This is a little something that's been kicking around in my head and I found a wonderful and I mean wonderful Beta to help me make it huge! A huge shout out to wandertogondor, who without her wouldn't be this amazing! You should all check out her stories, amazing! I off course own nothing but Thea and everything you don't recognize. I hope you enjoy!
***SUPERNATURAL***
She doesn't know what makes her stop at the old salvage yard, but there's something that compels her to. Maybe it's because her old Judge will fit right in with the black Impala or maybe because it feels like home; the forgotten relics of American history.
Turning into the yard she slows to a stop. There are lights on inside but the door seems so far away. Fumbling with her keys, her hands are slipping on the door and her legs aren't working properly but she manages to make it halfway up the driveway regardless.
Stumbling, she falls face first onto the ground, stones cutting deep. She can't find it in herself to move. There's the sound of an old hound barking, an irritated male voice, and the sound of heavy boots on the gravel. She can feel herself being turned over. While blinking back the blood she can see green eyes peering down at her but she can't hold onto consciousness anymore, the world goes black around her.
It's the voices that wake her; it carries through the open door and take her from her land of repreve. She's in a soft bed, scented with a men's cologne and what smells distinctly like transmission oil. It disorients her. All she can remember is running, running from the fire, running from them. She listens carefully, hoping to god that they haven't found her, that she somehow made it to safety. The only voices she can hear are all male, each as distinct as the last. One's gruff and gritty, but the words sound almost teasing. The second is gentle and soft, she guesses he's younger than the first. The third is harder to hear, almost like he's being purposefully quiet but it sounds like he's just taken a shot of good whiskey, husky and smooth.
She sits up gingerly. Her stomach's still bruised and incredibly tender, so is her face. Pretty much her entire body. She's not wearing what she came in. Her torn and bloody clothes have been replaced with an oversized men's t-shirt and boxers. It sends a cold chill right through her thinking: what if these men aren't any better than the last?
Scanning the room she notices the lack of mirrors, how neat the room is, and generally how plain. It looks almost militaristic. Her curiosity gets the better of her and she inches out of the bed slowly. Testing her legs and trying her weight, she manages to make her way to the door and softly down the stairs. She's so concentrated on getting from step to step that she doesn't realize the voices have stopped talking, it's not until the bottom that she feels their eyes on her.
There's a super tall, long haired guy with the biggest brownest puppy dog eyes she's ever seen, he looks more concerned than curious. There's an older man with a trucker's cap and a beard, there's wariness in his eyes, a careful caution written across his face. The third is shorter than the first, green eyes filled with pain and hurt and mistrust with sandy brown hair and a solid build.
She can't help it, her inner smartass comes out and she points a thumb at herself,
"Thea."
She watches Puppy Eyes grin and point towards himself,
"Sam" and pointing at Beard he says, "Bobby and that's my brother Dean."
She can't help the smile that crosses her face, causing her to wince as it aggravates the cuts and bruises. Sam motions to her toward the table where a box of pizza is laying open. Her stomach rumbles. She hasn't eaten since the attack.
Trying her best to follow Sam her knees go out and her head gets dizzy but there's a warm arm wrapped around her waist, mindful of the cuts and bruises. She can smell the same cologne and it hits her that it's Dean's clothes she's wearing. Looking up at him mustering a smile but he just nods and keeps walking her over to the table, helping her into a chair. He moves to sit on her right side, chair tilted back ever so slightly.
She doesn't know they're all watching her eat the slice like a starving mad woman, she can't help the sounds of appreciation that escape her either. Thankfully they let her scarf down the food before Sam starts in, his voice soft and soothing, as if he's talking to a frightened animal.
The shame wells up and the tears form but she owes them some explanation, after all they have done for her. She'll recount and relive this memory, more than she ever wants to, she'll have nightmares, some that will wake up the whole house but now, in this moment, with men she's just met, she knows the memories won't hurt her. She doesn't want to look at them - doesn't want them to see the tears in her eyes and definitely doesn't want to see the the pity in theirs. So instead she focuses out the window, starting with the shop, how her own friends tied her to the hoist and beat her, how they starved her and mocked her. She doesn't tell them what they had intended to do to her, she just pushes on, she tells them how they cut her with her dad's old knife, how they poured the gas and left her there, with the fire raging around her. Luckily the fire had eaten through the ropes, letting her free...that she smashed through the door and just kept driving.
