Dean spent most of the next day pacing around his motel room and checking the time. He awoke early, uncomfortable from falling asleep fully clothed in an awkward position.
Standing in the shower feeling the warm water running over his stiff limbs was soothing, so he stood under the steady stream of water for longer than was strictly necessary. He couldn't remember the last time he'd just allowed the water to ease the knots in his muscles and relax his shoulders. He usually had Sam banging on the thin wood of the bathroom door telling him to hurry his ass up before all the hot water ran out, but today he could stay here for as long as he liked. It was relaxing, and a good way to kill time before he headed back to the bar tonight.
He'd managed to convince himself that his interest in the singing girl was purely musical; you just didn't find many women these days listening to the likes of Free. He also tried to ignore the fact that he could have sworn her husky tones had provided the soundtrack to his murky and undefined dreams last night. Crushes he'd had, but dreaming about a girl when he'd never even spoken to her? This was the shit Dean Winchester never got himself into.
He'd decided to stay in Sioux Falls another night anyway, the only case he could find was what looked like a vengeful spirit in the next town over so there was no harm in starting out tomorrow morning instead. He humoured himself with the reasoning that he'd have probably have gone back to the bar tonight anyway, regardless of whether or not the girl would be singing again. Dean was sure glad he didn't have to convince anyone else of his reasoning; he was having a hard time believing it himself.
Dean spent a restless few hours cruising the internet for possible cases and doing some research, went out to get a burger or two for lunch. Whatever spell this girl had cast on him, it definitely hadn't decreased his seemingly insatiable appetite. Reluctantly, he returned one of Sam's calls just for something to do. He answered on the first ring.
"Hey, Dean! How's it going, man? Haven't heard from you in a while!" Sam said, his attempt at a normal conversational tone thinly veiling the concern underneath. Dean went along with it; there was no way he was having the 'Are you sure you're okay?' conversation with his brother again.
"Hey, Sammy. It's all good, I'm all good. Just been busy working a few jobs, you know how it can get out here. How's being a nerd going for ya?" Dean replied, trying to turn the conversation away from him and onto anything else.
"Jerk. Really well, actually. Though I feel a little too old to be here now. Is this how you feel all the time?," Sam teased, and Dean couldn't help but laugh.
"Bitch. I hope you're taking advantage of all those college girls, Sammy. They're crazy at that age," Dean joked. Humour was his best defence against the unspoken words hovering at both ends of the line.
"Okay, we are definitely not going down that road! Look, I've got class in five minutes so I gotta shoot. Call again soon, alright?" Sam said. That worried tone was creeping back into his voice and Dean was glad he didn't have to stick around to hear any more of it.
"Sure thing. See ya later, Sammy."
Dean ended the call. The niggling hole in his chest that he did his best to ignore was itching for attention, and Dean sighed as he reminded himself this was why he didn't call Sam more. It made him realise just how much he missed having him around, even if he was a big annoying ball of little brother. The phone call had lasted minutes, hardly the lengthy chat Dean was envisaging to waste some time. He'd even thought about calling for Castiel, but he hadn't answered his calling for months now. Plus he doubted Cas would be too pleased to find out he'd called down an Angel of the Lord to entertain him because he was bored and impatient.
He wondered what Sam would have said if he'd mentioned the girl from the bar. Probably would have told him to man up and go and talk to her. After all, how many girls had Dean picked up in bars? What was so different this time? This was the problem, Dean concluded. He didn't know what was different about this girl; he just knew something was.
He wasn't used to being stationary for this long; there was always some mess for him to clean up or a job for him to do. He felt restless, useless. He hated it. And, loathe as he was to admit it, it was all because of a damn girl in a stupid bar.
With the thought of her constant in the back of his mind, he watched a few episodes of Dr. Sexy on the motel room's tiny TV. He found himself seeing her face on every dark haired nurse on the stupid show and was forced to turn it off. This lusting after girls thing was not his style, truth be told it was usually the other way around. Sitting on the edge of the bed and running his hands through his hair, Dean came to a decision. He was going to talk to the velvet-voiced girl tonight come hell or high water. He thought he might go crazy if he didn't put this whole thing to bed and out of his mind.
In his eagerness and downright impatience, Dean ended up arriving at the bar at about 8.00pm. It was already busy, only a few seats left in the whole place. He chose a booth on the far side of the room, near but not right next to the stage on which his mystery woman would be singing in the not too distant future. He ordered a double scotch and soda from the pretty blonde waitress without even looking at her; if he was going to do this he was going to need some Dutch courage.
