Still don't own Supernatural. Still do own Asher Michaels and Amelia Shaw. This one chapter comes at the beginning of season 2, the first time Sam and Dean go to Harvelle's. The fic is rated T for language, mild violence and mild sexual content. The title is a Boston song.
Peace of Mind.
And you wanna run, but somehow you just keep on stayin'
Can't decide which way to go.
The rumble of the truck's engine was almost overwhelming in the silence surrounding Harvelle's Roadhouse, and the headlights were very harsh as they cut through the thin fog and splashed across the boards of wooden siding. There was a faint din issuing from the hunter's sanctuary, but if the driver of the truck hadn't been in possession of supernaturally-heightened senses, she wouldn't have heard; her younger companion sure didn't; the only other indication of the meagre crowd that waited inside were the handful of vehicles parked in the shadows of one side of the parking lot. It was nowhere near the largest crowd the Roadhouse had seen, but neither of the truck's passengers minded.
Gravel crunched as the massive black vehicle came to a stop parallel to the front of the building and then again as two pairs of boots landed beside either door. The doors slammed sharply shut and two shrill beeps and flashing of the lights indicated the truck was locked.
"Do you think we'll be able to hustle any money tonight?" Amelia Shaw asked as she rearranged her chocolate brown cowboy hat atop her pale blonde hair.
Asher Michaels shrugged one shoulder. "I just want a drink."
Amelia, the younger hunter, sighed and led the way into the dimly lit bar, mumbling slightly about her older sister's gloomy disposition, one she'd held since receiving the phone call a few weeks ago from Dean and Sam Winchester, fellow hunters and friends of the girls. They hadn't seen them in a few months and hadn't talked to them for almost that entire period of time as the last time they'd worked together, Asher—who happened to be a werewolf—had almost gone to blows with the boys' father, John Winchester, who was not fond of Asher in the slightest thanks to her "werewolfitus". The boys had gone off in search of something with their dad, a hunt which had somehow ended with a serious car accident that totalled the beloved Impala, put the Winchesters in the hospital and killed John. Dean had called Asher and filled them in, but he hadn't sounded like himself and since then, Asher had been stuck in the mopey place and not even a series of quick and dirty hunts had been able to cheer her up.
So the girls had decided to swing by Harvelle's Roadhouse to catch up with their friends who owned it and see if they could find any leads on a new hunt or, perhaps, the location of the Winchester brothers.
Asher climbed onto one of the stools at the bar, in the corner where she could press herself into the wall and blend into the shadows, as Amelia joined the throng around the pool table, shifting instantly into her flirty self in order to hustle money from the drunk and leering patrons. The werewolf wasn't up to the social prowess needed to charm men from their money on the best of days, and this was definitely not a good day.
"Hey honey," Ellen Harvelle, owner of the roadhouse, said as she approached Asher's corner. "It's been a long time Asher. What can I get you?"
"Just a beer."
Ellen pulled a dark bottle out from the fridge behind the bar and opened it with quick, practiced movements. She slid the cold beverage across the worn top of the bar, a grim smile tugging at one corner of her lined mouth as she Asher caught it and took a long pull. "What's eating you?" she asked.
Asher barked a laugh and took another drink. "What isn't?"
The bartender left to attend to another patron, leaving the moody werewolf to study the other customers in search of a friendly face—for Dean. Stop lying to yourself. Ellen returned a moment later, the action pulling Asher's face and attention back from the crowd, and started wiping the bar with the cloth that was always present dangling from the right front pocket of her jeans.
"You looking for someone Asher?"
Asher fixed her blue, blue eyes on the older woman. Ellen's face was lined and showed that she had been through a lot, and while her eyes were hard, they were still friendly when she was talking to someone she cared about. Right then, her whole face was poised to show the werewolf that she did want to know what was bothering the younger woman and if there was anything she could do to help. Asher liked Ellen. "Dean Winchester," Asher finally admitted, taking another swig from her beer to give herself a moment.
"Winchester." Ellen pressed her lips into a thin line, but then pushed passed the anger. "I haven't heard from John in ages. I told him I could help him hunt whatever he was after, but he was stubborn and refused. What business do you have with his boy?"
Asher shrugged and took another drink.
"Asher, be careful about getting involved with that boy," Ellen said, her voice full of warning.
