Chapter one;;
Dean awoke to the obnoxious buzzing of his cell phone. Even if it was on vibrate, the stupid thing was still able to wake him. He rolled over with a groan and quickly snatched the object off of his night stand.
"Hello?" he said, rubbing his eyes as he peered at the clock.
Who'd be calling at 2 AM?
"Winchester?" the voice on the other line asked.
Dean, confused and drowsy, sat up, suspicion growing. "Yeah."
"We need to meet," from this, Dean could tell it was women, her voice soft and alluring. But under the initial tone, he sensed desperation.
"Ok," Dean replied, unsure of what to say.
"Tomorrow, around noon. Meet me at Café London on 6th street."
Dean nodded to himself, noting the directions to his memory.
"What's this meeting for?"
"It's a job."
Dean considered this a moment. He wondered if it was a trap set up for him and Sam, but for some reason he doubted that greatly. A café in the middle of the day? If it was some demon trying to kill them, it wasn't the most creative destination. Although, this woman calling so early in the morning did raise some suspicion. Maybe it was just out of sure desperation that caused her to call. But, then again, how did she get their number? And how did she know they were hunters?
"Can you at least give me some idea of what this is about?" Dean asked, slightly annoyed by the client's vagueness.
There was a pause on the end of the line. He heard the women draw in a deep breath.
"I'm going to die."
////
"Hurry up, Sammy!" Dean hollered, pounding on the bathroom door.
Sam sighed, drying his hands and quickly exiting the restroom. From what Dean had told him, some woman was providing them with a job. Even so, Sam couldn't help but doubt the client's motives.
Sam glanced over at Dean, who was frantically inspecting his reflection in the full-length mirror placed in the corner of their small hotel room.
"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.
Dean ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his denim jacket. "I want to make a good first impression," he replied, turning to his brother with a broad smile. "Besides, she sounded like a total babe."
Sam groaned, exiting the room without waiting for him. Of course Dean would be focused on the woman's appearance rather than her dilemma. The man was a notorious womanizer.
The brothers slipped into their car, shutting the doors quickly.
"Alright, Sammy. Let's do this!" Dean exclaimed, as the Impala roared to life.
Dean couldn't take his mind of the phone call last night. Even if the conversation was brief, Dean could tell that this woman was his type. He pictured her a blonde or brunette, with a slamming body and nice ass. No matter how shallow or conceited this may have been, Dean was Dean and couldn't help it.
"You sure this is the place?" Sam questioned, as Dean pulled the car into a parking space.
"Café London on 6th street. Yup, this is it," Dean announced, shutting of the car and hopping out.
Sam followed him to the restaurant, glancing around at his surroundings and to the small coffee shop. It was a small structure on the corner of the street, sticking out among the large buildings neighboring it. A large sign with elegant font confirmed their destination, as the hunters entered the building.
"Can I help you?" the young waitress asked, smiling politely at the two men.
"Ah, yes. Um, table for…three," Dean replied, a charming smirk tugging at his lips.
"Okay. There might be a little wait, so may I have your name?"
"Put it under Winchester."
The waitress stopped writing and looked up, setting the pencil back down. "You already have a reservation, sir," she said, with a confused frown.
Dean glanced back at Sam, raising an eyebrow.
"Right. We must have forgotten," Sam insisted, recovering quickly. He eyed his brother and shrugged, figuring they might as well go along with it.
The waitress escorted them to through a set of French doors that led to an outside patio, their table situated at the far corner of the space. Dean and Sam sat down, feeling out of place at this elegant, white table.
"I feel like I'm gonna break this chair in half," Dean muttered, gruffly, gesturing to the delegate seating.
Sam let out a chuckle and then checked his watch. "She's late."
"What time is it?" Dean asked, looking around, assuming she was there, but didn't see them.
"12:07."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Seven minutes late? C'mon, Sam. It's not-" Dean stopped, glancing up as a slender figure moved toward them, her gaze fixed on the brothers. "Showtime."
Dean and Sam twisted in their chairs, staring as the woman strolled over to them, her movements graceful and serene. She had an athletic build, with long, muscular legs and a small waist. Black, straight hair fell slightly passed her shoulders. Some of the locks were pulled back out of her face, although a couple strands framed her high cheekbones. Hazel eyes shone brightly, complimenting her slightly tan skin. The woman wore dark jeans and a denim jacket. A black, thin-strapped tank top lay under her covering, the dainty shirt covered with elaborate, red beading.
She didn't sit when she reached the table, just stood there, observing the guests she had invited.
"Winchesters?" she asked, the attracting voice matching her stunning looks.
"God, I hope so," Dean replied, smiling amiably.
Dean mentally cheered at his luck.
Sorry, Sammy, but she's mine. He thought, checking her out once again. Maybe it wasn't a perfect outline of his imagination, hell, maybe it even topped it. She definitely had a nice rack, but he hadn't had a chance to confirm the back-end. The hunter was almost positive it'd be more than acceptable.
"Cameron Daniels," she greeted, extending her hand to the first brother.
"Dean," he said, shaking her surprisingly cold hand. He stared at her, the black make-up defined her oval shape eyes, but made the dark circles under them stand out. The marks were distinguished, making Dean wonder how long Cameron had been without sleep.
"I'm Sam," he shook her hand, admiring the attractive woman and waited as she took a seat across from them.
"I'm so glad you're here," she uttered, almost to herself.
"Well, I'd do anything to a damsel in distress," Dean admitted, grinning. Sam cleared his throat, desperately hoping his brother would mend his crude comment. "I mean… anything for a damsel in distress."
