S. Reed
Hell and back again
Warning: Foul Language
Not on a real timeline? POV changes between dean and the reader
I dont own any of the characters
88888888888
Dean was weary. He had been traveling far too long. As much as he loved driving he desperately needed a drink. He was in a bad mood because he and Sam had to split ways when they caught wind of two possible hunts; a wendigo in East Montana, and a mystery monster in West Montana. Sam took the wendigo, which made Dean feel a little better, but not by much. He didn't like being separated from Sam. He knew Sam could take care of himself, but he always felt better being there to watch over him. And anyways, Sam had stated that Dean was more than able to take care of this one on his own.
When dean finally pulled into the small town in Montana, the first thing he did was check into a motel. He stepped into the tiny motel room and looked around. The walls had faded out of style wallpaper. The thinning carpet had stains from only God knows what. He threw his duffle bag on the only bed in the room. A twinge of pain of self-longing for his bed back in the bunker ran down his spine.
"Son of a Bitch I need a drink!"
He immediately left and drove until he found a bar. He walked in and found a seat near the bar at one of the taller tables, brushing off crumbs from the previous occupants as he sat down. The waitress came over to take his drink order. She was wearing a black shirt with a sloping neck line and Dean just couldn't resist turning on the charm. He looked up at her with his big green eyes and award winning smile.
8888888888
Dean was already three drinks deep when you walked in. You were wearing jeans with brown combat boots. Your worn black leather jacket covered your AC/DC t-shirt. You looked around the bar; pain was chipping off of the walls, the floor looked like it had never seen the bottom side of a mop, and there was a rundown Juke Box in the corner playing Bon Jovi's hit You Give Love A Bad Name, and it was filled with bikers and low lifes that thought they were all hot shit. You sigh and walk up to the bar. Maybe they wouldn't notice you tonight. You ordered your favorite beer and looked up at the TV to watch whatever sport was on, hoping that it would distract you from your memories that still haunted you.
"Hey baby, care to see what a Real man is like?" You turned and look to see a balding biker with a handle bar mustache, tattoo sleeves running up both arms with the classic I love mom and spider web. You roll your eyes, shake your head from side to side, and remained silent. You hadn't even gotten half way through your drink yet maybe he would take the hint and go away.
"Hey I'm talking to you! What you think you're too good for me?" He tried to grab your arm to spin you around to look at him, but you shake him off without taking your eyes off of the TV. You reeeeaally weren't in the mood for this tonight.
"Look here you prude little bitch." He put a hand on your shoulder and griped even harder. You were about to turn around and break his hand, maybe that would teach him a lesson. But before you could someone else had grabbed the biker's wrist and twisted it behind his back. The biker's face twisted up in pain as he let out a gasp of air between his cigarette stained yellow teeth.
"Take a hint asshat, she wants to be left alone." The man let go of the biker's wrist and shoved him away. He then turned around, "You okay?"
"I'm fine, but I really - ." You begin to say as you look over at the man. You do a double take and it takes everything in your power to stop your jaw from dropping. It wasn't because you were stunned from how handsome he was, because he was indeed one of the most beautiful boys you have ever seen, but you had also recognized him, although you soon realized that Dean didn't recognize you. "I really just want to be left alone." You finish saying before turning back to your beer.
Your look of recognition didn't go unnoticed to Dean. "I'm sorry, have we meet before?"
You didn't answer at first. He really didn't recognize you. It had been years… but you thought for sure that he wouldn't have forgotten. You sure as hell haven't. At a loss of words to say you finally sputter out, "No, I guess not."
Dean knew she was lying. She did seem familiar but he couldn't place where he knew her from. Dean shrugged, got the bartenders attention and ordered another drink, one for himself and one for you. "I'm Dean by the way," he said as he handed the drink to you. "I know you want to be alone, but if anyone bugs you again, I'm sitting right over there."
"I can handle myself, thanks." You say getting defensive.
"Suit yourself."
8888888888
Dean walked back to his table. He sat there for another hour or so trying to figure out where he knew you from. He finally gave up, figuring that you were just another girl he had met in school. He could never keep the names and faces straight. Besides he spent most of his time in High school watching out for Sammy. Why couldn't Sammy be here? He remembers faces and names better than Dean could. Maybe Dean would call Sam later and ask if he knew the girl at the bar.