She can hear the sharp intake of breath. Thea doesn't realize she's crying until the wet droplets dot across her lap. She tries to wipe them away before the others can see but she knows that they've already seen. Thea never cries,not when her boozer dad just wondered off leaving her in the care of her grandfather. She'd always been a one woman army but she didn't feel so strong anymore.
When Bobby offers up a shower, a chance to try and wash them all off her, she's grateful. She just wants to peel away her skin. Standing on shaky legs she follows the directions to the shower, carefully avoiding their eyes.
***SUPERNATURAL***
He has always been a fixer. Having been so used to looking out for Sammy, his instinct was to carefully dab away all the blood on her face and to carefully stitch what looked like a knife wound on her side. He's so used to being a caretaker, to chasing the supernatural, that he doesn't think this could have been human. It's him, not Bobby or Sam, that wiped away the blood surronding the various small cuts on her arms, who settled her into bed and tucked the blankets up under her chin.
He could feel their eyes on him as he worked and, after when she was carefully tucked in his bed, his knuckles went white around the beer bottle in his hand. He couldn't help but check on her every two hours or so. Finally falling asleep on Bobby's old sofa he dreams of hell and he dreams of her. He dream's of his own damnation and of the girl upstairs.
Sam wakes him up with the smell of pizza, he tries to shake away the vision of himself with black eyes, but it just won't leave completely. None of the hunters mention anything, each absorbed in their own thoughts. The soft sound of feet on the stairs breaks his thoughts, Sam beats him to his feet which is probably a good thing. Sammy's always been dewy-eyes with soft words and soothing sounds. Dean's always been hard, a fighter.
Staring at her he doesn't see a broken battered girl, he sees a woman who probably fought like hell. Someone bruised and fractured but not broken. He should know. He's been shattered more than once. He watches her one good eye travel over them, how there's a careful hope in her eye, how she points her thumb and talks.
"Thea."
Her voice isn't soft or honeyed but it isn't hoarse either. It's like smoke, like a blues singer. She struggles trying to follow Sam and Dean isn't surprised. She's dizzy. He's mindful as he wraps an arm around her midriff and guides her to a chair. He knows Sammy is going to ask her what happened and Dean doesn't want to scare her so he sits on her right, his face darkening slightly.
He tries not to move but its hard, Dean's eyes never leaves her profile, never straying from the curvatures of her face. It doesn't surprise him that she's a mechanic, he can't picture her in an office, but what she says next hits him like a punch to the gut. They were her friends, people she cared about. They rule out demons, Thea had no trace of sulfur anywhere on her and Sam checked the surrounding areas for activity and came up with nothing. He doesn't think she knows she's crying, the tears fall glistening off her swollen cheekbone, the purple bruises contrasts horribly with her pale skin.
He's catalogued each jagged cut, each bruise, the red hand marks around her throat, the cigarette burns that mare her arms. He does it so if he ever comes across these bastards he can repay them for each deed they had done to her. Dean's not sure why this overprotective streak has been thrown into overdrive but he has always loved and protected woman.
Sam's eyes stare into his, disbelief, horror, shock, theres nothing he can offer to make either of them feel any better. Thankfully Bobby seems to know what Thea needs, she seems grateful for the prospect of a shower. With eyes still averted, she makes her way up the stairs and they wait until the door shuts and the old pipes creek.
As much as he doesn't like it, he knows Bobby's right, they don't kill humans, no matter the crimes they've committed. It doesn't have to be said, Thea can stay, but it makes their jobs harder. Dean needs a breather, needs to get away from the sight of her all battered, needs to calm the murder that rages on inside him. So he does what always calms him, works on the Impala. He fixates himself on changing the oil and getting out the slight dent in the bumper that's been driving him crazy.
***SUPERNATURAL***
She's horrified when she looks into the bathroom mirror. Her left eye is swollen shut, cheekbones decorated with bruises, lips split, and there's blood in her hair. The rest of her body is no different, sore and stiff and swollen. Warm water cascades over her but she just stands under the water pressure and cries. The soap is coarse but she just keeps rubbing...wishing she could just scrape off the skin where their fingers had touched her. She can hear Sam knock on the door, mentioning that he's leaving her dufflebag at the door. And she's all alone again.
