Set between s7e12 and s9e21. Loosely ties in with my previous ficlet 'Try Hard And Believe'. I hate to think of the boys always alone. I know, I know, 'the people we love get hurt'. But I couldn't resist. Also... smut ahead. Standard disclaimer: I do not own or profit from any of the Supernatural characters. Supernatural is the property of Warner Bros. and Eric Kripke.
Enjoy.
~Yve
"Who was that?" Sam asked as he jogged down the bunker stairs into the library. Dean held his cell in his hand, staring at the screen like it was gonna bite him.
"Huh? Nobody," he spat out gruffly.
"So… pie lady?" Sam mumbled under his breath, certain that Dean would remain stoic and monosyllabic on the subject.
Dean tuned his brother out as he struggled to make his hand set the phone back on the table.
"This can't happen again." He'd said it without any real plan for backing it up. Just knew it was the smart thing to do. But things had changed since then. Everything had changed.
"Awe, ye of little faith, Sammy. Any amount of pie is a single serving as long as you try hard and believe in yourself."
Sam said something back, and the wrote comeback of bitch left his mouth, but, by now, his eyes were trailing a girl.
The brothers were midway through a hunt, but the trail had gone cold in Travis County, so he'd ignored Sam's bitching and driven them the next county over for some of the best pie in the state. And he couldn't help it if the waitress comin' off break was worth more than a second look.
She was small – maybe five two – and there wasn't much dramatic about her look. Not that she was plain – just… unassuming. Grey eyes and dark blond hair cut short at her chin. Slim upper body, curvy hips. Couple of tattoos at her wrists made her seem less country and more hipster than most of the rest of the people in the café. And the intellegent look on her face told him to set her apart from everyone else.
As he sat there, replying to Sam by sheer muscle memory, she began heading toward their booth at the back of the dining area.
"Hey guys," she said, placing her fingertips on the edge of their table, gently getting their attention. "Cheryl's shift's just done, so I'll be takin' care of you for the rest of the evening." Dean couldn't hide his confident smile at that. "My name's Maggie. Just let me know if you need anything."
"Thanks, Maggie," Sam smiled back at her before returning his attention to his laptop.
"So… About that Skaluh," Dean mumbled, watching the girl walk across the room to lean over the counter and reach for an order of onion rings. "You know… maybe we should lay low for a while. Make it think we lost its trail."
"We did lose its trail, Dean."
"Yeah, but what makes you think it ever left Austin, huh? I mean, it's a ah, ah, a veritable smorgousborg of unwashed, head banging, metal counterculture morons, right?" He shoveled another bite of pecan pie down his throat before he continued. "And any other number of Country music, or indie, hippie, emo pricks if he gets tired of the death-metal thing.. I mean, it's like the Cheesecake Factory for monsters. A choose your own adventure meal."
"Okay, okay. I get it," Sam said before Dean had a chance to continue with the lame food analogies. "So, what are you suggesting? We , what, take a long weekend and pick back up when it strikes again in or around the University?"
"I mean… You got any reason to think it moved on anywhere better?"
"No, I just…" Sam sighed heavily running his hands over his face and through his hair. "Yeah. Lets grab a room."
A few hours later, Dean found himself wandering back into Pie Ten Café. There were only two other patrons inside, and they looked to be leaving soon anyway.
"We're closin' in five," a husky voice called at the signaling bell as he walked in through the door. Making his way to the same booth at the rear where he'd shared a meal with Sam, he nodded when the cook stuck his head into the dinning room. "Kitchen's closed for the night," he said with an edge to his tone.
"Just here for a cup a joe," he replied, smiling tightly as he slid back into the booth.
A few seconds later, the girl appeared at his elbow with a plain porcelain cup and a pot of coffee.
"Thanks, Maggie," he said, turning on his innocent-charming smile for her.
"No," she said, turning back to finish wiping down the rest of the tables in the dining area.
"What?" he laughed uneasily. When she didn't respond, he sat there sipping his coffee and watching her continue to prep for closing. "My name's Dean," he offered as she began flipping the chairs upside down and setting them on tabletops.
