A/N: My first Supernatural fiction involving an actual case. Enjoy and please feed the author.
Unfortunately, I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters, living or inanimate. If I did, I'd have a sweet ride and nice view on the way to work, everyday.
LEAVING DICK
Dothan, Alabama
Dean was sitting at the bar of a sports bar and restaurant drinking beer, waiting for his brother Sam to arrive. After finishing a case in Dothan, Sam decided to take a side trip to visit Jess' parents on the 5th anniversary of Jess' death. While Dean didn't like Sam being gone again so soon after their reunion, he understood why Sam felt it needed to happen. At the same time, he didn't feel the need to tag along. So, he sat in his hotel each day and sat in this bar each night, waiting for Sam to return – or another case to pop up, whichever came first.
As was the case every night, he sat watching people walk in and sit through their meals and/or drinks, interacting with people they came with or met. He would smile into his drink as he watched men get shot down by women they approached. He thought he was pretty good about picking out the women who were open to an encounter and the ones who weren't. He credited this ability for his many and varied successes with women over the years. He was currently scoring a 95% on his guesses, at just this location. Occasionally, there was a surprise: a woman who he'd pegged as up for anything that went home alone or a woman he was convinced was leaving alone left early with company.
He was thinking about calling Mel, the bartender, over to switch from beer to whiskey when he noticed a woman sitting at a table for two. Dressed in a black collared shirt and jeans, she looked uncomfortable and, to him, extremely sad. She kept pulling her long, dark hair to the front as if trying to hide part of her face, and pulling her collar up. His green eyes narrowed as he looked across the distance through the smoke to try to figure out what she was hiding.
Her company arrived at the table and she seemed to flinch when he put a large hand on her slight shoulder. Dean notice a whitening of the man's fingertips, indicating pressure and in that moment, Dean knew what he was looking at.
Dean was a hunter. Some would say that was a euphemism for a cold-blooded killer. He'd killed evil creatures in almost every perceivable incarnation and, in most cases, without second thought. He didn't kill indiscriminately, though. He killed creatures of pure evil and, in some cases, their human vessels – it was easier to think of them as "meat suits", as he'd heard a demon once describe his vessel. Demons burned up their vessels from the inside out and those few who could be separated weren't likely to survive long, if at all.
He was a criminal, too, wanted by the law for the murders of innocents killed by a monster pretending to be him and an attempted bank robbery that wasn't really an attempt on the bank, but part of a hunt. He had a box in his trunk of fake IDs and credit cards obtained through falsified documents. He and his brother were experts at breaking and entering. He'd even stolen a car or two, but only in desperate situations because he could never replace "Baby" – a black '67 Chevy Impala.
He'd been raised by a Marine, trained to be a soldier/hunter and taught to be ruthless until the job was done. Even his brother – his only real weakness and yet often the source of his strength – would say that Dean's moral compass wasn't exactly pointing to true north.
With all that said, Dean had a very strict code of ethics. And this man, gripping this woman's shoulder, was violating that code. As he looked at her, he could see the faded fingerprints on her neck that she was trying to hide with her collar. He wagered that her hair hid a bruise as well.
Dean watched as the man sat across from her and spoke to her, wagging a finger at her. She winced and her tears welled up as she spoke in turn. Angrily, the man reached across the table and grabbed her wrist, causing her to cry out - a sound barely audible over the loud music of the jukebox.
Dean slammed down his beer and rose. He threw some bills down on the bar, as he thought there was a good chance he wouldn't be coming back to settle up his bill later.
He wiped his mouth to make sure there was no residual beer lingering in his facial scruff, then dropped his chin slightly while squaring his broad shoulders and straightening his back to cross the room, hands flexing in and out of fists as he prepared for a fight.
"Excuse me, Miss," he said as he stopped at the table, his back to the man. Despite the anger he felt, he was able to offer her a small smile. "Are you okay?"
She looked up at him with incredible pale blue eyes that were red-rimmed with restrained tears and trimmed in thick black eyelashes. "What?"
He smiled with the confidence that his smile could be disarming. "I noticed that you seemed to be upset…"
"Mind your own business, bub," the man behind him growled.
"I would be happy to escort you home or – if necessary – anywhere else you may want to go," Dean ignored the man.
"I said," the man stood and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Mind your own business!"
In a flash, Dean had the man's offending hand twisted behind his own back and had the man bent over the table at the booth across from where the couple had been sitting. "I wasn't talk to you." He leaned forward, putting his opponent even more off-balance, and growled, deeply. "It's a little different when it's not a woman you're trying to beat up, isn't it?"
The woman stood. "Stop! Please! You don't know what you're doing!" She nearly screamed at Dean, who turned his attention to her, while continuing to keep the same upward pressure on the man's arm.
Now Dean could see the bruise just below her eye, fully and it infuriated him. "I can help get you out of here. He'll never touch you again."
Tears spilled out of her eyes as she shook her head. "You don't understand. Nobody can help me. Please!" She looked fervently at her escort. "He'll kill you!"
"She's right, Winchester!" the man's voice rumbled.
