The Match-Maker
Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural or Twilight. Same for the whole story through.
Forks, Washington
"Furthest North we've been in awhile," Sam comments absent-mindedly, swinging his gaze around the yard's gray atmosphere as he slams the car door.
"Yeah, well, let's get this over with," Dean mumbles.
"Dude, what is your problem?" Sam demands as they climb the front porch.
"Really? You want to talk about this right now?" Dean grumbles. But when he reaches his hand out to press in the doorbell, Sam grabs his wrist and pulls it back down to his side.
"We just drove a thousand miles and you didn't make a peep," Sam points out. "We have to deal with this sometime. I think you're pretty damned torn up about what happened to Jo, and -"
"- and Ellen," Dean inserts quickly. "She was kind of like, uh, My Favourite Aunt or something."
Sam rolls his eyes. "Right, Dean. She was a regular Mrs. Claus."
"Don't even mention that name!" Dean cries, pressing his hands over his ears.
"Oops, sorry," Sam replies, his mind jumping to their near bloody sacrifice to a couple of gods who liked to play Happy Holidays. "Anyway," he continues, shaking the image of the carving knife from his head, "just because our business brings us to another hunter doesn't mean we're going to get hurt. Or that they are."
"It's like we're cursed or something," Dean growls, pounding a fist into his palm.
"Hardly. Think about Bobby. We see him every other week, and the man's gotta be, what sixty?"
"Yeah, well Bobby's a special case. Bobby's like...God or something."
Sam purses his lips into a skeptical smile. "You mean like how Ellen's Your Favourite Aunt?"
"Yeah...whatever. Look. Like I said, let's just get this over with. Please?"
Sam reluctantly reaches for the doorbell. "Well, okay. But later you'll need a good hug-it-out."
Sam is grinning to himself and Dean is muttering irritatedly under his breath, each of them looking in opposite directions, when the door opens in response. "Boys." The two younger men snap to attention.
The shorter, mustached man is studying them carefully, hand tucked protectively over the rifle at his side.
Sam is the first to fall out of line. "Are you Charlie Swan?" he asks politely.
Suddenly the man's face melts into a smile. "Yeah. I am. And you're Sam and Dean. C'mon in, young fellas."
Sam can tell Dean is itching to get down to business, but he jumps in first to cover the bases he wants covered. "So you knew our dad?"
"A little," Charlie nods, flipping a kitchen chair so it faces backwards and seating himself on it. He gestures so the two will take the other chairs, but Dean remains standing, eyeing up the corners of the kitchen, as plainly decorated as could be.
"I met the man when he came through here on a wolf hunt several years back. Yes...it was right before my girls left."
"But you think it's vampires we're after now?" Dean interjects.
"Vampires, for certain, or something akin to them. Nastier'n I've seen 'em before, though."
Sam glares at Dean and steers the conversation back to their father. "Was he successful in his hunt?" he inquires.
"Yes and no," is Charlie's cryptic reply. At Sam's questioning eyes, he explains: "He caught what he was looking for, so he was successful in that way. But someone talked him out of going through with the kill."
"And that someone was you?"
"You read me like an open book," Charlie laughs. "But enough about me. Let's talk about you. And those dark lords hovering out there in the darkened woods."