"Nope," she said, letting a crooked smile escape this time.
"No, what?" he asked, standing and moving to another set of chairs to help her.
"Thanks, but no thanks." She leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially, "I'm not exactly what you were expecting."
"What does that mean?" It could have been a casual brush off, but whenever someone suggested that they weren't what you were expecting, the Winchesters tended to perk up and listen.
"I mean, I know guys like you. Been asked out more'n a couple of times workin' here, and I'm giving you fair warning. You don't wanna bother with me."
Usual brush off, then.
"Finish your java and get on back to where you belong, son," came the gravelly voice from the kitchen doorway again.
"Alright, alright. I surrender." Dean held his hands up in a signal of retreat. "I just think that you should know," he said lowly as he leaned in to help her leaver one of the chairs into place on the table. "I'm not like every other guy who's tried to take you home."
"I'm serious as a heart attack, mister! Get outta this establishment, 'fore I throw you're pretty ass out!"
"Oh. I think you better go," Maggie said with a grin.
"I'm goin'." He sauntered out of the restaurant, smiling, having skipped out on his coffee tab, and feeling strangely entertained. He didn't take her home. Or back to the motel. Or anywhere. Not that night.
They swung back by the pie shop on their way back to Kansas a week later. They got free pie and coffee, and Maggie scrawled her number on the back of Dean's napkin as they were getting up to leave.
"Every damn town," Sam muttered under his breath as they made their way back to the car.
"So why 'Pie Ten'?" he asked her as he drove into the motel parking lot, his hand working furiously to get her jeans unbuttoned. It was a few months later and he'd left Sam in Denton, researching some vengeful spirit killing college girls.
"That's really what you're thinking about?" she teased, shoving his hand away and pulling her shirt back down to cover the soft line of her belly that he had exposed with his wandering hands.
"I mean," he sighed as he pulled his baby into a space near #26. "I get it. Pie Ten like pie tin, right?" Not to be discouraged, he began rubbing his fingers over the center seam of her jeans, pulling his hand away just long enough to put the car in park before resuming the task. "But, why ten?"
"Ah! Ha, ha. We have," she tried to answer, voice tight, as Dean continued to stroke her through the denim. "We offer ten different flavors of pie at any given time."
"I knew it was the best little pie shop in Texas," he smirked as she panted shallowly on the seat next to him. He lowered his mouth to her jaw and breathed warm, moist air onto her skin as he whispered, "What kind of pie?"
"Inside. Bed," came her quick, breathy response.
"Where's Sam this time?"
"Wimberly," he gasped as he pulled his mouth away from her crotch, allowing her to pull his shirt over his head. It was only the second time they'd done this, but… damn he liked workin' jobs in Texas these days. He leaned forward to blow on her damp panties as soon as he heard his shirt hit the floor. "Shower?" he asked, running his fingers up her thighs to grasp and pull her panties down.
"We're too old for that, don't ya think?" She was pulling her own tee shirt over her head, now, revealing the lack of a bra he'd been thinking about all night. Her breasts were so small she didn't really need one except for modesty sake. And screw modesty.
As he stood and ran his hands over her hardening nipples, she went for his belt buckle and button fly, roughly shoving his pants down over his hips.
"Speak for yourself, darlin'. I'm never gettin' too old for shower sex."
Maggie snorted and shoved him backwards, toward the hotel bed.
"Wait." He stopped suddenly, placing a hand to her breastbone to keep her in place. "How old are you?"
"Shouldn't you've asked that before we started sleeping together?"
"You expecting company?" Sam asked as Dean stuck his head out of the motel bathroom. The knock sounded again and both brothers reached for their guns.
Sam approached the door carefully, glancing through the peephole before lowering his weapon.
"Really?" he mouthed at Dean. Dean shrugged in confusion and motioned for Sam to open the door.
His brother reached for his jacket before he did so, blocking Dean's view of the door as he opened it.
"Hey… Maggie," Sam sighed. Glancing back at Dean. "I was just leaving."