He waited. He waited some more. He checked his watch and saw it was half past the hour. He scanned the large room, his eyes only looking for one thing. She didn't seem to be here yet, and Dean wondered if the bartender was wrong and she wasn't playing again tonight. As he let this thought torture him he downed his scotch and signalled to the waitress for another. He couldn't understand why but he felt as if he'd been stood up. He'd built so much on the idea of seeing the girl again tonight that the idea of not seeing her was like a two-footed blow to the chest. He was so angry at himself for letting it get this bad; she didn't even know he existed and here he was drinking himself senseless at the thought he'd let her get away.
He was about to down his second scotch and get the hell out of there before he did anything else he'd grow to regret when a whirlwind of chestnut hair and guitar case came falling in through the door, bringing a gust of cold wind in with it.
"Sorry I'm late, Robbie. Damn car wouldn't start," she called over her shoulder at the bartender as she headed towards the stage and towards Dean. Her presence had knocked him back down into his seat and knocked his common sense straight out of the park. He cradled what was left of his drink and tried not to stare at this tornado of a girl rushing around the stage like a mad woman.
He watched as she unpacked her guitar, marvelling at the look of concentration on her face as she tuned each string. Her head was cocked slightly to one side, trying to hear the quiet strings above the noise of the people in the bar. The look of concentration seemed to morph into one of frustration as she bit her lip and plucked the strings a tiny bit louder. Dean couldn't look away from her face. Every tiny movement, every change of expression stirred something in him that he had no name for.
In the end she gave up, deciding with a small shrug of her shoulders that this would have to do. She lifted the guitar strap over her head and turned away from the crowd to plug it in to the amplifier at the back of the stage. The strap had caught her shirt at the back, causing it to ride up and show a stretch of sun-kissed skin just above the waistband of her jeans. Dean's mouth went dry as he imagined how soft it would feel underneath his fingers, underneath his lips. A black smudge caught his eye and distracted his thoughts away from anything too unsavoury. A tattoo sat in the small of her back, about the size of a drinks coaster. Tattoos are always hot. He started let his mind wonder about what other tattoos she might have when the air was knocked out of Dean's chest; he'd seen that tattoo before.
He'd seen it before because it was a perfect match to the one that nestled on the left side of his chest, just above his heart and just below his collarbone. A flaring sun with a pentagram sitting through the middle of it. An anti-possession tattoo. She's a fucking hunter?
His disbelief was put on the backburner for a minute as she stepped up to the microphone and brought him back to the present with a velvet-lined thump.
"Hey, everybody. My name is Evie Stone, and I'm going to be singing a few songs for you this evenin'," she said.
Evie, Dean thought, suited her perfectly. Short and sweet and a little rough around the edges, just like her. With that she opened her perfect mouth and began singing, a slow lilting melody that Dean didn't recognise. For the next half an hour, Dean forgot to think about the fact that this beautiful girl was a hunter. Hell, he forgot that he was a hunter. He forgot everything that wasn't the way her voice settled deep in his bones and made him feel like she was singing just for him. The bar full of people melted away until Dean would have sworn blind that there was only Evie and him still left in there.
Evie had just finished thanking the crowd, as she had done the night before, and had started playing the opening bars of 'Fire and Water'. Dean had worked his way through another drink during her set and was definitely starting to feel the effects; he couldn't tell if the blurred glow around Evie on the stage was a result of the lighting or of his alcohol intake. Either way, he thought she looked beautiful. Angelic. Damn, if she walked over to Dean in that moment and told him she was God he'd probably have thrown himself at her feet and offered himself up to her there and then, no questions asked.
His rambling inner monologue was punctuated by an annoying sound that seeped into his consciousness about half of the way through the song, the noise tainting the golden glow around his singing angel with a nasty black mark. He noticed Evie throw a disdainful look towards the bar and, suddenly alert, he followed it with his eyes. A middle aged guy, clearly the worse for wear considering the sizable amount of empty beer bottles on the bar in front of him, was calling out to Evie as she sang. This was the noise that Dean had barely registered; the jackass had been heckling Evie for most of the song.
"Hey darlin', why don't you bring that sweet ass over here and sing a little something in my ear?" he jeered, licking his lips and beckoning to her with a fat finger.
