Happy 18th Birthday to Grim Kitty Kisa! Welcome to adulthood, sucker!
This fic vaguely follows along Season Four and Five, but as this is a drabble series, there will only be a couple of mentions of actual canon episodes.
Warning: Very strong language and slightly mature themes.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just the concept of this fic.
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It was shortly after Dean's little trip back in time to meet his parents for himself that… she appeared.
Sam was out grabbing dinner from some nearby Thai joint- claiming that he needed to 'get some air' from the gloom that seemed to be surrounding his brother- complete bullshit, of course, but who was he to question what went around in Sammy's head?
Dean, on the other hand, was sitting at the small kitchenette table, Sam's laptop open and several tabs active while he actually looked for a new case. It was a change from the norm- rather than re-visiting his one true internet love, "Busty Asian ", he was actually putting effort into looking for the big bad monsters that were hiding under beds.
It was the sound of a lighter clicking that grabbed his attention. In an instant, his head snapped up while he grabbed the knife next to the laptop and threw it on instinct alone. What he wasn't expecting, however, was for a slender fingered hand to pluck the blade out of thin air and slam it down into the cheap wood headboard of his bed.
"Well, I've certainly had better greetings than that." The woman blinked, raising a brow as she brought her cigarette to her lips, inhaling deeply. "You should really work on your approach- I don't know how you manage to bring home girls when you're as prickly as a damn porcupine."
"Who the fuck are you?" the blond growled, slowly moving away from his chair and towards his bag of weapons by the door.
She was all curves- perfect hourglass figure with warm skin and wide hips, wearing a pair of short white shorts that were almost invisible from riding high on her thighs, and a loose white shirt that hung low enough to reveal a heavy amount of cleavage. Long brunette curls tumbled around her shoulders and framed a full face, silver eyes, pouty lips and high cheekbones included. She watched his movements with an almost catlike resemblance, her only movements to cross her white stiletto clad feet and to exhale the smoke from her cigarette.
"I suppose it depends on why you're asking, sweet-cheeks." She finally sighed, continuing to ignore Dean even as he grabbed his favorite weapon- his Colt 1911 A1 .45 caliber, standard with 7-round magazine capacity, and slid it into his waistband so as to grab several more thin knives.
"Probably because I have no fucking idea who the hell you are." The blond retorted sharply. "For all I know, Lilith could have sent you."
The woman barked out a short laugh, tossing her head back for a moment before resuming her former position as she reclined on the back of the headboard. "Lilith? Don't make me laugh, Dean. That sorry excuse of a bitch couldn't control me even if she tried. And really, while it's slightly flattering that you'd think I, of all people, am a demon… it would be incorrect. Actually, it's a little insulting. See, you left something important back in Hell, Dean." The woman drawled, putting out her cigarette in the palm of her hand with a disinterested expression. "And the thing is, you didn't even notice."
"What? Don't fuck around, lady." Dean snapped back, hand automatically falling to his gun. It seemed as though it would be the faster approach to taking on this threat, rather than the knives he currently held.
"Who said anything about fucking around? Actually, that's not really the correct term, is it? I know your humanity is still here, but you've got a little more… ruthlessness in you. You became a killer in Hell, Dean. And unlike good ol' Samantha, I know what you did. In great detail."
"You're lying."
The brunette snorted as she looked at the placement of his hand before flicking her silver gaze back up to his face.
"Am I really? Go on, I dare you. Shoot me." She challenged, relaxing against her perch. "After all, it's not like you can do anything to me when it just so happens that the same gun you're holding is standing right in front of you. Well, sitting, but that's more of a minor mistake than anything else."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean snapped, drawing the weapon from his jeans. The woman laughed lowly, examining her nails for a moment. "Answer my question, you white-eyed bitch."
"Well, well, well." She pursed her lips, looking up through half lidded eyes. "The little Hunter has grown a pair since I last saw him."
Dean growled, clicking the safety. He wanted answers. Now, preferably. And if he didn't get them… he was going to blow this woman's brains out.
"Well now, this just won't do." She tutted, raising a hand calmly and curling all but her index finger and thumb in, forming it into the rough shape of a gun.
"Bang."
As if electrocuted, the Colt flew from his hand through the air, landing against the wall and lying just out of his reach. Before the Winchester could do anything else, she was on him, straddling his hips and leaning far too close to his face. He flinched, recoiling away from her cool touch, even as he noted the cursive white ink that wrought intricate designs across her flesh.
"You know, I'm really going to have to start getting cross with you, Dean." She murmured, one hand cradling his cheek while the other was planted firmly over his hands. "Not only are you threatening me, but you seem to think you're high and mighty enough to get away with calling me a white-eyed bitch. That's not very nice now, is it?"
"What are you?" he hissed.
Her silver eyes lit up, and she let out a peal of gleeful laughter as she let a broad smile cross her face, pulling full lips into a genuine grin.
"Now you're asking the right questions, sweet-cheeks." She cooed, leaning down to brush her lips across his cheek. "But you're going to have to wait a while to find the answer to that question out. It seems Sam's home from the take-out joint. Enjoy your Thai, Dean."
Dean blinked, and then she was gone. A moment later, Sam opened the door to the motel room, a large bag of what was sure to be Thai take-out in his arms.
"Dean? I'm bac- what happened?" the younger Winchester asked, placing the bag down on the table and reaching for his own gun.
"I wish I knew, Sammy." The blond muttered, sitting up and looking over to the headboard of his bed. "I wish I knew."