Dean Winchester stood in line along the brick wall, staring at the taco truck's menu and trying to decide what he wanted for lunch. Just him. Sammy was of at Stanford being a nerd and Dad was off... somewhere being a Hunter. Which left the twenty-four year old in between gigs, a little hungry, and a lot alone. If Dad were here, it wouldn't be a taco truck. If Sammy were around and in need of feeding, Dean knew he'd be ordering a pile of crappy vegetables that no amount of spices could make taste good for the kid. And a heart attack inducing cheesy goodness for himself (to annoy the health conscious little brother, of course!)
By himself... Well, Dean by himself had been learning what his own tastes were. Along his educational explorations, he had discovered that real mexican food was awesome and queso must have been some Incan or Aztec god's gift to humanity.
Now, mere minutes separated him from the divine satisfaction. So, naturally, that's when it happened. Something that under normal circumstances, Dean wouldn't have minded at all.
She was hot. He noticed that first. After that, he noticed she was only a few years older than himself. The woman in question whipped around the corner at a dead run before skidding to a casual stroll. Dean's Hunter trained eye noticed the motion, though most of the lunch crowd did not. Green eyes met brown, and he cocked a questioning and subtly flirting eyebrow. The woman smiled, like she knew the same joke he did.
The questioning yet flirty eyebrow became a matched set of surprise when she casually peeled of a brown wig to reveal an eye-catching explosion of red curls.
Ah, Dean loved redheads. And brunettes. And blondes. Okay. So he wasn't actually picky.
Behind her, two bruisers rounded the same corner also at a run. Big and burly and one sporting a thick chained orthodox russian cross, Dean guessed they were russian mafia. Hunter buddy Caleb occasionally bought the big guns from their type.
When she saw Dean's attention shift behind her, the woman swore softly. Swiftly she rounded on Dean, tugging him halfway around until her back was against his wall. Without letting go, she puled him closer inside her personal space. The fact that his muscled frame obscured the bruisers' view did not escape his notice, but at her first words to him he almost didn't care.
"Kiss me," she demanded.
It wasn't the sexiest proposition he'd ever had, but let it never be said that Dean Winchester was one to question his good fortune. Without further question or hesitation, he leaned in. Because he knew why she made such demands of him, he brought his large hand to her cheek with his finger carding through those luscious curls, further hiding her from the crowd. His other hand caressed her back above the hip and pulled them flush together.
The woman didn't need to see the crowd to know when to subtly shift, always keeping Dean between herself and the mobsters.
Dean knew it and let her.
Hey, she was one hell of a good kisser.
Thug One and Two moved passed carefully, searching every face in the crowd. Naturally, four alert eyes passed over the couple making out by the wall. Their quarry wouldn't have anyone to stop and share a groping session with while running for her life. Right?
Dean and the woman stayed locked at the lips until the mafia men worked their way around the next turn and out of sight. Then she broke it off and leaned back with a friend-zoning smile.
"Thanks, that was fun,"she told him.
But before she could slip away, Dean tugged her back close to him.
Danger crackled in her eyes: all the warning he would get if her didn't let go of her soon.
"I'd let you go, Sweetheart," Dean drawled, aware of the dangerous ground he had put himself in. "But I'm a little worried that if I don't keep pressure on the bleeder on your back, you won't make it too far once the adrenaline let down kicks in."
He had felt the warm, wet trickle and knew all too well the temperature of blood.
Her eyes widened in surprise. She knew she'd been tagged in the botched exit, but the adrenaline had masked the extent of the pain she knew she would feel later. Now that he'd called attention to the fact, she could tell the blood loss would be a problem in short order. On top of that, this stranger picked mostly at random from the crowd 1, noticed 2, didn't freak and 3, added to her cover while camouflaging his first aid. There was more to this one than she had guessed.
"You know, most people shy away from a situation like this," she observed. But Dean could see the calculation and reevaluation going on behind those lovely eyes.
Lovely eyes. Sharp eyes. Deadly eyes, if needed.
"I ain't most people," Dean rejoined with his best boyish grin.
A soft laugh escaped her, and she shook her head. But she didn't move away from his embrace, or the pressure he was keeping on the flesh wound.
"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess you ain't the hospital type." He didn't ask.
But she answered anyway. "Not really, no."
"Figured." Dean looked out over the crowd, doing some quick thinking and calculations of his own. "I'm not gonna ask why the russian mafia is after you, because I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. Something tells me you ain't exactly clean in all this."
She smiled and shrugged and didn't argue.
"But, I don't like the thought of letting a pretty lady like you collapse from blood loss around here, either. You might be tough as steel when you're awake, but..." he trailed off.
He didn't need to finish. They both knew what happened to the defenseless.
"So where does that leave us?" she asked.
Dean grinned again. "That leaves me with a beautiful woman in my arms and the offer of a well stocked suture kit on the table."
"Is this where you try to impress the girl with being a world-famous doctor?"
"Nah, I've tried that shtick before. I don't got the years on me to make it believable," he answered with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. It might not have worked, but clearly he'd had fun trying. "I am a decent combat medic, though."
"That I believe," she conceded. He had the military man on shore leave look about him. She studied him again. "You know, that's all it will be, right? Stitches and then I have to get moving."
Dean tugged the woman off the wall and under his arm, like they were a head over heels couple out for a stroll, without ever letting up on her wound. "Yeah, you looked like you had places to be. No worries, sweetheart, you're my good deed for the day."
He strolled with her tucked up like that through the crowd, gradually taking on some of her weight as the adrenaline let down took its toll. Like they both knew it would.
"I'm Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester."
"Natalia. Nice to meet you."
A/N: This is as far as the plot bunnies took me. But I have a feeling it will percolate and grow...