The werewolf suppressed the urge to tell Ellen to back off; the older woman was just looking out for Asher. There was no need to snap. Instead, the hunter settled for growling in her throat and taking another drink from her beer. "John's dead," she said suddenly, even though it wasn't really her news to tell. "Amelia and I haven't heard from the boys since the car accident and we're trying to find them to make sure they're all right. That is my involvement, my business."
Amelia chose that moment to reappear, a wad of cash in one hand and a beer that must have come from one of the waitresses in the other. "Oh, that's not all your business with Dean." There was a devious grin on her face; her cowboy hat was slightly skewed.
"How much have you had to drink, Amelia?" Ellen asked, her eyes slightly wide. "You've only been here for about half an hour."
The younger hunter studied her beer bottle closely for a second and then stuck four fingers up. "The guys keep buying me drinks," she slurred. Then she waved the roll of bills in front of her face, the devious grin sliding back into place. "And I keep taking their money! These guys suck at pool." Amelia retrieved another beer from Ellen and then skipped back to the pool tables where she was met with cheers and instant challenges from a few newcomers. None of the other hunters and patrons said anything to deter them from playing the game since the idea of experienced hunters getting hustles by the tiny little blonde woman was quite hilarious, even when no one was inebriated.
Asher turned back to the bar and her conversation with Ellen, knowing what was coming next, but the owner of Harvelle's didn't even have to say anything; the look on her face said it all. "What? Just because I'm a—" Asher dropped her voice, "—werewolf, I can't want someone?" she snarled.
"Hey, I didn't say that."
Asher snarled again but an arm draped across her shoulders stopped her from putting any more fire into the emotion. "I didn't know you and Amelia had rolled back this way," the friendly voice of Ellen's daughter Jo said next to Asher's face. The young woman dropped onto the stool beside Asher and handed her another beer from the tray she'd been carrying. "How is the whole furry thing going?" she asked. It was a standard greeting from Jo, a girl who wanted to be a hunter like her parents and whose mother stoutly refused for fear of losing her daughter as she'd lost her husband. The refusal didn't quell Jo's interest in all things supernatural though, and her dark eyes shone with the enthusiasm behind her question; Asher's condition had been the thing that had brought the two together, but they were friends now and Asher had missed her the same way she'd missed Ellen's motherly presence.
"Same as it was last time," Asher answered with a small but unhappy smile. "Your mother was just chiding me about getting involved with a hunter."
"Oh, who? Do I know him?"
"Doubt it." Asher looked at Ellen, who gave her the sternest glare she could muster. "Is there anything else you'd like to say?"
"Just be careful Asher."
Asher watched the older woman as she disappeared into the back of the bar, probably to get more booze or food or something. After chatting idly for a bit, Jo vanished into the crowd as well, going back to her job as waitress, hostess and whatever else was needed, leaving Asher to sit alone in her corner at the bar, at least until the mullet of the only other permanent of Harvelle's appeared beside her. She'd been wondering when the grubby-looking man would appear but the goofy grin on his face actually managed to make her smile.
"Hey Ash," she said.
"Hey Ash." The pair shared a laugh before the plaid-clad man handed her another beer and hopped over the top of the bar to vanish in the kitchen. Faintly, his voice drifted through the swinging wooden doors, but he wasn't yelling; he knew Asher would be able to pick up his words regardless of the distance. "You want anything to eat?"
"Sure."
"Cheeseburger?"
"Make it two."
Ash stuck his head back out the swinging doors, a smudged and greasy apron now covering his sleeves plaid shirt and ripped jeans. One of his eyebrows was sitting about the middle of his forehead and the rest of his face had followed in the concerned expression. "Two? Everything is not all right with you dude..." Ash shook his head and then stepped back into the kitchen, the sounds of sizzling meat reaching Asher's ears and making her mouth water slightly.
As Ash brought out three plates—a cheeseburger and a chicken sandwich in addition to Asher's two burgers—Amelia reappeared at the bar and snatched up her food. Asher dug into her first cheeseburger and found it cooked just how she liked it and sandwiched between two slices of cheese; it always surprised her to find that Ash had an excellent memory behind the drunk and drugged-up exterior. The three ate in silence, the two hunters finding they were much hungrier than they had thought. Once the food was gone and the dishes had been swept into the back, Asher finally joined her sister in playing pool with the other patrons, and was pleased to find that it only took snapping at the wandering hand of one of them to keep the others at bay as she took their money without a thought.