Dean saw red. He was halfway out of his seat to go and teach that guy some respect for women when he saw Evie put her guitar down and jump daintily off the stage, heading in the direction of the heckler. Dean's heart sank. He didn't want her anywhere near that sleaze; he was twice her size and pretty damn drunk. He was on his feet in a second, ready to rush over if he gave her the slightest hint of trouble.
Evie walked slowly over to the drunk, whose expression had changed from one of smug bravado to one of complete confusion. When she reached him, Evie reached out and took the near full bottle of beer out of the guy's hand, never taking her eyes off his. She smiled sweetly at him and took a slow, deliberate pull on the drink, licking her lips dry when she'd finished. Dean's heart had fallen somewhere south of his lower intestine by this point; was she seriously flirting with this asshole after what he'd said? He didn't know what was worse, the fact that she was flirting with someone who had treated her so disrespectfully or just the fact that she was flirting with someone that wasn't him.
Dean couldn't take his eyes from the scene folding in front of him. He would take being tortured on the rack by Alistair fifty times over if it meant Evie getting the hell away from that guy. He watched as Evie started raising the beer in her hand, higher and higher. What the hell was she doing?
The drunk's face watched the beer in her hand with mild amusement until he realised where it was headed. Evie hovered it over him for a few teasing seconds before slowly and purposefully pouring the contents of the bottle over his head, causing him to splutter and move backwards.
"Didn't anybody ever teach you that it's rude to interrupt people, you jackass? Next time you want a lady's attention, you approach her humbly and respectfully and if she tells you to fuck off, you know what you gotta do? You gotta fuck off. Robbie, throw this asshole out would you?," she asked the bartender, studiously ignoring the backlash of insults and expletives the drunk was throwing her way.
The bartender kicked the guy out and Evie reached behind the bar to get herself another beer, thanking him as she did so. She walked back over to the microphone and apologised to the crowd before beginning to pack up her equipment.
Dean was speechless. Speechless and incredibly turned on. Speechless, incredibly turned on and incredibly angry at Evie. That could have gone so wrong, she could have gotten hurt and she just strolls up to the guy like he wasn't twice the size of her. He tried to settle his anger when he realised she wasn't his to protect. He settled it completely when he remembered that she was a hunter; there was no way she had that tattoo and didn't know how to handle herself. The thought of her going up against demons and vamps and god knows what else made Dean uncomfortable. She seemed so delicate, like a flower. A flower with balls, Dean thought. She's a complete badass!
While he was lost in this train of thought he hadn't noticed that Evie was already halfway to the exit. He downed the rest of his drink in panic and slammed down a few notes on the table, hoping that it was enough to leave a decent tip but rushing too much to bother actually counting it. He practically jogged to the door but made himself slow down when he got to the door; he was determined to appear calm and collected even if underneath he was anything but.
He got outside and scanned the parking lot, feeling a familiar surge of warmth and relief at seeing Baby still parked up and beautiful on the far side of the lot. Evie had just put the last of her stuff into the trunk of her car and was getting into the driver's seat as Dean started to walk towards her. Damn it, he'd left it too late. She'd got the key in the ignition before he could even get her attention. Dean had given up all hope and was about to head back into the bar to get extremely drunk when Evie's car made a grinding, spluttering noise that made Dean wince and turn back around. She turned the key again and the car made the same noise; the engine just would not start. She slammed her hands against the steering wheel in frustration with an audible "Fuck!" that Dean could hear clearly from across the parking lot. A stupid grin fell across his face; she looked adorable when she was angry.
She got out of the car and slammed the door, walking around to the front to open the hood and see what the problem was. It was evident from the hopeless look on her face that she had absolutely no clue what she was looking for. Dean saw his opportunity, and with sweaty hands and no firm idea of what he was going to say, began the agonising journey from the entrance of the bar to Evie and her delinquent car.
"Hey, you need some help with that?" Dean asked. He was about two metres away from her, and he was slightly worried that he might pass out or try to jump her bones if he got any closer. He didn't want to do either of those things right now.
Evie glanced up and studied him with clear, hazel eyes, starting at his head and travelling all the way down his body and right the way back up again. Dean felt a burning trail of embers following the path of her eyes on his body. He really wished she hadn't had done that.
"Actually, yeah. I can usually deal with things like this but I know next to nothing about cars. This piece of crap refuses to start at least twice a week. Could you take a look, maybe?" she asked. She seemed reluctant to let him help her, but Dean could tell she knew she had precious little choice.
