Okay, so this follows after Locking Horns. Now that I've finished that piece, I want to write some more with John and Dean. Thanks to Alex Hamato who spent hours correcting my draft. And WastedJamie, my fellow John Winchester sympathizer, this one is for you. :)
"Now why are we working with a witch again?" Dean looked at his Dad from the passenger side of the truck.
John shook his head. "She's not a witch, Dean. She's a psychic. I've worked with her on a lot of cases. She knows her stuff. She isn't a charlatan."
"Didn't you say she comes from a long line of occultists?"
John raised a dark eyebrow. "Yes."
"That's like code for witches."
John snorted. "Well, we need her."
Dean leaned against the passenger window, jiggling his leg. He'd been antsy and on edge ever since Sam had left for Stanford. Things had settled into an uneasy rhythm between the two of them, but Sam's absence lingered over them like the faint smell of sulfur in a closed room. They had hardly spoken of Sam since the night of his departure, as if not giving voice to his absence would make it more bearable. John could tell from Dean's behavior that his brother was never far from his mind. Truth be told, he wasn't far from John Winchester's thoughts either.
"John." Ellis opened the door to see all six-foot-two of John Winchester on her doorstep. He swept her up into a quick embrace, pulling her on her toes.
"Ellie." He smiled, his dimples showing through the salt-and-pepper of his stubble. As as they parted, some of her blonde hair clung to his beard and he turned his head to pull it away.
"How have you been?" she asked, one hand still on his wrist. The canvas of his light brown jacket was rough under her fingers. Rough like all the other facets of John.
His jaw tightened. "Good... I've been good," he replied in his gruff voice.
She watched the set of his shoulders change a bit.
"Oh come on, you know better than to lie to a psychic. What's wrong?"
John glanced over his shoulder back at the truck and looked back at her with a weary expression. "Just some trouble with my youngest."
"Sam?" Ellis asked. "I thought he was your good boy?"
"He's my pain in the ass boy," he responded, looking back again. "I brought my other boy with me. Hope you don't mind if we both stay."
She saw the truck door open and close and a figure emerged carrying some duffel bags and gear. Ellis look back at John. "Course not."
John Winchester's eldest mounted the steps, partly buried under the duffel on his shoulder.
John clapped him on the back, his fingers digging into the leather jacket with a fierce affection. "Ellie, this is my boy Dean," he said proudly. "Dean, this is Ellis."
"Hi," Dean Winchester ducked his head and smiled and Ellis felt her stomach drop. John's boy was the stuff of myth. Deceptively innocent, boyish features... wide green eyes with dark lashes that would have given any woman in a L'Oreal commercial a run for her money. Perfect white teeth he'd obviously inherited from his father.
She had to collect herself. "Dean, hi. Your dad's told me so much about you."
Dean winked as he shouldered past her and stepped inside. "Don't believe any of it," he quipped. "He's just a jealous old man."
Dean gathered up his cards and shuffled them. He locked eyes with Ellis as he folded them expertly together with a loud thwip of cardstock moving through the air and tapped it on the table. "Wanna play another hand?"
She was into him. He could feel it. The way her eyes lingered on his before she dropped them with a blush. The way she leaned into the table to listen to his words. He knew how to read the signs... was an expert at it, actually. She was unconsciously giving him all of them.
She was older. Still attractive despite the lines starting to gather around her eyes. Thin, very petite. He wondered if his father had ever tapped that. John and she had a definite familiarity. Almost a tenderness. But that seemed to be her nature. She was familiar with him right off the bat as well.
At first he'd been pissed at his father for dragging him along. And then for ditching him with Ellis while he did God knows what on a hunt for the weekend, sidelining him like he hadn't fucking earned the right to come along.
But Ellis was good company. She wasn't anything like the normal women he encountered. She didn't carry herself prickly and closed off like a hunter, nor was she anything like the usual college girls he picked up at bars.
"So," he said leaning back against the chair. "Wanna start another game? You think my dad will come back soon?"
She nodded. "He'll come limping in here sooner or later. Always does."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yeah, he's showed up busted up on my doorstep at least half a dozen times. I'm a good nurse." She gathered the cards up. "He's a terrible patient."
"Oh, I know that!" His answer was emphatic.
Her smile made her seem girlish. "You as stubborn as him?"
Dean snorted. "No one is as stubborn as him. Except maybe Sam." He felt a stab of pain go through him at the name. Pushed it under. "So you and my Dad... you two..." He looked up and left the rest unspoken.
"What?" She paused until she finally followed his train of thought. "No! Dean!" She flushed.
He liked making her flustered. He leaned over the table. "Can't blame me for askin'. I mean, if I had you playing nurse with me..." He raised his eyebrows.
Ellis swatted his arm.
Oh, she was definitely into him.
Dean drew himself closer to her on the couch. Ellis pushed at him playfully. He resisted and moved in a bit more. His eyes flicked up and down her face. She could smell his breath, notes of whiskey and warmth.
" Dean..."
"Yeah," he said. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"What are you..." he cut off her question by moving in and pressing his lips to hers. It was gentle, slow. She closed her eyes, momentarily pulled under his spell and then opened them again and drew away, her head pressed against the back of the cushions.
"Dean..." and suddenly his mouth was on the juncture of her neck and shoulder. And that's how she ended up entangled with John Winchester's eldest son on the couch like a horny teenager.
She tilted her head back to give him access and felt her body arch against his as he drew himself on top of her. His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt and moved up her ribs.
She gasped and he hummed into her neck. "I love that sound." His voice was husky.
What the hell was she doing? This was her friend's son. His son 15 years her Junior. But oh God, his mouth felt so good on her. He felt so good against her.
