A/N: I've finally decided to post this story. This is a Dean/OFC story, yes, but the romance isn't immediate. This is the first part to a series that will follow season by season. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in the Supernatural series. I own only my own original characters.
Bad Company
Trouble with a Capital S and D
"Look, Dean, I think we could be doing something a lot more productive than hunting down some person named," the brunette made a face down at the journal on the table that rested between the two of them, "Tuesday." Samuel Winchester shook his head and shoved the journal back toward his brother, glancing briefly at the two names written in their father's familiar scrawl with a dark line scratched underneath them. "This is stupid. We shouldn't be down here in freaking Texas."
The elder brother leaned back in his seat, taking a bite out of the cheeseburger in hand before poking at the two names. "Take a look at her last name again, Sammy." Dean retorted with pieces of meat spewing out of his mouth and across the table. "Both of them—James and TuesdayColt," he reiterated and ignored the look of disgust etched onto his brother's face. "A big lead could be right here, Sam, and we have the address."
"How many people have that last name? How can you be sure these people are even connected to the Colt?" Sam asked in exasperation and glared at the other man.
"Would our dad put these people down in their journal if they weren't worth going after, huh?" Dean sneered back before scoffing and glancing out the window which the two of them were seated beside. After a moment, the glare vanished and a smirk stretched across his face. "Dude, look." he whispered. "There is a smoking hot babe checking out my baby."
Following his gaze, Sam let out a loud groan and sunk down in his seat. "No. Dean—" he scowled as his brother stood up from his seat. "No. We're not here so that you can pick up on chicks—Dean." He hissed at the elder Winchester while standing up from his own seat, the legs scraping against the linoleum. "Dean!"
Dean Winchester approached the woman from behind, watching as she doubled over and peeked into the Impala, poking her rear out toward him as she did. The woman leaned up, tucking strands of blonde behind her ear as she pressed her hand against the sleek black and traced her fingers along the frame. The man watched as she walked with growing interest, his emerald gaze running over her long tanned legs, the formfitting plaid shirt, the jean shorts that stopped at her upper thigh and his smirk widened. When she noticed him there, she gasped in surprise and stared back and forth between him and the car with ice blue orbs.
"I—" she sent him a meek look. "I'm guessing this is your Impala I've been rubbing all up on, right?" The woman inquired with a smooth southern accent and stepped back from the car. "I'll get out of your way. It's just that you never see something as beautiful as this," she touched the car again, "that much anymore." She explained.
"You're certainly right about that." Dean replied under his breath and let his gaze roam over her once again. "Do you know a little something about cars, sweetheart?"
The stranger sent him her own smirk and strolled around to the other side of the Impala, leaning over on the trunk so that he had a complete view of the black lace hidden underneath her shirt. With her giving him a, what seemed to be, come hither look, he walked around to the other side of the trunk and leaned over it so that the two of them were inches from one another.
"I know more than you would think. What can I say? I'm smart and gorgeous." Batting her lashes, she leaned in closer to him and her smile widened. "So, what are you doing all the way down here, handsome? Those Kansas plates aren't for nothing, I'm sure."
"Searching for some…family," he lied smoothly. "Tell me, beautiful, do you live around here? You might've heard of them before. Tuesday and James Colt?" he inquired and noticed how her expression faltered for a moment before the smile reappeared. "I'm guessing that you do know about them? C'mon, you can tell me."
The woman tucked more hair behind her ear and looked anxious. "Well, people around here don't go talking about them Colts much, you know?" She rubbed the back of her neck. "I heard all of them are bat-shit crazy. I don't mean to insult you—being related to them and all." He shook his head and she gave a shrug. "But, shit, people talk and it probably ain't all that true since you're related to them."
"Aren't you just sweet as sugar?" He joked with a poor southern accent. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his younger brother approaching him and leaned back to which the woman gave a frown. "Hey there, Sammy." he bit out. "I was just talking to my friend here who was telling me about our relatives—Tuesday and James."
The woman cocked her head to the side and leaned over the car to stretch out her hand which Sam accepted with reluctance and shook. She perked up and sent then both another of her charming smiles. "If y'all want, I'd be more than happy to take you to the Colt place." She pointed toward a faded blue pickup truck on the other side of the parking lot. "Just follow me on up there, alright boys?" Patting the Impala one more time, she turned around and started walking over to her own vehicle.
"Oh, wow, uh, thanks," Sam managed awkwardly.
Glancing over her shoulder, she winked at the two men. "No need to thank me so long as handsome there takes me out for a drink or two tonight."
"Dude, yes," Dean whispered toward Sam once the woman was out of hearing range.
"Just take it to her place instead of the hotel." Sam answered in a frustrated tone.