He finally left and went back to the motel for the night. Sleep did not come easy that night, and he toss and turned into the early hours of the morning. The next day Dean found out that there had been another attack in the middle of the night when he went to the dinner for breakfast, the locals had been gossiping about it. He had woken up late, later than he would have liked. Normally Sam would have woken him up by either typing furiously at the keyboard of his computer or just coming back from a morning run. He left the dinner, quickly showered, put on his suit, and grabbed some coffee on the way over to the crime scene. It was in the middle of the woods not far off from one of the many hiking trails that criss-crossed the Montana landscape.
When Dean arrived he quickly surveyed the area. All the trees, the grass, the bushes, and anything else in the immediate surrounding area were dead. The man who died was lying exactly in the middle of the circle of now brown and grey plants. Dean walked over to the sheriff and flashed his badge. "FBI, I'm Dean Ford. Can you tell me what you have found out so far?"
"One of ya wasn't enough?" The sheriff said in disbelief. He had a small Minisodian accent.
"Excuse me?" Dean's eyes narrowed, heart quickening a little bit. He would be in deep shit if the real FBI was here.
"Yah, your office just not tell you or something? She over there. Oh wait, nope that's her over there driving off. You just missed her."
Dean could just make out your face through the window as you drove off back towards town. He began to relax, she must be a hunter. That's how I know her, Dean thought to himself. He stood there for a moment trying to zero in on where exactly he had known you from and yet he still couldn't remember. He turned back to the sheriff. "Did she leave her name or anything?"
"Just a business card with her name and a phone number to reach her at if we found anything." Dean motioned to see it and the sheriff handed it over.
"Did you call in to make sure she was real?" Dean criticized, making his credibility more reliable.
The sheriff shook his head. "She had a badge," He shrugged.
"Give me a second." Dean pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the second number on speed dial. He walked a few yards away from the sheriff.
"Hey Dean!" Garths happy go lucky voice was almost palpable through the phone.
"Garth I have a serious question for you. Have you ever heard of Y/N? Or do you know if Bobby had known her or even mentioned her?" Dean was praying that Garth would be able to jog his memory.
"Um, Well I don't recognize her name, but let me go through Bobby's Journal and contacts list and let me call you back."
"Thanks Garth." Dean closed his phone and walked back to the sheriff.
"Well? Is she real or not?"
"My people are checking into it. But for now, if you find anything you tell me first. Got it?"
"You got it boss."
"So have you seen this happen before?" Dean motioned with his finger, looking up at the dead plants around them, getting back to the hunt at hand.
"This is actually our eighth case. Each time it's the same thing. A hiker disappears and we find them dead, surrounded by a circle of dead plants."
"Do the vics have anything in common?"
"Not with each other." The sheriff motion for Dean to follow him. "Although each victim we found did have claw marks. The kicker is that none of the cuts were deep enough to cause any real harm. None of them died from being attacked. It's like they just died."
"You mean like they were scared to death?" Dean immediately thought of Ghost Fever, and he involuntary shivered at the memory. And yet this just didn't quite fit the bill.
"Yah you could say that."
"And the.." Dean paused to find the right words. "the, uh, ring of dead plants, is that always the same size or have you seen it any bigger?"
The sheriff thought for a moment. "Mmmmm. No… no it's really been the same each time."
"Sheriff, I'm going to need a list of the people who died so I can talk to their families. Do you happen to have that on hand?"
"Yah, just a moment."
Dean began to look around for any more clues while the sheriff walked off to get the list.
88888888888
"Damn it!" You curse to yourself as you hit the steering wheel. You left immediately once Dean had shown up. You had hoped so badly that Dean had only been passing through and that he hadn't caught wind of the case you were working on. You sighed. What were you going to do now? You still didn't know how you felt. Is Dean a friend? Or should you be wary of him? You did have a good reason to be scared of him. You shivered as the memories of Dean flashed across your thoughts. You did your best to push them to the back of your mind. Now was not the time. People were dying and you needed to stop it.
You pressed your foot down on the gas. Your car speed to the one person that had any real information that would be useful, the wife of one of the vics. She had heard the attack but everyone thought see was crazy with her outlandish ideas. You skipped all the names of the relatives on your list, which you had found yourself doing hard, cold research, and drove on to the only one that mattered.