Dean frowned and looked down, wondering for a millisecond how this jackass knew his name, before the man reared back with a burst of sudden surge of strength, throwing Dean off his feet, over a table. Wincing with pain in his shoulder and backside from his landing, he straightened and looked at his opponent.
The man's eyes were completely black.
Dean grinned. "Well, this makes the job easier." He rose to his feet and suddenly the woman was next to him, holding his arm.
"Please stop! He'll kill you!" She begged. "He's done it already!"
Suddenly the explosive sound of a shotgun being fired into the ceiling caught the entire bar's attention. Mel stood behind the bar, leveling the shotgun at the demon. "Move and I will fill you full of holes. You both need to get out of here." When the demon made a motion to continue after Dean, Mel cocked the shotgun. "I have already called the cops. Dean, you and the lady, use the back door. You, buddy, use the front."
Dean nodded at Mel and took the woman's hand from his arm and pulled her out of the bar with him, ignoring her protests. Mel had known Dean was parked in the back parking lot and this would give him a head start to get the woman out. That was, of course, if the demon didn't vacate this suit and grab another already back there.
Exiting the bar, Dean looked carefully around the lot and continued to pull her to the Impala. When he opened the door for her to get in, he saw tears streaming down her face. He didn't have time to be gentle or offer explanation, so he barked. "Get in!"
She jumped but got into the car. He slammed the door and ran to jump behind the wheel. As he put the key in the ignition, he saw the brute lumbering into the parking lot, and slammed his foot on the gas and Baby peeled out of the parking lot.
A short time later, they arrived at his hotel, a dive with separate entrances to each room. He parked in front of the room and ran into the room with her in tow. He started packing up his stuff quickly as she melted onto the edge of one of the beds.
"He'll kill us both," she whispered, wringing her hands, terrified tears flowing without sobs.
He stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her. His eyebrows lowered as his eyes closed for a second to regain his patience. He grabbed a chair from the nearby table, walked over to her and sat in front of her. "What's your name?"
"Holly," she sniffled.
"Holly," he offered his hand. "I'm Dean."
She looked down at his hand and then back to his face. "Why did you do that?!"
Dean grinned. "Just lookin' for trouble, I guess."
She frowned at him, waiting.
Dean swallowed the grin. His green eyes met her blue eyes with intensity. "I know he beat you up."
Her eyes dropped in shame.
"I also know he's not the person you used to know. He's different now. More sinister?"
She frowned at him. "He more brutal. When he…hit…me before, he just seemed angry. Now he seems to enjoy it."
"So he hit you before?"
She lowered her head and began to weep, this time with small whimpering sounds. She nodded. "Since right after our honeymoon, almost ten years ago."
Dean was shocked. "Why would you stay?"
She put her face in her hands.
He shook his head. "When did he turn sadistic?" he asked. "Holly?" he prodded. "It's important."
"About six months ago," she whimpered. "His eyes turned black and he'd smile…" her tears returned in full force, causing her entire body to shake, but still making very little noise.
Dean was the last person in the world to have Dr. Phil moments, but this touched his heart, even as hardened as it was. He moved to sit next to her on the bed and put his arm around her loosely.
When he did, she stiffened and pulled away. "What are you doing?"
Dean shook his head and stood. "I don't even know. Listen, your bastard husband is now a demon-possessed bastard husband. I can protect you, make sure that he never hurts you again, but you need to trust me and we need to leave before he tracks us down."
She was frowning at him as if he'd lost his mind, which might have looked funny if not for the red eyes and tear stained face. "Demon?"
Dean nodded with his left hand on his hip, pushing back his worn leather jacket. "Black eyes give it away every time. And he knew my name."
She frowned and tilted her head. "He called you 'Winchester'."
He nodded with an attempt at a self-deprecating grin. "Yeah, well, I guess I'm a well-known pain-in-the-collective-asses of all demon-dom."
She looked down at her fingers. "So, Dean Winchester. How are you going to protect me from a…demon?"
He went back to packing. "First, I take you somewhere safe. Then I kill the demon possessing your husband."
"Will you kill Brett, too?"
"Brett? His name is Brett?" Dean was incredulous. "What kind of Ken-doll name is that for a woman-beating bastard? Is he over-compensating for too many wedgies in middle school?"
Holly smiled, despite herself. "He came from money. Mister Popularity and Football Star. So, I don't imagine he suffered many wedgies."
Dean grunted. "Still a pansy name."
She sobered. tempt at a self-deprecating grinnng back his worn leather jacketse"Will it kill him?"
Dean turned back to her finding her face stoic, despite the tearstains. "I won't lie to you, Holly. I can't guarantee that he will survive. Demons burn up their host bodies. Even if I can trap him and exorcise the demon, Brett might already be dead."
She nodded, looking down at her hands. She took a deep, shaky breath. "So, where will we go?"
"I have a friend in South Dakota, who has the best safe house ever. He's the foremost expert on all this kind of crap. You'll stay there until it's safe."
She nodded, sounding doubtful. "South Dakota."
Dean nodded. He finished packing. "Come on. Let's hit the road before Brett tracks us down."
"I don't have any way to repay you…" Holly said when she stood.
"And you will never need to," Dean opened the door and looked out. "Come on; it's clear."
~υπερφυσικός~