Amelia passed out around midnight, draped across a couple chair with her cowboy hat covering her face. Soon after, as the crowd began to thin and Ellen and Jo and Ash went about closing and cleaning, Asher dropped into another chair by her sister's feet and watched the others move around through sleep-blurred eyes. When she had a moment, Jo brought Asher the keys to the spare rooms above the bar and the werewolf hauled her sister upstairs, the rather drunk Amelia protesting being carried with loud and unintelligible yells.
There were two bedrooms above the bar, both of which were small and sparsely decorated, but the beds were comfortable and warm against the chilly fall air. Asher tucked Amelia into the bed of the room farthest from the top of the staircase, hung her hat on the bedpost, and locked the bedroom door, proceeding into her own room through the doors of the adjoining bathroom. Trusting her heightened hearing to wake her should anyone climb up the stairs in the middle of the night, Asher kicked off her hiking boots and jeans and climbed under the thick comforter, hoping sleep would come easier than it had since Dean had made that phone call weeks before. She rolled onto her side and stared out the curtainless window, her blue eyes finding the half moon and drinking it in; part of her wished it was full so she could change and run away.
A few hours later, around six, Asher sat upright, head cocked slightly to one side as she listened to the footsteps. She relaxed however when Jo's familiar scent reached her nose and climbed out of her bed to pull her jeans on just as the younger girl knocked.
"It's open," Asher called.
Jo walked in, already dressed and wearing the small apron that signified she was working. "Mom wants to know if you'll help prep for the day."
"Of course. Let me go see if Amelia is up to it."
Jo nodded and headed back downstairs.
Asher used the washroom before going to wake Amelia, knowing that if her sister was suffering any sort of hangover, she would be in there on and off for several hours, hugging the toilet. Amelia groaned loudly when Asher poked her shoulder and rolled over, putting her back to her sister. "Get up," Asher said. When Amelia rolled back over, her grey eyes were open slightly and she was glaring. "Ellen wants us to help them prep."
"I dun wanna..." Amelia moaned, even as she rolled out of bed and headed into the bathroom.
Asher walked through the hall, back to her room to retrieve her boots. While Amelia was waking up, Asher went out to the truck to retrieve their bags so the girls could shower and change before helping the Harvelles and Ash get the Roadhouse ready for the few customers it would see in the daylight hours. Asher had been there once before during the day. The customers who did wander to the small restaurant during the day tended to be families on road trips, people who got lost, or hunters looking for information on a creature, a person, or pretty much anything else that Ash could track down with his computer. Back upstairs, Asher found Amelia lying on the bathroom floor, one arm around the base of the toilet and the other draped over her stomach.
The black-haired werewolf dropped Amelia's bag on the floor by her feet. "We'll be downstairs. Come down when you're ready."
The morning at Harvelle's was quiet. Ellen had breakfast ready when Asher made it downstairs, dressed in her favourite jeans, a clean t-shirt and her hiking boots, and Asher eagerly dug into a plate heaped with bacon and scrambled eggs. After everyone had eaten and had their full of coffee, they started about their chores. Asher headed into the back to wash the breakfast dishes and the dishes from last night while the others cleaned the bar and Ash—who had been sleeping on the pool table the last Asher had seen him—stayed out of the way. Amelia didn't come down.
Ellen and Jo eventually came into the back to sort out the food that would be needed for the day and take inventory of their stock. Asher was now elbow-deep in pots and pans, and Ellen and Jo were absorbed in their tasks, so the women remained quiet and worked. As to be expected, the werewolf was the first one to hear the sounds of someone picking the lock on the front door. Ellen and Jo both picked up the sudden tension to the girl's shoulders and stopped what they were doing. With hands still soapy, Asher took the full-sized shotgun that Ellen handed her—had she gotten it from inside the fridge?—and pressed herself to the wall on one side of the swinging doors to the kitchen while Jo went around the back of the building to enter through the back doors.
Asher heard two voices talking and she closed her eyes to better listen, to try and tell who they were. One of them started towards the kitchen and it was then—just as Ellen pounced—that Asher picked up the familiar scent. It was Sam.
The tallest Winchester had just enough time to register the familiar werewolf before Ellen had him pinned up against the wall with his hands on his head. Before she could demand anything of him however, a man who could only be Dean called for help from the main room of the Roadhouse and something inside Asher soared. She was out the kitchen door before she could take the time to get Sam out of his predicament.
"Asher?"
She took in his surprised expression and the reddish skin around his nose where it looked like he'd been punched and she started laughing. Jo had hit Dean in the face. She placed the shotgun on the bar and fought the urge to go and hug him. "Hey Dean."
