*One-shot with my OC. Reviews are always welcomed! Enjoy the story!*
"Here. Keep this on your head," I order, passing the younger Winchester a makeshift ice pack. He rests it over the five stitches on the side of his head with a hiss.
"Thanks," he mumbles, shutting his eyes as he leans back on the motel bed.
All because of a small slip-up, Sam is down for the count for a couple of weeks. We had it all planned out. Somebody was bait while, the other two masked their scents in order to get the jump on the monster. Sam drew the short stick and got to be the damsel in distress. The werewolf was right where we wanted him, but I guess it caught our scent despite our efforts to mask it. Damn thing came barreling right for Sam, lifting him up by his throat as he tossed him into a tree. Dean fired a bullet into its shoulder and it took off, only to return as we were helping Sam up. All three of us took our hits, but Sam got the brunt of it. By the time we finally loaded it full of silver bullets, the younger Winchester had been knocked unconscious with deep claw marks down his chest and back.
It was nothing that our homemade medical kit couldn't handle with some extra help with self-medication. I sewed the three of us up, checking Sam's head and determining that he had a concussion. It's certainly not the worst either of us has had before.
The room is dim, the TV turned down low to help ease the raging headache Sam's suffering. I drape an extra towel over the wall lamp beside the bed to dull the brightness even more.
"How're you feeling, Sammy?" Dean questions from his spot on the other bed, pulling his shirt down over his stitched side.
"Like crap."
I frown, cleaning up the bloody gauze and tools from the nightstand. "Well, we can fix that. How about we find a-"
"Dean, I know you're trying to help, but in honestly I just want to sleep. My head's killing me."
Dean's shoulders slump in defeat as he scratches the back of his head deep in thought. I know he feels guilty for what happened to Sam. Now he's just trying to make up for it, and it's not that Sam doesn't appreciate his older brother's effort to make him more comfortable, but concussions are a bitch. There really isn't much you can do to make them feel better.
"You know, Dean, there's that bar a mile or so down the road. Why don't we give Sam the room for a few hours, let Sasquatch here get a few solid hours of beauty sleep?"
Dean's gonna go nuts sitting here in silence for the rest of the night, plus he's worried about his little brother. Sam doesn't need an anxious, worrying Dean in the room with the kind of headache he's already got.
"Haha, you're hilarious, Aria," he retorts, managing to flick me off. I smirk at the gesture, looking at the oldest brother expectantly. Dean's watching Sam though, a battle waging on in those green eyes.
"Why don't you go? I'll stay and keep Sam company."
"Dude, no." The younger Winchester manages to sit up enough to stare at his brother in annoyance. "You're going to go nuts just sitting around here. Go and have fun. I'll be fine." Those hazel puppy eyes look up at Dean from under the mop of hair that's drifted into his eyes. A smirk graces my lips as I watch the Dean's resolve crumble.
"Fine, but if you need anything-"
"Yeah, yeah, I think he's old enough to know the rules, Dad," I joke, snatching up my leather coat and Dean's jacket, tossing it him. He catches it with a glare as I push him towards the door, waving good-bye to Sam. "Come on, old man, let's go."
"I'm the same age as you!" Dean cries as we slip into the Impala.
"At least mine doesn't show." His fist connects with my shoulder and I laugh it off as the Impala comes alive.
It's quiet in the small town bar. Regulars occupy the bar stools, drinking away whatever demons that torment them. I head straight for a high top table in the corner of the room where neither of us has to worry about being overheard. Two menus sit waiting on the wooden surface and I scan over it as I settle on the chair. The local rock station plays in the background, the single TV stationed over the liquor shelf showing ESPN's highlights of tonight's baseball games. Dean gets comfy, doing a quick scan of the place before he plucks the menu from my hands. "There is one right in front of you," I moan in response to his childish behavior.
"Yeah, but you were using this one," he fires back with a quick smile, looking over the options. That smile falls as I snatch my menu back, handing him the one sitting right in front of him. He shakes his head and I stick my tongue out at him before settling down and really taking in the menu. It's typical of a place like this; burgers or other finger food that goes with a beer and is easy to make. I glance over the different draft beers and mixed drinks as the waitress makes her way over.
She's pretty. Dark brown hair, that borders almost black, is pinned back from her face, curls cascading over her shoulders. Her soft features are hidden beneath a mask of makeup that accentuate her cheekbones and make her appear a couple of years older than she probably is. Hazel eyes briefly look at me before fixing themselves upon Dean, darkening with a hint of lust.