Dean rushed to the door, grabbing Maggie by her upper arm and dragging her into the motel room before shutting the door.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
"You said you couldn't make it out this time," she shouted back, wrenching her arm back from him. He hadn't realized he was still gripping it.
"So that means… maybe… I'll see you next time, Mags! Not, oh, please hop in your car and meet me in Houston!"
"Okay," she said coolly, turning to walk back to the door.
"Where are you going now?"
"Home."
"What? Wait! Just a minute," Dean hissed. Maggie stopped moving forward but didn't turn. "Why did you come here?" While I'm on a job, he added silently.
"I wanted to." Her voice was small, causing him to step forward and turn her to face him. "I know what this is. And I know I'm not a part of your other life. I don't wanna change that."
He sighed, pulling her to him. Looking up to the ceiling, he cursed himself for letting this happen. After Sam and Amelia. After Lisa. He knew better.
"I just had a really shitty week."
"Yeah, me too," he laughed, running his fingers through her hair. "How long can you stay?"
"All night."
"Good."
They rented a second room for Sam, and Dean texted his brother the to come back and pick up the key. When that was done, he carried two beers into the bathroom and slid to the floor next to the bathtub where Maggie sat in the steaming water.
"Thanks." She sipped slowly from the bottle he'd handed her while he took a long drag from his.
"So… Shitty week…" He trailed off while dipping the fingers of his free hand into her bathwater.
"Yeah." She shivered as he brushed his fingers back and forth against her leg.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"You're asking me that question?"
"Okay…" he scoffed, taking another pull on his beer. "I'll give ya that. But Sammy and I have had some major Chatty Cathy sessions, sad to say. Bordering on chick flick moments, even. So… wanna talk about it?"
"No."
"You came all the way to Houston because of a shitty week, and you don't wanna talk about it?"
"You wanna talk about your shitty week?" she shot back quickly.
"Well… no," he sighed downing the last of his bottle.
Handing him her beer, Maggie pushed up out of the bath and walked out of the room.
"Shit," he mumbled, pulling the chain to drain the bathwater. "Maggie," he called after her, standing up. When he made it into the bedroom, he had to, had to, stop and stare. She was leaned over the chipped, pressboard dresser, messing with his iPod doc. Before he even thought twice about bitching that she was messin' with his tunes, he had to swallow a small gasp of appreciation.
She was still dripping from the bath, the water slowly steaming off of her skin. But what really got his pulse up was the flannel shirt – his flannel shirt – that she was wearing. It swallowed her, even with the sleeves rolled like he'd left them when he shrugged out of it earlier. The bottom edge fell halfway down her ass, brushing her cheeks like a taunt.
"I'm not mad," she said, glancing back as he cleared his throat. "I just don't wanna talk about it."
"No. You wanna jack with my music instead," he countered, trying to regain his composure.
"You're music sounds like you should be waiting in line for the early bird special!" she laughed, staring up her own playlist from her phone.
"Ouch!, Okay, yeah, well… What is this moan-y, creepy, emo-country crap you got goin' on?" He lunged, and she squealed as he pushed her over onto the bed. "Don't answer that," he ordered gruffly as he leaned down to mouth at the hollow of her throat. "I wanna hear the moans that you make, instead."
"That so?" she breathed out after a gasp.
"Darlin', much as I like seeing you in this shirt of mine… it's gotta go."
"If you say so."
Dean went back to tonging and biting at the bare skin at her throat, while his hands went to work on the buttons running the length of her body. As he focused on that, Maggie started unbuckling his belt, searching for more room to slide her hand into his pants.
"Just push 'em off," he grunted as he finished with her shirt. Maggie pulled her hand back and began to push at Dean's waistband while he pulled his tee shirt over his head and threw it across the room.
Free of clothes, now, he ran his hand across her bare abdomen. She squeezed her hand around him just out of rhythm with the music and he caught his breath as he stared down at her.
He was breakin' his number one rule when it came to chicks. More than one, in point of fact. Hookin' up more than once had been his first mistake.
By now he had sunk two fingers into her, and she was moaning just like he's asked for a few minutes ago.
"God, you're wet." He was vaguely aware that his voice cracked on the words.