She thinks about how Sam looks at her like she'll break. She knows he means well but she hated being victimized. It was something her incredibly loving father had drilled into her.
Bobby makes her feel safe in a fatherly sort of way, he's gruff but he gives a damn, especially about Sam and Dean. She can tell.
And Dean looks like the type she's been avoiding all her life. The three seem to fit together, each lending their own mix to the unique blend.
The waters run cold, pushing her out of the shower and into the warmth of a towel. Her bag's right outside the door just like Sam had said. He must have grabbed it from the backseat of her Judge. There's her panties and bras, clothes that she'd long forgotten about. Sliding on her old worn sports bra and a pair of boy shorts all she can find are her old jogging pants. She hesitates but pulls on Dean's shirt instead, it's big and comforting and, most importantly, it lets her disappear. And something tells her that he won't mind.
Her face is still colored and cut, her eyes look hollow but she feels better, a little cleaner. The house is quiet and still when she opens the door, she can't hear anyone, theres no response when she calls out. Her eyebrows draw together, where are they? Not entirely sure what she should do she heads downstairs, remembering the heaps of metal outside she starts for the door but the ground looks hard and she has no shoes.
***SUPERNATURAL***
Dean had fallen asleep shortly after Bobby and Sam came out to the garage to tell him that they were leaving to help another hunter close by. Truth be told he probably wouldn't have awoken from the couch if he hadn't heard her steps on the loose board. She's incredibly quiet as she stealthily slips past the couch where he's lying to stare out the back door. He wants to say something but watches through half closed eyelids as her head tilts to the side, as she slides both feet in a pair of old boots. The door opens and closes with little sound. And he's slipping on his own boots to follow her.
The sunlight catches her dark hair, the droplets of water look like little crystals. He watches her sit on the roof of an old beat up Camaro. Her heads tilted upwards, hands clutched together in her lap and she looks peaceful, almost like she belongs, a scrap yard angel.
Ok, so he's a little more exhausted then he's been letting on. His shirt looks to big on her but he likes the fact she;s wearing it. She doesn't seem surprised when he takes a spot on the hood of the car, but just offers up another tiny smile and keeps looking at the stars. Entranced. It's the only way to describe what he feels, she's a different kind of woman, foreign. He's used to women that either want him to rescue them, barflies who only want one thing, or women who want nothing to do with him...either way, all of it leads to sex.
Thea, however, doesn't seem to fit into any of these categories, her hands are littered with scars, mechanic hands, arms toned just enough to be sexy and she hasn't played the damsel in distress role once. Her eyes are light, not quite hazel but not a deep brown, they're toffee colored and full of determination. He has no doubt that as soon as the bruises are gone she'll be gone. She's not a conventional beauty, too tall, too many curves and pale, almost sickly, but beneath all the scars and cuts she is beautiful. She's definitely not the type to be pushed over. She's sturdy, strong.
They don't talk for the first little while they're out there for. He just enjoys her company. There's no pressure to open up about the deal, no nothing. Somehow she's moved down from the roof and next to him on the hood, leaning onto his side, her damp hair on his shirt but they're comfortable.
"So you're a mechanic, know anything about '67 impalas?"
The dry look she sends his way amuses him, "not as well as my old pontiac but yeah, my grand dad owned the shop before he passed. Taught me everythin' I know. "
"Dad taught me everything about the impala before he handed her over. Had to rebuild her from the ground up once, she's my baby."
He catches the way she looks at him, "I cant see her sittin' in a yard somewhere. She's beautiful. You sure you did all the work?"
He's almost offended but catching the little twinkle in her one good eye he knows she's just teasing him.
"Tell ya what. I'll help ya rebuild that GTO, then you can tell me how good of a mechanic I am."
Thea holds out one hand, "Deal."
They shake on it and spend the rest of the morning just swapping stories and telling jokes, she's incredibly easy to talk to. He can't help but be grateful, it's nice not hear about hell or his experation date, nice to just be any other guy with any other girl.
That was how Sam finds them later, Dean's arm around her and her head on his chest. They deserve this. Sam can almost pretend that they're like any other couple, that Dean's not going to hell, that Thea wasn't tortured. This is the life Dean should have.