"Evening, my name's Carrie. Can I get you anything special tonight?" Her question directed only to Dean, who looks her up and down quickly, flashing his bright smile for her.
I clear my throat before the he decides to start with his flirting, "Guinness, two shots of Jameson, and a Bud Light." The girl starts, turning to me with wide eyes.
"Oh, are you sure you don't want to take another minute to look over some of our dinner specials?" She smiles softly, looking expectantly at Dean.
"Well…" he starts, but I stop him.
"I think that's all for now, Carrie."
"Well, I'll be right back then," Carrie explains a hint of disappointment in her words as she turns to leave. Dean gives her a heart skipping grin as she walks away, stealing a glimpse of her jean clad ass. I roll my eyes with a huff, removing my leather coat.
"What?" he questions all innocent.
"Nothing, you're just so obvious it's painful sometimes."
"I am not."
"Okay," I draw out with a soft laugh.
"She's the one that was looking at me with the heart eyes. I just went along with it," he defends, trying to plead his case.
"All she did was say hi and you turned into wolfy from that cartoon." His brow creases and I shake my head, "You know? The Red Hot Riding Hood cartoon with the fairy tale twist and Red Riding Hood is this hot little dancer and the wolf is like a horn dog."
"How old are you?" I punch his arm from across the table and he smirks, rubbing the area of impact.
"Whatever. At least I have a little more class when picking men up."
"Sure you do," he draws out.
"Yes, I do." He leans back in his seat, arms crossed with a cocky smirk,
"Are you forgetting Mardi Gras?"
My eyes go wide, mouth dropping open, "You said you would never bring that up again!"
His hands go up in defense, "I'm just saying, I remember someone willing to do anything for some beads." My foot connects with his shin bone and Dean yelps, "Ow!"
"You deserved that, you ass."
"Better an ass than a stripper."
If looks could kill, Dean would be six feet under. The waitress makes her back over to us with a tray of drinks, our little war ending for the time being. She bats her long dark lashes at Dean as she gives us our drinks and napkin coasters.
"If you need anything else just call me over." I could throw up at the look the two share before she leaves, swaying her hips as she goes.
"So obvious," I comment, taking a sip of the ice cold, dark colored beer.
"Shut up."
Hours pass in the small bar. Dean and I order some food eventually and nearly start a food fight with the chili cheese fries. Carrie keeps us well hydrated, bottles and glasses constantly refilled. It's only because the bar is dead empty, but I continually tease Dean that we're getting the best service because she wants an excuse to keep talking to him. We swap bad jokes and reminiscence about old hunts, constantly trying to one up the other.
A deep laugh rumbles from his chest and I can't fight the huge smile that makes its way to my lips. It's been a long time since I've seen Dean Winchester laugh like that. I ignore why it's been so long because this mood is too good to bring down with that thought.
Another little chuckle leaves him and he takes a swig of his beer. I watch a bead of water travel down the side of my glass and explode as it meets the base. That tingling feeling of being watched drags my gaze from the glass and to the admiring face of Dean. He's leaned back in his seat, light green eyes focused on me with a gentle smile.
"What?" I question, fidgeting.
"I've known you for a whole year now and I know absolutely nothing about you."
"That's not true. You know I like beads," I say, poking fun at myself. A shake of his head and then he's leaning forward, arms crossed as they rest a top the table. The joking atmosphere fades, an air of serious curiosity settling over the two of us.
"Come on, A. You know everything about Sam and me. You even knew more about my dad than I did."
I shrug, "So?"
His shoulders mirror my actions, "I don't know it would be nice to know something other than what you like to drink and what your favorite sports team is."
"Like what, Dean?"
Calloused fingers tap against the biceps of his crossed arms. "Like what was life like before you got into hunting? Those kinds of things. It just doesn't seem right that you know everything about our lives growing up and we don't know anything about yours."
"Every hunter knows about your past. Your dad was popular and a lot of people respected him." My hands clench tight in my lap. This is not a topic that I want to discuss. Doesn't he remember the first time we met? He asked me how their father saved me and I refused to tell him because giving up that piece of information meant remembering that night, the one that changed my entire life.
"Yeah, but you know more than that. Come on, Aria, you're family to Sam and me, and I'm going to be gone soon."
