Summary: Dean and Honesty have been hunting the supernatural together since forever. But who is that handsome hunk in his dreams? N.B. NOT a Dean/OFC.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, its fandom, its characters or anything connected to them. I do not make money or profit in any way from this story.
A/N: I've recently got myself a Twitter account, frostygossamer. I'm using it to tweet some 140 character microfiction daily-ish. Mostly Supernatural plus some Merlin, Sherlock and Doctor Who. Why don't you give it a look and follow me?
A/N: BTW This story is NOT wincest, in case you're wondering, just a bit of confusion and brotherly H/C.
Honesty (Part 1: Dream Guy) by frostygossamer
Week 1: Maine
It had been snowing for four days. Dean had dug the Impala out of a snowdrift twice already and he had had enough. This little poltergeist case had turned out to be a bigger pain in the ass than they had expected. What had looked like a couple days excursion to Maine had turned into a week in a snow globe.
Dean threw his shovel back in the trunk petulantly. The sooner they were out of there and headed south the better. When he got back in the car, slamming the door, Honesty was hunched over a cup of hot soup. She waved the thermos at him.
"Wanna cup, Sweet Cheeks?" she asked. "Chicken noodle?"
Dean shook his head. He needed something stronger. "Gimme a shot."
The tall, busty redhead grinned and threw him the bottle of Jack. Dean pulled off the cap and took a hearty swig.
"You?" he asked, waving the bottle at her.
Honesty grinned, indicating her cup. "Think I'm taking this neat?"
Dean sighed and replaced the bottle of whiskey in the glovebox.
"OK," he said. "Let's get this show on the road. If we're not done by midnight, gonna walk out in the blizzard till I white-out for good."
"Oh yeah?" his companion snickered. "Jeez, freakin' drama queen."
~o~O~o~
The poltergeist-infested house was an historic three-story edifice, which had recently been converted from a working farmhouse to a luxury vacation home, for some city kid with too much spare cash. They had cleared out the livestock and the farm machinery, but somehow they had overlooked the farmyard pookie.
The thing had gotten used to being paid in fresh cream for its little bit of help around the cow byre. Since conversion, it had felt neglected and had begun running around the young professional's pad, switching lights and faucets on and off, moving things around and making scary night-time noises.
It took Honesty ten minutes to locate the poltergeist. She seemed to have an unerring nose for these things. Dean tried not to look impressed.
"There's an old boarded-up well out back," she said, pulling on her fire-proof gauntlets and lighting up the blowtorch. "Looks like the poltergoose is holed up down there. Boy, is it in for one big surprise!"
Dean was always one for pouring on a good dose of lighter fuel and then tossing in a lighted match from a safe distance, a tried and tested method. Honesty liked her immolations to be more hands-on.
As Dean waited outside the barn, salt-round loaded, shotgun cocked, he listened to the racket that emanated from within with some irritation, as Honesty tackled the cornered 'geist.
Why did the redhead always make the job seem like some kind of competitive one-on-one sport? This was supposed to be a 'pest control' operation. You were NOT supposed to enjoy it.
Honesty emerged after a couple minutes, carrying the blowtorch in one hand and a scrap of squirming ectoplasm in the other. She unceremoniously tossed the ectoplasm on the dirt at Dean's feet, where it writhed pathetically.
"Saved you some, Precious," she sniggered, a newly lit cigarillo hanging from the corner of her mouth.
Dean rolled his eyes and blasted the fugly with a salt-round, causing it to vaporize in a wisp of blue smoke, soon blown away by the wind.
"Dunno why you gotta do that, Hon," he complained. "Just ice the freakin' thing and go. Don't FOOL with it, woman."
"Oh, come on. That's half the FUN," the redhead declared, pulling off her gauntlets, the torch stuffed under her arm as she stomped back to the Impala. "Got the job done, didn't I? Now you don't gotta go lose yourself in the blizzard, huh?"
Dean uncocked the shotgun, and shook his head as he followed her back to the Impala. No matter how many years he travelled with this woman, he was NEVER going to figure her out.
~o~O~o~
Dean was a hunter. He travelled the highways of the USA laying ghosts, killing monsters and saving people. He had been doing this his whole life, and he was damn good at it. It was a tough life and a hard one, and it would have been one damn lonely life if it wasn't for a tall, wise-cracking headache of a female hunter named Honesty.