The blue truck slowed down as it turned onto a gravel road that led to an abandoned ranch. There were some older cars that had been put up on cement blocks, the windows had been boarded up, a barn was in the distance that looked as broken down as the home, and it appeared that no one had lived in the home for decades, let alone having people inside at the current time. Their escort hopped down out of her truck, walking around to stand in front of their own car and waited for them to get out with a smile on her face.
"Either these people are off their rockers, don't want to be found, or we've been brought to the wrong place." Dean mumbled under his breath as the two of them opened their individual door. "You sure this is the right place, sweet thing?" He inquired and strolled up to her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"This is the place Ma and Pa warned me to stay away from, yeah." She answered and wrapped an arm around his waist flirtatiously. "You want to let me knock? Someone might be more inclined to answer to me since, you know, I'm from around here. Mom and Pop used to be real close to these people before they got loony." She explained without going in depth and moved up the porch, in front of the door to knock twice.
When there was no immediate answer, she knocked again but Dean stepped in to knock with more force. As their guide took a step back, the two men stepped forward and Sam reached down to the doorknob, twisting cautiously before realizing the door was open. The Winchester siblings now on edge, Sam opened the door while Dean turned his head to glance back at the blonde who had a concerned expression etched onto her face.
"We can take it from here, gorgeous. Meet you at the bar down the road from the gas station? Nine?" she gave a hesitant nod and he smiled. "See you then and we can get to know each other a lot more." He promised and she sent him a small smile before he turned back around and followed Sam into the home, closing the door behind him as he went.
Sam walked deeper into the home with his handgun raised while Dean grabbed his own weapon from his waistband and took an immediate left into a large room. There was a sleeping bag in the middle of the floor, surrounded by emptied fast food wrappers and junk food from the local gas station, and a lantern. Beside the camping area was a thick journal in the middle of a shotgun, silver blade, and a handgun that had been pulled apart to be cleaned. As he bent down to search the journal, there was a loud thump from the other room.
"Sammy?" Dean called out, voice echoing through the home. "Sam!" There was no response back and the older brother stood up, hand clenching tighter around his gun. There was another sound down the hall to which Dean began walking toward faster than before. He entered the kitchen where his brother was sprawled out, unconscious. "Sam! Damn it!" He snarled.
There was a sound behind him and he turned around, someone running a shovel into the side of his face, sending him sprawling down on the ground beside Sam into unconsciousness.
"Rise and shine there, sunshine," a sharp voice called out to Dean through the darkness, making him groan as a pain bloomed in the side of his head and spread throughout the rest of his skull. When he blinked against the pain, he glanced around the room before looking at the blonde woman who guided them to the home. "Howdy there," she drawled out sarcastically. "Been waiting for you with your, uh, whatever he is." She explained while motioning toward Sam who was awake and to the side of him
"What the hell is going on?" Dean snarled and leaned forward in his own chair, struggling against the rope that had been wound around his torso. "You bitch. Who are you? Really?" he asked angrily and then stared down at the devils trap around both him and Sam.
The blonde leaned down on her makeshift seat that consisted of a bucket. "You tell me," she replied. "You two are the ones who came here looking for me." She tipped an imaginary hat to the two with a wry grin. "Tuesday Colt here and at your service…"
"Wait," Sam called out. "You're Tuesday Colt?" The two brothers exchanged glances and he looked back at her. "Our dad wrote about you in his journal. We came here to look for you and another person named James." He explained. "We swear we aren't here to hurt you. We just want to talk."
Tuesday stood up with a bottle in hand, cocking her head to the side. "I might be inclined to believe you, but hell, you two could be some demons." Unscrewing the lid to the plastic bottle, she swished around the liquid for a moment before tossing it into Dean's face, following suit with Sam. When there were no adverse side effects, she plopped back down onto her makeshift seat, stretching her legs out. "Both human," she clapped her hands. "You can go ahead and start talking now. Who was your daddy?"
"That's it?" Dean inquired and snorted. "What kind of a backwoods hunter are you? We could be something other than a demon—not that we are—and you wouldn't even know, you freaking amateur."
When her gaze narrowed at him, Sam cleared his throat. "Dean, can you stop pissing off the person who has us tied up in her living room please?"
"Checked you with silver already, dick." She waved her free hand toward his arm where a cut had been drawn along his the top of his hand. "It woke up the partner here, so I decided to wait to ask y'all some questions before I did the demon check. You passed it. So, I'm asking again, who was your daddy?"
"John Winchester," Dean ground out while struggling against the rope. "Now will you let us go?"