Maggie still had her hand wrapped tightly around him, and, tugging more urgently now, she guided him closer. She batted at his hand till he removed his fingers and guided himself inside.
"Fuck," Maggie sighed. Dean shook his head.
"No," he said. "Slow." And deep, he thought.
She shuddered beneath him as he set the steady pace. The bigger rule he'd broken, he realized then, was this – he'd fallen for her. Or… he was falling.
"I wanna scream," she moaned as he gripped her hips and ground down into her.
"Don't. Sammy's right next door." As he pushed into her again, he held her by the hips and rolled them over so that she was straddling him, the flannel shirt draped over them both.
She followed his pace as she took control from her new position. Dean closed his eyes and let his head swim with the feeling of her body covering him. Running his hands over the backs of her thighs and up to her ass, he let his fingers sink into her skin, pulling her cheeks into his grasp. She moaned low as she ground deeper on top of him.
The slow pace was agonizing. But he needed her to come like this – close to him, gripping, holding on for dear life. He didn't know why, he just needed it.
Taking his right hand away from her ass, he brought his fingers to her lips and let her swirl them around her tongue until they were slick. Then he placed his hand back against her cheek, pushing his index finger against the tight ring of muscle there.
She gasped loudly, her eyes widening, but her pace remained steady, and he smiled.
"Shh," he whispered as he pushed deeper into her.
A few more thrusts of his hips and the steady pressure in her back hole had her tightening around him like a vice. He could see the light sheen of sweat on her face, lips parted, panting heavy, trying not to make a sound as she came.
Reaching up with his free hand, and gripping her by the back of the neck, he pulled her down and pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat, making her flutter violently around him as she rode out the last waves of her orgasm. It set him off, and he thrust up erratically into her a handful of times as he felt himself tip over the edge.
They lay there for what felt like hours, before she pushed herself off of him and curled up on her side around his hip.
"That was…" he trailed off, his mind still flushed of all intelligent thought.
"Maybe this was a bad idea."
He heard the words like a distant memory, hardly registering their meaning. By the morning, he wouldn't remember them at all.
"Maggie!" he called into the dark apartment. "Mags?"
They'd had a meeting set for a few days now and she hadn't showed. At this point, whenever the brothers were passing through Texas, they stopped in at Pie Ten. For pie, Dean insisted to his brother every time.
He walked further into the room, toward the kitchen counter. There was a basket next to the coffee pot full of pill bottles. Tylenol. Okay. That's normal.
"Maggie," he called again before picking up another bottle. B12, multivitamin, calcium. Pyridostigmine… Phenobarbatol… What the Fuck? Duloxitine.
He pulled out his phone and started snapping pictures of the labels.
The rest of the place was unsuspicious. He'd gone in worried that she might have come into contact with a vengeful spirit, a shapeshifter with a grudge, any number of a million different things he'd pissed off, but his concerns were invalid. No sign of a struggle. All doors locked. Clean dishes still warm in the dishwasher.
He sat down on the couch to wait for her. He still had a few hours before he needed to be back at the motel.
"Dean, wake up."
"Huh. 'S it Christmas?" he mumbled as his brain tried to claw its way back to consciousness.
"Wake up," Maggie said again.
He opened his eyes and looked up at her groggily, scrubbing his face with his hands.
"You're home."
"Yeah," she said in a clipped tone. "And you're going."
"What?" he asked in surprise, stumbling to his feet as she tugged on his shirt collar.
"You're leaving. I'm going to bed."
"You were supposed to meet me," he said, a little angry now that he knew she was okay.
"Somethin' came up," she said, pushing him toward the door.
His eyebrows shot up and he shoved her hand away from his chest. "Yeah? What, Maggie?" She looked at him with a deep frown, gritting her teeth. "What? Another guy? Girl? I'm a large, semi-muscular man. I can take it!"
"Get out, Dean!"
They didn't talk about that night again. It was as if they'd come to a mutual unspoken agreement, and that was fine by him.
"Who keeps texting you?"
Dean glanced up from his phone as Sam set his burger and onion ring basket down on the table in front of him.