Yes, it was a weird-ass name, Dean had to agree, and he had no idea how she had ended up part of his life. She always seemed to have been there, riding in the shotgun seat of his Impala, sleeping in the bed farthest from the motel room door, sitting across from him in the diner booth, perched on the stool next to him at the bar. Like now.
"Daydreaming again, Deano," Honesty drawled, when she noticed Dean staring blankly into his beer.
Dean snapped out of his reverie and slapped on a cheesy grin.
"Thinking 'bout the job," he explained.
"Uh-huh?" Honesty responded suspiciously. "Well, I'm ready to hit the horse chow, buddy."
Dean nodded. "Me too, I guess," he agreed.
~o~O~o~
Dean paid their bar tab, and they walked back to their motel room. Honesty bagged first shower, while Dean lay on his bed and waited for his turn. When he got inside the bathroom he looked around and sighed. The place was a mess as usual.
He had never known a woman who could wreck a bathroom the way Honesty could. There were puddles and suds everywhere, hardly any hot water left, and the only dry towel was the one he had hidden earlier. Yeah, he knew what she was like.
After a quick, tepid splash he turned off the water and stood listening. Outside in the main room, he could hear the usual grunting and growling Honesty produced whenever she got changed. What a woman, huh? He pulled on his night things and waited until silence fell before exiting the bathroom.
Honesty was tucked up in her bed, already fast asleep. Dean could tell that from the even rise and fall of her breathing, and the noise of her raucous snoring. He picked up some items of his companion's discarded clothing, which were strewn all over the floor. He threw them in a corner with a muttered curse, before climbing into his own bed and flicking off the light on the nightstand.
Dean sighed, stretched and closed his eyes gratefully. Another day over, another supernatural pest ganked, another job done. And now sleep, and whatever dreams may come.
And dream he did.
~o~O~o~
Dean was laying in a darkened room. Not the motel room now, it was a dark and echoing room full of hard surfaces and sharp edges. He was laying on a slab, a tombstone maybe, or perhaps a really unforgiving army cot. His ankles were lashed tight. He couldn't move his feet, and his arms were strapped to his sides the way they restrained lunatics in an old fashioned asylum. No stress!
Suddenly he heard a door scrape open behind him and someone, or some thing, entered the room. He froze. Unable to see who, or what, was approaching him he decided it was safest to keep his eyes hooded and play possum.
A switch clicked and a central bare bulb flickered into illumination. The visitor hove into his line of sight on his left-hand side. All he could see, silhouetted against the harsh light, was that it was tall, freakishly tall, and vaguely man-shaped.
It bent toward him and he felt its hot breath on his face as it examined him.
"You awake, Dean?" it whispered in a voice that sounded human, deep, soft and distinctly male.
Dean tried to shallow his breathing, tried to seem not awake.
The thing took a step back and surveyed him. Dean could now see that it was a guy, probably over six feet, well-built, shaggy hair. He was completely unfamiliar, although strikingly handsome, something Dean wouldn't normally notice about a guy.
"Dude, I can see you watching me," the guy said, smiling faintly.
~o~O~o~
Dean woke up to the pleasure of Honesty shaking him violently by the shoulders. When his eyes snapped open, she grinned at him warmly.
"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty, time to get up and take me for breakfast. I could eat a raw grizzly bear."
He didn't doubt that. Dean ran his hands over his face and through his hair, chasing away the last remnants of sleep.
"OK, OK! Keep your freakin' shirt on, woman."
Dean dressed hastily and stumbled with his duffel out to the car, where Honesty was already sitting pumping on the horn impatiently.
"Where'd you wanna go?" he asked, as he slid into the driver's seat.
"Point me toward some fried pig and I'll be happy," she replied, licking her lips.
~o~O~o~
They stopped at the first greasy diner they came too. Honesty ordered the Hungry Man Special and practically every side on the menu, excepting the salad, plus a mug of night watchman's strong brewed coffee. Dean ordered a simple ham and eggs with a small regular coffee. When the food came, Honesty eyed his order with a smirk.
"Watching your figure, Princess?" she snarked, as she piled up her plate with sides and dug in.
Dean rolled his eyes and sneered. "Carry on shovelling in that way, and pretty soon the Impala's whole freakin' suspension's gonna need replacing."
Honesty scoffed. "Ain't polite to comment on a lady's weight, smart-ass."
"Ain't polite to eat like a hog, lady," Dean retorted, with a grin.
Truth was, Dean could have eaten more if he hadn't had to watch Honesty at the trough. The woman's eating habits tended to turn even his once robust stomach. And yet, Dean reasoned, she must have had hollow legs, because her figure was perfect.