"No, you're not. We're going to get you out of that deal, Dean." He sighs, running a hand through his hair.
We're nowhere near finding a way to save him from going to Hell. His one year is running out of days faster than we thought it would, but, no matter what I have to do, I will not let another Winchester face the gates the hell again. If it means I find a way to take his place I will. My job is to protect these two. That means going as far as I need to in order to keep them fighting.
"Look, Bobby won't tell me anything, says that I need to ask you. Whatever happened, you can't just keep it inside forever."
I clench my jaw, my temper flaring, "You're giving me the 'you need to talk about your feelings' speech. Seriously? When was the last time you talked about the shit going on in your head?" He sits back, caught off guard by my hostility, but he doesn't get it and he needs to.
There is a reason why I don't talk about myself, why they know nothing about me. That person is dead. She no longer exists. She's been drowned in blood and broken in irreparable ways. "Every time someone confronts you about what you're feeling, you blow them off with some smart ass comment or get pissed or drown yourself in liquor and women. Then you sit here and tell me that I need to talk about my past? Try talking a piece of your own advice first."
Pink lips are set in a hard frown, shoulders squared in defense before he stands from his seat, pulling on his coat. My nostrils are flared as I snap, "What now you're running away from the facts?"
He straightens out his grey coat, arms dropping to his sides. "God, you're a piece of work." I glare with a snarl on my lips as Dean runs a hand over his mouth,
"The difference between you and me is that at the end of the day I know that I can talk about the crap I carry. I know that because if I keep pushing the people that care away, nobody will be there to listen when it counts. You're the one who's too afraid to face the facts, Aria. Sam tried running from his past and it caught up to him. It's only a matter of time until the same happens to you, and I can't guarantee somebody will be there to listen."
He pulls a wad of cash from his pocket and slaps a few bills down on the table. "Enjoy drinking your past away," he snaps, turning his back on me as he starts for the exit.
I debate the thought a half a second before it's tumbling from my mouth.
"I was sixteen."
Dean stops cold, looking over his shoulder at me with a confused expression. Everything in me is screaming to let him walk out, to let this relationship with the two of them crumble away in order to protect myself from the inevitable heartache. But I can't do that. I tried in the beginning to keep the two at arm's length; close enough to watch their backs, but far enough to not get attached. It didn't work though. They reminded me what love felt like. Sam and Dean managed to save me from the darkness eating me alive and I got close, felt a connection with these equally damaged men. Through all the chaos that is these boys' lives I saw that there could be happiness. They showed me that. They are my family now and I don't want to lose either of them.
My hands fidget in my lap while Dean settles back in his seat. I draw in a deep breath, letting it all out until my lungs scream for the next gulp of air, "My dad was a hunter. He left my mom before I was born, and she remarried a staff sergeant from the military. They had three kids together and we lived in a small town in North Carolina." The memories threaten to escape the deeply dug holes I've buried them in, my stomach sitting uneasily at the threat of the reminder and my skin prickles.
"John helped my dad save me. That's how I met him. I lived with Bobby and learned how to hunt, and then joined the military completing two tours overseas. Got back home and worked with my father until he was gone. Then I was on my own until John called me up to come and hunt with him. The rest you know." And that is all he gets to know.
I'm not ready to talk about what really happened that night. I don't think I ever will be. It's bad enough that I still have the nightmares. Why talk about it when it still haunts me every moment of the day?
I see the questions in Dean's eyes, but he doesn't push. A slight nod is all he manages before he waves Carrie over. She saunters over, those curls bobbing up and down with her steps. "Another round, sweetheart."
I ignore the girl as she glances at me and the sickly sweet comment she gives right back to the hunter. My heart is pounding in my chest in anxiety. I don't want to explain why I won't go into more detail. I need Dean to just accept what I can give and let the rest go. His attention is back on me, gaze calculating before he leans back with his arms crossed.
"Military?" I nod. "Are you willing to talk about that?"
A wave of relief settles over me and I smile weakly, "Yeah. I can do that."
It's not the story he wants to hear, but as I talk about the men I served with, the pranks we pulled, and the cool missions I had, Dean's smile grows. What he said earlier is true. I do need to talk about my past, but I'm not ready to. Just like he's not ready to accept just how scared he is to go to Hell. So until he's out of the fire, if I can keep that grin glued on his face then I might be willing to find it in myself and let my demons free from their graves.