"Naw, it's just… damn marketing something. Junk text."
"On a personal text alert?" Sam asked, raising a brown and dipping a sweet potato fry into ketchup.
"Yeah. I set it up so I would know to ignore it."
"Then why aren't you ignoring it?"
"This can't happen again." Dean forced his breath out of his nose as he rolled out of the bed.
"What? Sex for pie?"
He snorted again, at her words, as he pulled his jeans up.
"Next time you ask me if I'm in the state, I'm sayin' no, whether I am or I ain't. Texas i'nt exactly small, case you didn't know."
"I'm aware."
"You're aware," he mumbled to himself as he sifted through the laundry on the floor looking for a tee shirt. "You know that Sam doesn't know where I go when you text me?"
"He knows."
"He thinks I'm going for pie, which – okay, so I technically am, but – what do you mean, 'he knows'?"
"Where were you when I texted?"
"Brownsville."
"And that's six…"
"Five and a half hours. Four, with me drivin'!"
"For pie?"
"Best pie in the state," he smirked at her, forgetting his earlier frustration and leaning in for a kiss.
"He knows, Dean," she said, leaning away from him, causing a frown to replace his earlier smile.
"Like I said. Can't happen again."
"So you'll call me next time you're in Butnet County?"
"Hell, I should quit you altogether. You're becoming a habit." He reached to her nightstand for his keys and shoved them into his jeans pocket. That was another reason why this had to stop. They'd made the mistake of taking it to her home. If anything followed him there…
"At least you didn't say I was becoming a bad habit." She stretched lazily under the bed cover and yawned.
Now he had everything in order, he slipped back onto the bed, straddling her hips over the comforter. She opened her eyes and smiled a sleepy smile up at him as he tucked a loose wave of her hair away from her face.
"Don't call me. I'll call you." He gave her a quick kiss, then retreated through her small apartment, heading for the front door.
"Dean?" she called after him.
"And keep this door locked," he shouted back, shaking his head as he looked at the disengaged deadbolt.
"Yep."
"I mean it!"
He made it back to the motel in Brownsville just after six am, hoping to sneak in and catch a couple of hours before Sam left for his morning run.
"Long drive?" he was greeted by his brother as soon as the door creaked closed. Sam was decked in his sweats, iPod in hand, about to head out the same way his brother had just come in.
"Yeah," he grunted noncommittally.
"How was the pie?" Sam deadpanned.
Dean flopped down face first on his bed, flipping Sammy the bird in the process.
"That good, huh?" Sam chuckled.
"Shut up," he groaned. "Go run, you skinny freak."
Dean was loading his bag into the Impala whenhis phone started going off for the fourth time that hour. Sam rolled his eyes and stepped over to the table to answer it.
He was standing in the doorway holding onto the phone with white knuckles when Dean came back through the door.
"You ready? Lets go."
"Dean."
He looked back at Sammy with concern. He knew the tone. Somewhere between I've got bad news and the world is ending.
"What?" he asked hesitantly. He didn't need anything else on his plate right now.
"Um. I just talked to someone named, uh, Muriel." Sam held out the phone for his brother to take. "Maggie's sister."
"You're answering my phone now?"
"She said Maggie's been in the hospital for the last couple of weeks." Sam sighed heavily as his brother turned and placed his fist against the tile wall. "Uh, she's had some kind of autonomic nervous system disorder for about a year now. Something called Orthostatic Hypotension. Did you know?"
"What hospital is she at?" Dean asked, dropping the pretense now of not being involved with her. The prescription labels he'd seen five months ago flashed in his memory.
"She…. I'm sorry. Um, Dean, she passed away yesterday morning."
Dean swallowed hard. Looking down at his boots. He tapped the wall with his fist a couple of times. The last thing he needed to see was the damn kicked puppy dog look on Sam's face.
"'S fine," he said, clearing his throat. "It's better that way." He glanced at the brand that marred his right forearm before tugging his sleeve down over it. It's better that way. "Grab your bag," he instructed, turning back to the door. "Leavin' in five. With or without you."