Ellen raised her eyebrow at Asher. "These John's boys?" Asher nodded and the guns were lowered. "I'm Ellen and that's my daughter Jo," she said, pointing with her weapon. She flashed Dean a small smile and her eyes crinkled like she was trying to restrain her laugher. Which she probably was. "Have a seat and I'll get you some ice for you face."
As Ellen disappeared and Dean and Jo settled themselves at the bar, Sam appeared at Asher's side and she turned to hug him. "Hey Bambi," she said in her most sympathetic voice. "How are you?"
Sam returned the embrace. "Still living. I'm all right."
Something in the tone of his voice made Asher look over her shoulder at Dean, who was chatting with Jo. She tucked some of her black hair behind one ear. "Can't say I'm surprised he's not taking this well... What's he been doing?"
"Working on the Impala at Bobby's. The car was totalled in the accident and he's had to rebuild it from the ground up. But that's all he's been doing. We haven't been on a hunt in weeks, and the only reason we're here is because I managed to find an old voice mail message from Ellen on one of Dad's old phones and I convinced Dean it would be a good idea to check it out." He looked over to the bar at his older brother and ran his fingers back through his dark brown hair. A small smile pulled at his lips. "I don't know if he'll agree with me now. Although," he said, looking back at Asher, "I think he'll be able to forgive the punch to the face."
"If he even wants to see me."
"Asher."
She tried to smile, to brush off the accusation in Sam's voice, but it came off more as a gesture of bared teeth. "Go upstairs and get Amelia." She climbed onto the stool beside Dean just as Ellen appeared with an ice pack and Sam returned with Amelia—who had been on the way down anyways—in tow.
"Here you go," Ellen said, handing Dean the ice pack.
"Thanks." Dean placed the ice gingerly on his injured face, a few drops of condensation sliding down his cheek and falling onto the collar of the leather coat that had at one point been John's. "You called our Dad and said you could help him—help with what?"
"Oh, well you don't waste any time, do you?" Ellen sighed. "The demon, of course."
Asher snorted in laughter. "What else would it be?" She took an elbow in the ribs from Dean for her trouble.
"Was there an article in the Demon Hunter's Quarterly that I missed? Why the hell does everyone seem to know about this demon?" Dean snapped.
"A lot of hunters pass through here," Ellen said, her voice taking on a slightly defensive tone. "Your dad used to come through her a lot a long time ago. He was like family once." The last was said in a quieter tone, almost like she hadn't meant to say it out loud.
"Oh yeah? How come he's never mentioned you?"
Asher looked at Dean's face and saw his eyes narrowed—he was angry, but it wasn't anything new. Dean didn't like thinking of his father's life beyond him and Sam. When they had been young and had been following him around the country, learning how to hunt, John had been like a hero to the boys and especially Dean, who saw him as always coming to the rescue. How did Asher know this? Apparently Dean liked to talk, but only when he was drunk. Asher gave him a steady frown and put her own anger into her eyes so he could see. Ellen wasn't trying to hurt him or the memory of John Winchester.
There were a few tense moments which Sam broke by saying, "Look, if you can help us find the demon... we could use all the help we can get."
"Well, we can't. But Ash will."
Sam and Dean both looked at Asher, who blinked. It took her a moment to realize where the confusion was coming from. "Not me!" she said. The werewolf spun on her stool and pointed at the bemulleted Ash, still curled on the pool table. "He's Ash. 'Round here, call me Asher to avoid confusion, please. ASH!" she yelled.
While the Winchester boys and Ash went through a very thick folder of all John's work on the illusive demon and argued over the finer points of demon-tracking like whether or not it was actually possible, Asher walked behind the bar and dug around for a clean glass to pour herself a Coke in. She poured one for Amelia as well, knowing her sister's stomach would not only be able to handle the fizzy drink, but be grateful for it as well. After a few moments, Ash disappeared into his room at the back of the bar, leaving Sam to talk to Ellen—about some folder wedged between the wall and a police scanner—and Dean crossed the room to talk to Jo. Asher's eyes followed the latter brother, but she didn't move from behind the bar; she wasn't sure what she would do because Dean was obviously flirting and Jo was her friend.
"Doesn't that just sting?" Amelia asked from her spot across the bar.
Asher leaned on the bar's somewhat grimy surface and sipped her Coke. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. She didn't bother to move her gaze.
"How long are we going to keep this up?" Amelia asked, her voice tired. When Asher looked at her sister, Amelia rolled her eyes. "Look, Asher, it's pretty obvious that you and Dean are attracted to each other—God knows why, but you are. So, watching him with Jo has got to sting."