When she had cleared her plate, the redhead wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, swigged the last of her joe and belched.
"Why, pardon me, honey," she apologized, belatedly.
Dean pushed away his small plate, shaking his head, and stood up from the table. Honesty rose from her chair rubbing her full stomach.
"Gonna take a whiz," she announced, delicately. "Meet you at the car."
When she had gone, Dean took out his wallet and tossed some bills on the table, then he walked outside to the Impala. He slid into the driver's seat, leaned his head back and closed his eyes with a sigh. Honesty always took an age in the restroom.
~o~O~o~
Dean was in that dimly lit room again. As his vision focussed he became aware that that same guy was sitting on a chair by his feet, elbows resting on his knees, just staring at him. The guy smiled when he saw Dean was awake.
"How you doing there?" he asked affably.
Dean wondered about that. How and what was he doing? Dreaming, he guessed.
The big guy stood and took a couple steps toward Dean's head. Dean flinched, as much as the straps tying him to the bed would allow.
"Easy, dude," the guy whispered, like he was addressing a nervy horse. "Lemme take a look."
The stranger carefully eased up the dressing on Dean's chest. Dean noticed, for the first time, that a large bandage covered his right pectoral muscle. He gritted his teeth against the pain, as the guy inhaled sharply through his teeth.
"Sheesh! Still not healing too fast, man," he said. "But at least the infection has cleared up some."
He smoothed the medical tape back down and retreated a step.
"How'd you feel?" he asked, a sympathetic expression on his face.
~o~O~o~
Right at that moment, Honesty appeared at the driver's side window and poked Dean in the shoulder with a scarlet-enamelled index finger, rousing him out of his daydream.
"Sleeping on the job again, Deano?" she asked, grinning happily.
"We're not 'on the job'," Dean retorted.
"That's what YOU think," Honesty said, throwing a copy of the local paper in his lap.
He picked it up and surveyed the page she had turned it to. Ghost haunting in Boston.
"Beantown, Hon?" he protested.
"You wanted to drive south," she returned, with a chuckle. "Massachusetts is nice this time of year."
Dean sighed and started up the engine.
"Boston it is then," he agreed, as they pulled away.
~o~O~o~
They got a room in a half-decent motel on the outskirts of Boston and hit the nearest bar. They hustled pool a while, but gave up when the marks started to get suspicious, and sat in a booth killing time.
Honesty was idly using a straw to chase an olive around a garish cocktail some hopeless guy had bought her. Dean was nursing his third beer. Suddenly Honesty picked the olive out of her drink and flicked it at Dean's head.
"Reckon we should go after the sucker right this minute," she declared.
"You've gotta be pulling my chain," Dean retorted. "It's after midnight already. What I need now is some shut-eye. We can gank the freakin' 'sucker' tomorrow."
"Hell no," Honesty insisted. "We zap it's ass tonight, we can be back on the road before dawn."
Dean sighed. He had been totally ready to flake out in his motel bed, he felt so damn beat. But when Honesty got like this there was no use in arguing with her.
"OK, Hon," he said. "Lemme grab an hour, and we can hit the highway."
~o~O~o~
They went back to their motel and Dean collapsed on his bed, always the one nearest the door, fully clothed, passing out as soon as his nose hit the comforter.
Barely an hour later Honesty shook him awake. She was armed and ready to go.
"Hi there, Sleepyhead," she sang out. "Time we hit the boneyard, Deanie-boy."
Honesty seemed to be full of Boston beans as they headed out in the Impala. Dean didn't know how the woman could be so up all the time on so little rest. She was wearing him thin.
As they drove out to the graveyard, Dean mused on the few seconds of dreamtime he had managed to snag back at the motel.
~o~O~o~
His eyes had snapped open in that darkroom again, to find the big guy hovering with his face inches from Dean's.
"He's awake," the guy informed someone standing behind Dean's head, out of eyesight.
The guy studied his face intently, for a few more seconds, then pulled back.
"He's awake but I dunno if he's 'home'," he corrected himself.
Dean pulled on his restraints ineffectually. The guy put a surprisingly gentle hand on his arm.
"Hey there. It's OK," he said. "You're safe now, Dean."
He smiled what looked like a sincere smile, showing a couple real cute dimples.
TBC
A/N: I hasten to say this is not a self-insertion ;) nor is Honesty a Mary-Sue. I'm sure you've worked out who the cute guy is, even if Dean hasn't. More tomorrow.