Their captor stared at them and cocked her head to the side, processing what he had said to her before she shook her head and let out a loud laugh once. "You're kidding me, right? You're fucking kidding." She stood up and threw the blade in hand down into the floor. "What? Daddy got you running errands for him now? You tell him that I'm not giving him jack—"
"What in the blue hell is going on here?"
The three people in the room stared at the man who hung in the doorway who glowered at the blonde woman. In response to the heated look, the aforementioned woman glanced at the ground, shoulders slumping as she took a step back toward her two captives. The older man sighed in exasperation and stomped past her—making her cringe in the process—and grabbed the blade out of the floor, cutting at the ropes subduing the two men. The oldest hunter in the room turned back around, sending a look toward Tuesday that could put her six feet under if a glare could kill.
"Bobby," she attempted to soothe over and sent him a crooked grin. "No need to get all bent out of shape—especially not in your condition." Leaning forward, she patted his upper arm. "The condition of being old and all, I mean." She joked.
"Girl, you better shut up now." Bobby Singer snarled and stepped in front of her which made the woman duck her head down. "You've been ignoring phones calls, hiding out in this place, and from all the bandages shoved in the trash can outside, I can tell you've been on a bunch of suicide missions. You better have a good excuse for all this, you idjit."
"I…well, you see—the two of them—" the blonde glanced over her shoulder and stared at the two men before looking back at the man in front of her. "I ain't got nothing good at this point, Bobby—sir." She amended and rubbed the back of her neck.
Bobby murmured something under his breath before he pointed toward the bucket that she had previously been seated on. Tuesday shuffled toward the seat and dropped down, her head ducked as he turned his back on Dean and Sam to stare down at her. From the other side of the room, Sam had to cough under his breath to hide the amusement—which Dean outright showed from beside him—at the sight of an old drunk about to parent some woman who was as old as both himself and his brother.
"Charlie was a hunter and he died. That's the natural order in this life." She cringed, but remained silent as he continued. "You need to buck up and accept that. You need to stop all this running around with a sign that says 'I'm trying to commit suicide so just kill me now' on your back." He then twisted to point at the other two men. "And I don't care that your daddy and John had some dumb fight years ago. Along with all this other crap, you need to stop holding a grudge that isn't your own."
Tuesday opened her mouth but closed it instead, opting not to talk back. Bobby sent her one last glare before turning around and sending the same intense look toward Dean and Sam who both froze. "I'm waiting for the two of you to start explaining."
The two exchanged glances before Sam reached into his jacket and pulled out the journal hidden within. The younger Winchester brother flipped open to the page where Tuesday Colt was scribbled onto the page and flashed it to Bobby. He looked over the paper for a moment before glancing back at her then toward them once again. The older man shoved the journal back at them with an irritated glare.
"You two came a long way for nothing. You won't find anything with her."
Dean looked at him and silence passed between the four people in the room for a few moments before he stepped forward, still staring at Bobby. "You're lying, aren't you? Now, are you going to tell us the truth or not?"
"Since you trust them so much," she drawled sarcastically as she made a face, "then I guess there's no problem with telling them about it. I mean, it isn't like the two of them would, y'know, take advantage, right? Since you trust them so much," she elaborated the same point a second time.
"Don't get smart with me, Colt."
"Well, these are the bouncing baby boys of John Winchester, Bobby." Tuesday cried out suddenly and kicked the bucket to the side. "Do I need to remind you what that bastard did all those times? All those damned—" she slammed her hand against the wall. "I'm not stupid. The two are looking for the demon that killed mommy, aren't they? So what do you expect is going to happen when I tell them, huh?"
"Uh, sorry, sister, but the kids are in the room so I would really appreciate it if the both of you didn't talk about us like we weren't here." Dean snarled toward her and her jaw clenched as she turned her angry gaze on him. "What the hell are the two of you talking about? And I know we've asked this before, but who the hell are you, lady?"
Sam let out a breath of disbelief. "You're really connected to him—to Samuel Colt." He declared. "That's the only reason our dad would come looking for you. He wanted something from you—the Colt."
"Samuel Colt was my great-something granddaddy, yeah." Tuesday nodded. "And, obviously, he wanted the Colt, but none of us had it. No one in our family has had it since the time Samuel Colt was still kicking. Your daddy never took no for an answer, though. But when no one gave it up, he tried paying me to make another."
Dean held up his arms and began to wave them around, cutting her off from speaking another word. "Hold on one damn minute." He walked forward and gripped her shoulders until she couldn't budge. "You can make another Colt. As in create another gun that can kill any monster out there?"
"Yes. Yes, I can. And," then her clenched fist moved up and smashed into his cheek, sending him sprawling to the floor as she towered over him, "you ever touch me like that again and I'll be putting your boys up in my dashboard like a damn trophy, Winchester."