"Dean, we shouldn't," she managed. Her protest sounded small and pathetic to her own ears.
He moved his mouth down to her sternum. She felt the tickle of his closely cropped hair on her neck as he turned his head.
"Dean." Her hands moved to his shoulders and pressed down, trying to contain his movement for a moment.
If she could just THINK.
He slowed at her touch, lips still pressed against her decolletage. He looked up at her from where he was and oh my god if that wasn't the sexiest thing she'd ever seen in her life, she didn't know what was. His eyes were questioning, silently asking for permission.
Get your shit together Ellis, tell him no.
Still looking up at her through his dark lashes, he pressed another soft kiss to the part of her breast exposed beneath the v neck tshirt she wore. He moved his hand reverently up her side and adjusted his weight. The shift of his body against hers shut her brain off momentarily.
He turned his head sideways and rested his cheek against her breast. She could feel the exhale of his warm breath across her skin. He was waiting for a signal.
Permission or denial. She gave him neither and after a moment, Dean took that as permission to continue.
He moved back up to her lips and kissed her in earnest, parting her mouth slowly with his tongue, deepening the kiss, groaning into her mouth.
Oh God, that sound.
Ellis recovered herself again and pushed him back once more, "Dean..."
This time he ignored her, and he was everywhere, his hands, his mouth.
He had her pressed up against the arm of the couch, writhing under his ministrations.
She grabbed his shirt and slid her hands under it, felt the flatness of his stomach. His breath quickened.
Fuck it. If she was going to be a fucking slut, she may as well do it right.
She wedged her knee between Dean's thighs and forced them apart. She saw the surprise in his green eyes and then the smile on his lips. He seemed more than happy to let her take the reins. And she did turning them so that they were side by side on the couch, him wedged between the back of the couch and her body, her so that she was perilously close to the edge. She traced his back, his chest, his ass through the denim. Dean was breathing heavily, almost panting as she kissed his neck.
She dipped her hand teasingly below his belt and he gasped and tensed against her. She kept her hand in his waist band for a moment and then moved it back up and pulled his t-shirt off over his head.
Dean rolled on top of her and she twined her hands around his neck and slowly traced one down his shoulder until her palm was gripping his bicep. The world abruptly broke away. Images flashed through her mind in quick rapid succession.
Dean hugging a broken body of a young man. His cries lost on the wind.
Dean smashing the body of a black classic car with a tire iron. The anger and rage and pain emanating off of him in waves.
Dean being torn apart by some invisible force dragging him down as he cried and fought desperately to get away. Crawling his way across the floor, a spurt of blood flying from his shoulder, terrified desperate.
And then in a quick succession of flashes, horrible distorted faces, blood, cries, torture, Dean bound to a table- hooks and flails and sharp objects and hanging suspended from chains, the world hot and surreal...and then a flash of light, blinding in the darkness... absolutely blinding, the dark shadow of wings looming against the wall and then away from that horror.
And after... Dean aged and weary. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, his jaw tight buried in a world of pain and whiskey. Lost and tired and utterly empty.
Ellis broke the connection and a scream tore from her throat. Dean leapt back so quickly he almost toppled off of the couch. He grabbed the back of it to steady himself.
His eyes were horrified, shocked, concerned. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" He held his hands up in surrender. "Did I hurt you?" He moved closer, his hands hovering above her, wanting to help but afraid to touch. His fly was open, they must have gotten a little farther than she realized while she was under the vision. His expression was nakedly distressed.
Ellis pushed away, untangling their legs and toppling off of the couch and onto the floor. Dean tried to catch her and missed. She stayed on her hands and knees a moment, eyes closed against the wave of pain that swept through her consciousness.
"Ellis! What happened? Are you okay?" Dean was on his hands and knees beside her, head turned trying to get a look at her expression.
She fought a wave of nausea and nodded, swallowing hard. Get it together. Poor guy has no clue what's going on.
He touched her back tentatively. "Ellie?"
She nodded, unable to speak. Patted blindly at his arm in reassurance.
He sat back on his haunches and tried to help her up. He had no problem hauling her into a sitting position against the couch. He settled next to her, his arm around the back of her head.
She blinked and looked at him. His expression was one of endless concern, a bit of anxiety, probably still afraid he'd hurt her or done something wrong. He smiled hesitantly.
"You know, usually when I rock a woman's world it doesn't involve throwing up," he quipped.
Ellis meant to laugh but she looked at his sweet and concerned face and it came out as a sob.
Dean looked miserable.
Ellis collected herself. "Dean, it's not you. It's not..." She took his hand and twined her fingers in his. He turned to face her. "I had a vision while we were making out."
"Wow." He looked infinitely relieved. "That must have been one fucked up vision." He turned to face her. "That happen a lot?" He brushed a lock of hair out of her face.
"Well, that's a first as to what I was doing when I had the vision."
"What was it?"
She paused. Her eyes filled with tears. How could she even begin to tell him? If a glimpse of the future couldn't be altered or helped or changed, it was best not to tell them. An image of Dean with the closed, guarded expression and the 1,000 yard stare snuck into her head. It was such a stark contrast to the playful young man with her, it made her breath hitch.
Dean paused, a realization dawning. "Ellis... was it a vision with ME?" His eyes held a note of fear.
She didn't answer.
"W...what happens to me?" He drew back slightly, his jaw trembling with repressed emotion.
The door swung open and John Winchester entered. He paused, taking in the scene before him.
Dean jumped away as if he'd been stung. "Fuck." He stood up, back turned to the door and frantically zipped his fly and rebuckled his belt. "Dad? Wasn't expecting you back. "
John Winchester raised a dark eye brow. "I can see that."
TBC...