Asher regarded her adopted younger sister for several minutes, took another drink from her Coke and said, "Why do you think I'm still behind the bar?"
Soon, the boys took off with Ash's promise to have information for them in fifty-one hours and a hunt that Ellen had been gathering information on for another one of her hunter friends. Something to do with a clown that stole children or something; the very idea creeped Asher out beyond belief; she didn't like clowns. As the minivan the boys were driving disappeared in a cloud of dust down the road, Asher and Amelia decided they should be hitting the road too. They gathered their bags from upstairs, thanked Ellen and Jo and Ash and promised to stop by as soon as they could before climbing into the massive black truck and taking off towards South Dakota and Bobby's garage.
Fifty-one hours later—or there abouts. Who was really keeping track?—Sam and Dean returned to Harvelle's Roadhouse to inform Ellen that the psycho clown had been disposed of and to see if Ash's search for information had turned up anything on the demon, a hunt both the boys were eager to be over with. There was also the added incentive of seeing Amelia and Asher again at the Roadhouse, but when they entered the fairly crowded room until the light of the moon, they saw no sign of their sometimes partners amongst the patrons. Ellen waved them over from behind the bar and dropped beers in front of them, listening to their report between serving customers.
"You boys did a hell of a job," she said. "Your father would be proud."
Sam and Dean offered up a small grin. "Thanks," the younger Winchester said.
As Jo joined the small group at the bar, Sam took the hint and left, deciding he'd try and get a game of pool in before he and Dean headed back to Bobby's; he had no illusions. The Impala wasn't finished yet and judging by the conversations had during the hunt, Dean wasn't really ready to jump back into the hunting thing full time yet. Memories of their father will still too raw.
"Hey Ellen, how do you know Asher and Amelia?" Dean asked after Ash had assured them that he would be playing watch dog on demon omens and would let them know as soon as he heard/saw/found anything.
"Their adoptive father, Austin, used to come by here at least twice a month. He was friends with my, uh, late husband, and he brought the girls with him. They try and come by here at least as much as Austin did, and they've stayed here a few times when they were between hunts." Ellen's eyes narrowed slightly at Dean. "Those girls are like family."
Dean held up one hand. "Point taken."
Her face softened again and she smiled. "If you boys need a place to say, I've got a couple of extra beds."
"No thanks," Dean said after sharing a look with Sam. "I've got something I've got to finish."
Goodbyes were said and then Sam and Dean were on the road again, pointed towards Bobby's house and scrap yard where the closest thing they had to family and the Impala waited. When they finally reached the increasingly familiar house, Bobby was waiting on the front porch. Or, at least, he was sitting out there and came down to meet the boys as they climbed out of the car they were driving, his face unreadable underneath the ever-present baseball cap.
"Dean, there's someone waiting for you out back."
Receiving no answers after a confused look at Bobby and then Sam, both of whom shrugged, Dean strode through the heavy gate separating the driveway from the scrap yard and garage that served as the sole source of Bobby's income. The shining black body of the Impala was the first thing he saw, and then, standing in front of the open hood and leaning over to look down at the engine was Asher, her jeans, white t-shirt and one cheek smeared with grease. Her black hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and she was humming under her breath, tapping her fingers in time to some silent song. There were no tools out, so she wasn't working on the Impala—Thank God, Dean thought. He didn't want anyone else touching his car.—but the answer soon became apparent when he spotted her big black truck parked in the cleared spot nearby with its own hood opened.
"What's wrong with your truck?" he asked as way of greeting.
She looked up and gave him a warm, real smile, an expression he'd never seen directed at anyone else. As he closed the distance, he could see the grease covering her hands and the sheen of sweat on her tanned skin. "Nothing serious," she said. "Just checking things over—changing the oil, changing the tires, that sort of thing. And there's this rattling noise that I can't figure out, but Bobby's going to help me take a look when I give up."
Dean stopped a few feet away from her and for several moments, the two hunters just looked at each other. Asher wanted to offer her sympathy for the loss of John, but it wouldn't be totally sincere and she knew that Dean didn't want it anyways; she had lost her father, she knew the pain, but she hadn't liked John. Dean was expecting her to offer sympathies, but wasn't that surprised when she didn't. He found himself happy to see her bright blue eyes and grease-covered face, happy just to look at her and feel her supernatural energy; he never forgot that was a werewolf, but sometimes, the energy that radiated from her caught him off guard, but it was warm and alive and currently, a positive thing.