She gawked at Dean for a moment, taken off guard by this light-hearted comment. The rumors she had heard about the boys didn't seem to fit now. They seemed so care-free and without burden. She would have to carefully observe them to ensure that she would not be betrayed. Although, it's not like she had any other choices.
She sighed. "You are my last hope."
Dean and Sam glanced at each other, the amusement melting away and sobering into seriousness. Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"Can we ask you how you know who we are…and what we do." Sam inquired, trying to not sound too earnest.
"I'm not much different from you two," she replied simply causing Sam gaze back, curiously. "I'm a hunter too."
Dean's eyes widened, but he quickly hid his shock. Now that he thought about it, it really did make sense. Her athletic build, graceful movements, and mystifying manner did all fit the hunter's style.
She opened up her jacket to reveal a large dagger securely attached to the lining by a strap. Below it was two small bags of salt. Dean could only imagine the gear she had stashed in her car and luggage. Quickly, she let go of her cover, the weapons falling out of sight.
"Alright, if you're a hunter then why would you need our help?" Dean chimed in, trying to keep his voice low to avoid attention. "Can't you defend yourself?"
He didn't mean to be harsh, but this was the only way he knew how to get information. If she really was a hunter, then she'd understand his methods to gather info. Especially when the world was filled with deceivers and evil.
She narrowed her eyes at Dean, accepting his challenge and patronizes. "I've been a hunter all my life. If it was something I could handle, I wouldn't dare to ask for anyone's help."
"Then why did you pick us? Did you just open a phone book, close your eyes, and hope for the best?" Dean ventured.
"I have my reasons for choosing you," she hissed, temper beginning to flare. "I've heard much about you two. You're among the best and I thought you'd understand. However, I doubt myself now."
"How about you tell us your problem," Sam insisted, trying to break the argument brewing between his brother and the client.
Dean shifted in his seat. Stubborn, cruel, and unwilling to disclose information easily? He liked this girl. He could tell by the way she held herself, the way she responded to pressure, that she knew the ropes of this world. She had seen much and lived through a lot. This stirred-up a mysterious atmosphere, surrounding her entirely.
She exhaled, mentally preparing herself to reveal her story.
"For the past two weeks, I've been having these dreams. Strange dreams. At first, they didn't make any sense. But, gradually, I was able to piece things together. The last couple nights I finally assembled all the clues. Next week, Friday the 13th, I'm going to be killed by a powerful demon."
"You got all this from a few dreams?" Dean interrupted, skeptical.
She glared at him. "Have you ever had repetitive dreams? Over and over again? It doesn't even have to be the future…it can be the past. Or both."
Dean stiffened. A chill ran up his spine, suddenly silencing him. One word ran through his head: Hell.
When Cameron received no retort from the hunter, she continued. "Not only did I conclude my death, but I also found a few things out. There's going to be signs this week. I have no idea what or when, but for some reason I'm positive there will be. The demon is going to come after midnight on Friday the 13th. And…I found out that this demon…is going to drag me to Hell."
Dean and Sam internally cringed.
"You want proof, Dean?" she asked, fiercely, addressing his previous comment, with a crazed look in her eyes. "Here's your proof."
She tugged at the sleeve of her denim jacket, gently uncovering her left shoulder. Deep scratches lined her arm, tracing all the way down to her elbow. They were red and swelled, almost as if she was just scratched. Deep purple bruises began to surround the three claw marks, adding to the gruesome sight.
Dean swallowed hard, glancing from the gashes to Cameron, her eyes never leaving him.
"God…" Sam muttered in response to the wounds.
"I'm not imagining things," she stated. "It takes one hell of a demon to be able to influence my mind and inflict this type of damage without being in a human body."
She gingerly slipped her jacket back over the slashes, wincing as the material rubbed against the tender wound.
"The worst part is, is that I got this last night and instead of healing, it feels as though I just got the cuts moments ago."
"Do you think a hex has to do with it?" Sam asked.
Cameron shrugged. "Maybe. It'd make sense. If there's going to be premeditated attacks on me then perhaps there's an old ritual that ties in too."
Sam nodded, thoughtfully. "If that's the case, then if we break the ritual it should slow down or even stop the demon."
"Hopefully." Cameron glanced over at Dean who eyes were focused in the distance. She became slightly annoyed by this, but didn't comment on his rudeness. After a long moment, she sighed, weariness suddenly over taking her. The whole thing was a mess.
"So, will you guys help me? I really don't want to go to hell," she laughed, but the fear in her voice was definite.
"Of course," Sam said instantly, not being able to resist his urge to help her. Sam glanced over at Dean and gave him a nudge to grab his attention.
"So, we're basically your bodyguards?" Dean asked, amusement returning to his demeanor.
Cameron's cheeks reddened unexpectantly, embarrassed at the thought of being protected like a weak heroine. "Umm, I guess so."
Dean smirked at her discomfort. "Alright, but we're in charge."
She stood up to leave, glaring at Dean, furious. "To an extent," she warned.
Dean raised an eyebrow, determined to get the woman's full commitment.
"Ugh, fine!" she moaned and then sighed. "I'm going to restroom; I'll be right back. And thank you again, Sam," she turned and glowered at his brother. "Dean."
Dean smiled innocently as Cameron snorted and stormed off. He instantly turned, his stare following the woman's stride back into the café. He definitely was not disappointed by her luscious rear end.
"Dean," Sam called, getting his older brother's attention. "What do you think you're doing?"
Dean shrugged, relaxing in his chair. "Just getting to know my client is all, Sammy."
"She's going to end up kicking your ass."
"Oh, I hope so," Dean confessed, receiving an unsurprised groan from his brother.
///