"Sure. So it does this often? How long has it been happening?" Dean enquired. He was pretty sure, from the sound the old car was making, it was a simple matter of adjusting the carburettor. He was desperate to keep her talking for as long as possible though, and started to take a more detailed look around under the hood of her car. It was in bad shape. Dean wasn't sure if this thing had ever been properly serviced since it was built; how it hadn't fallen to pieces long ago was beyond him.
"About a month, maybe a little longer. I wouldn't mind so much but my car kinda makes part of my meal ticket these days, so I need it to run right," she almost growled the last part and Dean had to cough to cover the little sound of surprise and lust that escaped his throat. She looked at him quizzically and Dean averted his gaze back to the car's internal working. Get it together, you idiot.
"I'm guessing your music is how you make your living then? You got far to drive for your next gig?" Dean asked, proud of himself for the casual way he'd tried to find out where she was headed to next.
"Yeah, I sing and play and they give me free beer and a few dollars. Then I drive on to the next town and the next bar. Next stop, Pipestone. It's just up the road a stretch, tiny little town really. What did you say your name was?" she demanded, her hazel eyes unblinking as she searched Dean's for something that was eluding her. He felt like she could see all the way to the back of his brain.
"I didn't, but it's Dean. Dean Winchester. I think the problem is your carburettor. If you can wait 15 minutes I can fix it up for you now, I've got my tools in my trunk."
"I'm Evie, though I guess you already knew that from the bar. Would you mind fixing it now? I gotta be up early to get to Pipestone by lunch."
Dean smiled and nodded, pointed to his car and started walking over towards the Impala. He was incapable of forming a single coherent word. He was pretty sure that Pipestone was the town he'd seen the vengeful spirit crop up in when reading the paper looking for jobs. It was like fate, as lame as it sounded. He'd just reached his car when he heard Evie's voice cut through the night air and into his chest like a blade, followed by a deep shout and a lot of feet scuffling the floor. He whipped around and to his utter fury saw the douchebag from the bar earlier trying to pin Evie up against her car.
She was punching him as hard as she could until he grabbed both of her wrists with one meaty hand, a wordless scream of protest launching itself from Evie's mouth as she stared at him in anger. Dean wasn't even aware of himself running across the parking lot, but before he knew it the asshole was throwing a punch at him that he caught in his fist, using the force to twist the guy back on himself. Dean slammed his head down on the trunk of the car, pinning his huge arm behind his back.
"You value your life in any kind of way buddy, I suggest you get the fuck away from this lady and the hell away from this bar. Don't come back, ever. If you do, I'll know, and I'll be back for you. Do you understand me?" Dean growled in the guy's ear. "I said, do you fucking understand me?".
"Yes, yes I understand. Let go of me, please!" the guy whimpered. Dean slammed his head against the trunk once more for good luck and threw him away from the car. He stumbled, then lumbered off to his car and drove off pretty damn quick. Dean was cursing the fucker under his breath when Evie snapped him back to the present.
"What did you do that for? I had it under control," she said hotly, glaring daggers at Dean. He felt like they were sticking into his heart, but she'd gotten his back up now. Getting pissed at him for saving her bacon was not going to go down well.
"Oh yeah, sure seemed like it when he had you in a wrist lock pinned against the car," Dean snapped.
Evie stared at him coldly for a few seconds, before sighing and walking to the trunk of the car. "You got blood on my car!" she whined. Dean's anger had dissolved as quickly as it had arrived; her lips had turned down into a pout that had rendered him completely overwhelmed once again.
"Believe me, the blood is the least of this piece of junk's problems," Dean muttered, and she gasped. A mock offended look crept onto her face and Dean couldn't help but smile at her.
"Where did you learn to fight like that, anyway? That guy was huge, he shoulda taken you easy!" she wondered aloud. Dean decided to take the backhanded compliment and the opportunity it had given him.
"The same place you did, I'd wager." With these words Dean pulled down the collar of his shirt so the flaming sun on his chest was visible in the cold night air.
Her face was a round mask of shock. Hey eyes and mouth formed perfect Os. If it wasn't such a beautiful sight Dean would have found it comical. Evie took a few moments to register what she'd just found out. Dean chose to wait it out; it was probably safer to wait for her to speak first if his little experience of her was anything to go by.
She shook her head, a defeated look on her face. Her chestnut waves bounced and shone in the moonlight, distracting Dean momentarily from gauging her reaction. But then she said something which Dean would never have expected in a million years.
"Do you want to come for a beer at my motel? After you've fixed my car, of course."
How could he say no to that?