Before either of them could say anything else however, Sam emerged from outside and Asher, picking up on the look in the taller Winchester's face, headed over to her truck and promptly turned on her radio, doing all she could to cut off her superior hearing from what was going to be a private and tense moment. From her position, bent over her truck, she watched however, as Sam said some things to Dean that nearly brought the younger brother to tears and did bring tension into Dean's shoulders. As soon as Sam had returned to the house, Dean picked up a nearby crowbar and began wailing on the Impala, breaking all the windows and destroying the trunk lid. When he had finished and was standing there, breathing heavily and staring at the car with tears in his eyes, and Asher was standing closer, looking at him with her arms crossed over her chest, hiking her small t-shirt up just enough to show the first of the scars on her stomach.
"I'm sorry you're hurting," she said quietly. "Anything a monster can do?"
Dean looked up at her. "You're not a monster."
Asher stepped closer, until she was within touching distance. She took the crowbar from Dean's hand, her enhanced strength the only reason she was able to get it from his white-knuckled grip, and when he was without a weapon, she stepped even closer, until a deep breath would have made them touch. "Anything your favourite bitchy werewolf can do then?" she whispered.
Dean slid his arms around her waist and pulled her to him, putting his forehead on her shoulder and nose into her neck and Asher nuzzled her face against his neck in the doglike way she did and tightened her arms around his chest. "Thank you for being here, Asher," he mumbled into her hair.
"Where else was I going to go, asshat?" Her lips were against his neck, but he heard nonetheless and laughed.
As Dean pulled back, he kept his nose pressed to her cheek and brushed his lips against hers. Before, when she was sober, Asher had always retreated from contact like that, but this time she stepped into Dean as he moved away and kissed him full on the mouth. Dean's arms tightened again around her waist and he held her to his chest. The kiss started out fairly mild, but deepened quickly, Asher's hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck, the fingers of one hand tangling in his hair as Dean's hands slid under her t-shirt and across her sweaty skin.
When they broke apart a moment later, they were both breathing heavily and Asher's cheeks were flushed beneath the grease smudge. "What's with the change of heart?" Dean asked. "Not that I mind."
Asher gave him the more indignant look she could. "I saw you talking to Jo."
"And you were jealous, so you thought you'd make your point?"
She punched him playfully in the chest, leaving another smudge of grease on his shirt. "No," she snapped, her face turning serious. "No. What I saw was you not acting like yourself. What I saw was that you... You are upset, mad, lonely, frustrated... a whole slew of emotions and you won't talk to Sam—if beating up your car is any indication—and you won't talk to Bobby."
"So you're... what?"
Asher shrugged, her usual surly demeanour sliding back into place, all indications of outward affection quickly disappearing. "I'm just trying to give you some peace of mind, Dean," she sneered. "You are so wound up and you're not going to do anything about it except keep fixing your damn car as you try to hang on,—" here she held up a hand to shut Dean's protests up before he could speak "—No Dean, just listen. Sam was right, you're not okay." She fixed her blue eyes on him and, for the first time since he'd known her, Asher let him see everything she was feeling. "I can smell it, Dean," she whispered. "And I like you. So I don't want to see you hurting. I know you won't talk, so..."
Dean grabbed her face and kissed her again, deeper and more passionate than before. Asher put her hands over his and returned the kiss, drawing herself towards him. He dropped his hands to her hips and walked her backwards until she was pressed against the back of the Impala and could hop up to sit on the dented trunk and wrap her legs around his lips. Dean's kisses trailed down Asher's neck.
"Uh... I don't mean to interrupt," Amelia's voice said through the haze. There was a grin on her face as Dean and Asher both turned to face her. "Dinner's ready and Bobby said he's not keeping any for you two."
Amelia turned and headed back into the house and Dean and Asher followed a moment later, after they had both cooler down somewhat. As the pair walked back to the house, Dean took Asher's hand and squeezed it. "How long are you going to stay at Bobby's?" he asked.
Asher looked at him, gave him another real smile and whispered, "As long as you need me, asshat."
Author's Note.
So this is the first of several one-shots in the Supernatural series of fanfiction from me, myself and I.
I really like it, so I hope you enjoy it to. There was some personal emotion put into this one... Shauna will know what I'm talking about, because that's pretty much all I talk about anymore, but it's all okay.
Anyways, I'm very excited to write the next book.
Next Book: Werewolves.