A/N: Just a random one-shot written for the 100 Theme Challenge on DeviantArt. Inspired by my current constant watching of Supernatural, trying to catch up fully with Series 5. Set sometime during Season 5, written after the episode before Hammer of the Gods. Enjoy.
He noticed her because she stood out among the women in their short skirts and revealing tops. He was sitting at the bar, lips tucked around a bottle, when she approached the other end, wearing a pair of tight blue jeans and a black and white striped t-shirt.
"Hey," She greeted the bartender as he crossed over to her, and the man couldn't help but stare. His eyes widened when she withdrew a small card holder from inside her jacket, flashing it to the bartender. "Mind if I ask a few questions?"
Fear suddenly gripped at the man as he saw the flash of three letters. The bartender spoke quickly to her, hushed before indicting the man.
"Shit," He whispered under his breath, downing the last of his bottle before leaving it on the bar and standing quickly up.
"Agent Richards?"
The sound of her voice stopped him, and slowly he turned to face her. She gave him a large smile, her back to the bar, as she held out her hand.
"It's been too long, Richards,"
Something in her voice was telling him to play along, and he found himself relaxing.
"You don't remember me, do you?" She glanced over her shoulder at the guy behind the bar, now staring at them. "He's always had the worst memory. We were in training together..." Her head snapped back around, her green eyes staring hard at him. "Let's grab a seat, shall we?" She gestured to the barman, and within seconds they were seated with two bottles of beer placed in front of them.
Throughout this whole exchange, he remained silent, watching her carefully as she thanked the barman.
"No problem Agent DeLonge, give a shout if you need anything."
He smiled his own thanks, watching the man walk away, before he turned to the girl. She didn't give him a chance to speak, however, and instead let out a low whistle.
"Well, I never expected to find Dean Winchester in a place like this. Not with the Apocalypse raging around us."
He glanced at her attire; not what he would expect to find a hunter dressed in. "Who the hell are you?"
She laughed, a light, soft sound that put him even more on edge. "Name's Sarah. You don't need to know my surname. Point is, I'm a hunter, Dean. Just like you. Just like Sam. Just like Bobbie Singer and your father. And I know all about you."
"Really?" He titled his head to one side as she leant forward, lighting up a cigarette. Her elbow rested gently on the table, one hand tucked neatly behind it, the other hovering near her mouth. "And how's that?"
"Because you're famous, Dean. You'd be surprised. In all fairness, it did start as fiction..."
"Fiction?"
"Supernatural," She drew out every syllable, taking a drag after she finished. "You know, that book. It took off, kind of, back home..."
And that's when he realised why he felt so on edge. It was her accent, it wasn't American. Then again, it wasn't what he thought was British either, nor European...
"Where you from?"
"Somewhere you've never heard of," She flicked the ash, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, so this book, it appears suddenly, and it's everywhere. I mean...everywhere cult books are. We – as in, me, my family, every hunter we knew – started to question it. Was this writer a hunter? Was that how he knew it all?"
"How'd you find out?" Dean asked, taking a gulp of his beer.
"One of my uncles lives in Texas. We're a huge family," She shrugged, unable now to hold back a grin. "He called us up when we asked if he could look into the Supernatural author. He, of course, knew about you two. Hell, every hunter knows now."
"Then why aren't they banging our doors down trying to kill us?" He growled, annoyed at the simple, matter-of-fact manner she was discussing this whole situation with.
"Some of them are trying, but you guys are hard to find. Most of us though...most of us are just doing our jobs. I came over here from the UK Dean, because I knew America were hit harder than most places. Hell, it's where the Devil rose from, and the majority of demons, well, they seem to like this continent."
"You sound bitter."
"I guess I am, kind of. No one ever thinks of us, do they? We're just a shitty little island next to Europe. But we get our fair share of dark creatures. Bet you never thought about British hunters, did you?"
He had to think about it. No, not really. Hell, he'd never even thought of hunters outside of America, or outside of his own circle.
"So why are you over here again?"
"Well the best hunters over here are fighting the Apocalypse, aren't they?" She grinned at him, revealing shiny white teeth. "So me and a couple of the family came over, thought we'd, you know, help out where we could. Take care of the menial work whilst you were off trying to kick the devil's arse."
Dean crossed his arms, elbows against the wooden top of the table. "And you're the one to do that?"
"One of the ones, I guess," She shrugged, finished her beer and stood up. "Now bugger off and let me do my job here Dean; you've got a devil to take care of."
The Winchesters didn't leave town, not that Sarah minded. She knew she was a good hunter, she just wasn't good enough. Not compared to them. The worst she'd ever dealt with was a particularly worrying trip into the Celtic Otherworld, though it hadn't been all that bad. Actually, the feast, once she and her cousin had sorted out the trouble, was pretty enjoyable, and the Celtic Prince...
She was getting distracted, she realised, as she pulled out her jacket from the hotel room's wardrobe and folded it up, very neatly, before placing it in her suitcase.
A breeze brushed past her, and in one swift movement she turned around, knife in her hand, pointing out at the figure in the trench coat in front of her.
"Who're you?"
"It doesn't matter. I need your help."
"My help? With what?" Her eyes narrowed, wondering why, of all people, he came to her. Hell, the Winchesters were in town, surely, whatever he wanted; they'd be better equipped to deal with?