Thea stays with the boys for two more weeks, the bruises have mostly faded and the cuts have mostly turned to scars. Dean can almost forget how she came to them, but just as he does the scar above her eye flashes white and he remembers. They've spent a lot of time working on the cars, her old Judge needs a lot of work and he's more than happy to just watch her work.
He appreciates her company, they all do but Dean prefers to have her one on one with him. Sometimes they'll ride out to do groceries or pick up a part that Bobby just doesn't seem to have. Usually they'll grab burgers and shakes at a local diner and spend the time just talking. She's smart, witty with a trillon small little facts that he bets Sam doesn't even know.
"Did you know the fastest anyones swapped an engine was 42 seconds."
He had damn near choked on his burger, shaking his head he makes a muffled "uh-uh" but she just grins at him.
"Don't choke Deano, when am I ever wrong? They used a Ford Escort, 1985. Look it up if you don't believe me."
She knows he wont, he's to damn lazy, or that's what Sam always tells her. But Dean just doesn't doubt her because she's right, to his knowledge she has never been wrong. This time though he's prepared, because oddly enough he does have a weird fact to throw right back at her, "well, you can cram 19 people into one of those shit-smart cars."
Her eyebrows raise and she laughs at him, it's loud and husky and it makes him smile. It's then he knows he's in trouble, he'll never admit it but she was absoulty gorgoues when she laughs.
They know she's seen the phones labeled with FBI, CIA, Police, and Health Department. She's heard Bobby once or twice but just seemed to ignore it. The boys are incredibly careful. They don't mention their jobs but every night Dean checks the salt perimeter and Thea looks around it each time he does.
She cooks meals and cleans, carefully dancing around all the ancient books that clutter the living room. The old house feels like a home. She cares for them, maybe a little too much. She enjoys spending her time with Sam, talking about Stanford. He's gentle and sweet and incredibly considerate. Bobby's humor, dry and sarcastic, is usually the start to her mornings. He's the closest thing to a father she's ever really had. She had been touched when he'd given her free rein with his tools so she could fix the Judge. He offering slight pieces of advice, covering them up with a gruff comment or two. He didn't want to go soft.
Dean's possibly the only one who doesn't look at her like family. He looks at her like a man looks at a woman and it confuses Thea. She still has nightmares, though she no longer wakes up gasping out for air. Nothing can truly touch her here. Dean's shirt has long since been returned but she can still smell him, especially with them working so close together.
He's incredible when it comes to the bodywork. They crack beer after beer and listen to glam metal all day. The Judge looks better than it had right off the line and that's when he kisses her.
It's slow and easy, soft. He lets her come to him. Her lips are sweet, like honey and a good beer. He can't help but groan at how she folds into him, all warm and all woman. Her lips are gone and toffee colored eyes stare into his, for once he's at a loss for words. But Thea smiles and her face lights up. He's so in awe at how beautiful she is that she's halfway to the house before he realizes that she's left him standing there, staring after her. He appreciates her, she doesn't make things complicated or ask any questions. The entire time she's been here Dean hasn't seen her wear any masks hiding guilt or self-resentment or self-pity. Just soft cotton shirts, torn jeans, and her smile.
Dinner goes as it always does, joking and laughing, accompanied by Thea's delicious food, tonights meatloaf and roasted veggies with a blueberry pie for dessert. Thea and Sam do the dishes and Dean just sits back and watches, thinking that maybe this is what they've need all along.
This is the night Thea leaves. She loves them, truly she does but after earlier with Dean, she's to scared to stay. She'll never be able to give him what he deserves, she's too used, to broken for any of that. So quietly that night she leaves, packing her small duffle bag she fits one of Dean's shirts and a picture of them. Penning out a thank you note she slips past the room where Dean was sleeping and out the door and quietly into the Judge. The picture of Sam, Dean and Bobby is pinned to her visor. Thea turns out of Singer Salvage, her tail lights flashing a red in the black night.
Dean is the first to notice Thea's gone, so is the Judge and all of her things. Bobby just puts a hand on his shoulder. Sam looks so damn sad and Dean just doesn't know how to feel. Sam's twisting a piece of paper in his hands, holding it out for Dean to take. It's a simple thank you, nothing extravagant but it's just direct and to the point, signed 'all my love, Thea'. Theres no explanation, nothing and Dean just needs some time, needs to deal with Thea leaving. He knows it's probably better this way.
She won't be here to seem him die, but he misses her.