pulling your clammy, quickly cooling, sweat slicked skin against his. He let you come down from your high, petting your hair, dropping sweet kisses along your skin. He chuckled when he saw the tattoo on your hip that matched the one over his heart. You had to admit, it was amusing.

XXx

Dean had taken you another three times that night before finally letting you sleep. The next morning you woke up alone with a note that said he'd ducked out to check on Sam and to get breakfast. You managed to get yourself into a shower and somewhat dressed, forgoing real clothes for lounge pants and an old band tee shirt, before he walked back into your room with Sam and food.

You were happy to see that Sam looked much better than the night before and he had quite the appetite as he took one of the two bags Dean had and sat at the table to eat. Dean shook his head and sat with you on the bed. "So, Sam and I were talking," he started as you unwrapped the breakfast sandwich and took a bite. "You did lose your job yesterday, and we figured out who your parents were."

"How?" you asked.

"Dean looked at your driver's license," Sam said without looking up from a newspaper.

Dean shrugged when you looked at him, obviously not feeling guilty at all. "Your dad was a good a hunter, your mom too if Dad's stories were anything to go on." You sighed and nodded. "We were thinking you could hang out with us, get back to hunting."

You looked at him, then at Sam, contemplating your options. "You could go back home, try to find another job, pay taxes and bills, and deal with shitty neighbors, and probably shitty coworkers you would hate but be forced to mingle with at a mandatory and cheesy Christmas parties. Or, you could go back to doing what you were good at, what you knew. Live on the road in a car, in a motel, eat cheap fast food, and possibly die trying to do some good and save some people.

You looked at Dean, smiling. "I'm in."