"I'm a friend of Sam and Dean's," His voice was low, steady. "They need your help, Sarah."
"Who are you?" She repeated, still staring at him with suspicion.
"Castiel. I'm an angel."
"An...angel?" The words fell out, disbelieving and shocked. "No way," She shook her head. Even as she thought about it, it kind of made sense. After all, there were demons, and vampires, and Celtic Gods and Norse Gods and she'd even been on the trail of Zeus, once, but that had ended weirdly for her...
But angels?
"Where have you been?" She spat out, glaring at Castiel. "All these years, we've been working our arses off protecting humans, and where the hell have you guys been? Relaxing upstairs?" Her voice took on a bitter, sarcastic tone, and she found herself getting even more annoyed when Castiel rolled his eyes.
"We can talk about this later. You're coming with me."
"Like hell I..." She didn't get to finish her sentence before he reached forward and placed two fingers on her forehead.
"...am."
The small squeak of a voice brought Dean out of the land of the dead. Slowly, his eyes opened and the first thing he saw were stripes; these ones red and white, crossing over the chest of the same woman he'd met in the bar. Sarah.
Beside her, Cas was gazing around, searching for him. He tried to say his name, but it wouldn't come out. His throat was dry, sore, and he rolled his eyes, looking at the bottom of the bed above him.
Those fuckers, he thought, those little shit bags. They'd kicked him and punched him and when he went out cold, they pushed him under the bed, hiding him. Badly hiding him, but he knew it'd by them time. A few seconds was all they needed.
He needed to warn them.
Then like a spark a name came to his head.
Sam.
Once more he tried to call out, though whether he was intending to call Sam's name or Cas', he just couldn't tell. He just wanted to hear his own voice, hear it come out from him. He could still see them; Sarah with her knife poised carefully in one hand, Cas with his own dagger, both of them scanning the room.
"Where are they?" She asked, clearly worried. Then, her eyes fell.
His eyes connected with her hazel orbs, and instantly she fell to her knees, pushing the bed backwards.
"Castiel! Help me!"
Suddenly Cas was at her side, and Dean could have kissed both of them as the bed was pushed backwards and Cas pulled him upwards. Sitting up, Dean found himself coughing. Sarah drew out a white handkerchief, holding it in front of him as blood tricked from his mouth and splattered the white material.
"Sam..." He coughed out, staring at Cas. Cas nodded, then disappeared.
"Where's he gone?" Sarah asked; panic suddenly rising in her voice. Dean coughed again, and she helped him sit up before holding the white handkerchief in front of him. Again, blood dripped out as his eyes rolled upwards. He struggled for breath. "It's OK; just, don't try to talk...sit still, Dean. We'll get you right as rain in no time."
She felt guilty and relieved at the same time; this was the job she was meant to be sorting out so they weren't too wrapped up, and look what happened to them. If she'd come here...
Well, she wasn't going to sugar coat it. She would most likely have ended up dead.
Dean gestured to the wall, and when she turned she saw a knife sitting there, dark and dirty with blood. "It kills them," He choked out. "The demons. It kills them."
"Are you serious?" She gasped, not really expecting an answer. She saw the weak smile stretch across his features as she crawled quickly to the knife and grasped it. Returning to his side, she held it towards him.
"No...state," He coughed some more. "To fight. Keep hold..."
"Yeah, will do, no worries." She glanced around the room, wondering why they'd been left here so long. Something to do with his brother, perhaps? "Shall we get you out of here?"
"Nuh-uh," His back was pushed against the bed, legs bent ever so slightly. "Wait."
"For Cas?"
She only got a simple nod in reply, and sat beside him, resting her own back against the metal bed frame. They waited in silence.
The door flew open and a tall man with sleek black hair and dark eyes stepped in, eyes scanning the room until they fell on Dean. The hunter gasped out, eyes wide as the demon approached.
After Sarah and Dean had been sitting in silence for almost twenty minutes, Sarah had decided to stretch her legs. Now, all Dean saw was a mixture of red and white as she leapt from behind the door and plunged the knife into the demons back.
She staggered backwards until her back hit the wall as light sprung from the body, a strange golden beam that then quickly disappeared.
She spun around, facing the door as they heard footsteps. Seconds later and Cas stepped in, Sam's arm around his shoulder.
"Help me," Cas gasped, and quickly Sarah darted towards them, taking some of Sam's weight and half-carrying him to the bed. They laid him down and his head fell backwards, hitting the mattress.
"Bobby's," Dean gasped out, a strange rattling sound echoing through his body. "Get us there, Cas."
Castiel simply nodded, reaching forward towards the two men. Dean's eyes fell on Sarah, who handed the knife to him. She seemed to be in shock, staring at the two best hunters (or so she'd been led to believe) this side of the Atlantic, struggling to remain alive.
"Will they be OK?" She asked Cas.
"We'll be fine," Dean grinned at her. "If we die, the Angels will just bring us back. See you around Stripes."
With that, Cas placed his fingers on their foreheads and they were gone. Sarah stared at the space where they'd been, a single eyebrow raised.
"Stripes?" She repeated, before glancing down at her t-shirt. She frowned, closed her eyes, and made a prayer to a God she wasn't sure existed that Dean and Sam survived.