Author's notes: These two are adorable, really :)) I hope you didn't expect me to forget about their usual bantering not that Dean lost his memory? Because if you did – sorry! :)))
Enjoy!
Chapter 2
She hated alarm clock. All alarm clocks in general and her own in particular. Whenever it rang, it always was too early, or right in the middle of the sweetest dream ever, or else untimely, causing a stubborn childish wish to dig deeper into the soft covers and send everything to hell, even if she didn't really want to sleep. And why didn't she turn the damn thing off in the evening? There was no need to wake up early today anyway. She could as well allow herself to sleep for at least two hours more.
Bela groped for her alarm clock and switched off the annoying beeping. She groaned into her pillow and pulled a blanket over her head, fully intended not to leave her warm and so comfortable cocoon until she felt fresh and rested once again. To hell with everything! Especially after that terrible nightmare she had that night… Besides, it still felt like her eyes were full of sand or something else that shouldn't be there.
And here they were, footsteps in the hallway.
She froze – literary – as chill ran down her spine, all alert and awake at once. She caught her breath and reached for the gun. Felt safer and somehow more sure of herself in a way only when her fingers closed around the cold steel of a weapon. Thoughts jumping like crazy in her head, she tried to come up with what to do next and estimate how much time she needed to get out of her bed, cross the room and come downstairs. Not much but…
Dean!
Bela exhaled loudly, clearly with relief, and thumped her head into the pillow with a frustrated moan.
Good news – it was probably Dean Winchester walking around the first floor area, not somebody who came to rob her, or kill her, or something like that, which wouldn't be surprising or unexpected but still not quite something she was looking forward to either. Bad news – all events of past night, vague memories of which were pretty bright and vivid in her mind, were real. Oh, and she hoped so much she'd wake up in the morning and find out that it was nothing more than a nightmare! Creepy nightmare, Bela winced. But still the one she'd simply forget in a couple of minutes. Yeah, sure, too much to hope for!
And, honestly, she'd rather it was someone downstairs she'd just shoot for breaking in and move on, than someone she'd actually have to deal with, one way or another, she thought gloomily.
Conspiracy theory came to life again, and Bela, sleepy and grumpy, crawled from under her blankets. Her cat raised his head and followed her with the gaze of his yellow eyes. She tiptoed to the door – held her breath even! - and opened it carefully a little bit, wide enough to see a staircase and a small part of a foyer, all lit with bright early-morning sun. And then a little bit more, to poke her head out. Decided to accept inevitable, as there seemed to be not so much of a choice, but wanted to make sure first that it was Dean there, because - who knew? Bela preferred to check it out while she still had her gun close at hand. No surprises, thank you!
But it was Dean, no doubt. Bela sighed at the sound of his muttering in her living room about something that she couldn't make out from upstairs, or talking to himself. Whatever!
She dropped her gaze to her feet when she felt her cat rubbing against her bare legs before slipping out of the room and down the staircase, tail up. Decided to check on the guest, Bela guessed. Innate curiosity.
Shower made her feel better, more alive she'd even say. Less exhausted. And compound enough not to gawk at Dean when she found him in the kitchen with a frying pan in his hand, whistling something under his nose. He shaved, definitely, and changed into a plain black t-shirt that was perfectly outlining the shape of his shoulders and his broad back. Hair a bit rumpled, but Bela didn't remember him looking any different. All in all he looked… fresh. And rested. After 3 or 4 hours of sleep?! Somebody should give a serious consideration to officially declaring it illegal for men to look the way Dean looked at 8:30 in the morning.
All she could brag about was that nice feeling caused by the fact that she was finally dressed in something that wasn't half-transparent. That was speaking about feelings. But the mirror in her bathroom upstairs also proved that she looked good too, assuming lack of sleep and overly pissed-off state.
He must have heard her coming, or maybe caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, because as soon as Bela came to the counter Dean turned and flashed his best million-bucks smile at her, all charm in the flesh.
"Hey there!" Bela wished she wasn't buying into that smile of his. Wished it wasn't changing her rather pissed-off state to the less pissed-off. "Um… I was hungry, and you were asleep. Hope, you don't mind…" he waved his hand indefinitely to the fridge.
Whatever, was what she wanted to say. First impulse. Natural reaction even. But instead, "Oh, sure, of course!" And smiled back, all teeth. Wanted to add something like sweetie or honey for good measure but it was so sugary sweet that the words literary got stuck in her throat.
And then… silence.
She thought it felt awkward at night to stand half-dressed before the bloody Winchesters and listening to the insane story Sam was telling her? No, it was nothing, Bela realized all of a sudden. Awkward was what she was feeling right now, looking at Dean while he was cooking… whatever he was cooking in her kitchen. So weird, so out of place, she thought, and couldn't help but close her eyes for a couple of seconds, hoping that the picture before them would change once she opened them again. It didn't, though. Not that she was seriously expecting for such a miracle to happen, but…
Wondered why Dean wasn't sharing her feelings. He didn't seem to be uncomfortable at all! Of course, she strongly suspected that Dean probably couldn't be uncomfortable with anything. Naturally! Definitely not in her kitchen early in the morning… But c'mon!
Bela watched him with curiosity for a while, still not ready to toss aside the feeling that all this comedy was nothing more but a part of a big plan to... do something. Expected even – in the back of her mind – that Sam would jump out from under the counter so that the two of them could laugh her in the face. Caught herself on the thought that it surprised her more when first two, then five minutes passed and nothing like that happened. Wanted to comment on lack of coffee after that because, hey, he could've thought about that, too, if he did think about breakfast. Smiled to herself and decided not to be so bitchy from the start. Sure as hell she'd have not one opportunity for that ahead.
She moved to the coffee machine to occupy herself somehow, casting surreptitious glances at him every now and again, while Dean was jumping around the frying pan and a toaster, humming the tune she did not recognize under his breath and casting surreptitious glances at her, too. And maybe she was paranoid, which was justified actually, but she still couldn't get rid of the feeling that it was a joke. No, seriously, years and years of hunting all this nasty stuff, and what? Dean Winchester should be smarter than that! A spell!
The thought made Bela hem scornfully, and clear her throat to hide it.
"So, hm, we're… dating?" Dean asked rather suddenly, but all the same matter-of-factly, as if his primary intention was to break the silence and talking about weather seemed way too pathetic. And gave Bela a questioning look.
She paused. Wondered what surprised her more – the question itself or the meaning of it. Well, the latter shouldn't be too surprising.
"Not…" really, was what she was about to say. Honestly, Bela hated lying just because, when there was no real necessity for it. It could get complicated once she forgot what she did say and what she didn't, and how she said it if she did… Too complicated! But – hey! – that was Sam's freaking idea, wasn't it? So why not let him deal with the mess in the end? She could have some fun too, now that they literary pulled her into this crap. Decided that a couple of random run-ins could be considered as dating, say, without details. Besides, they did go to that museum party as a couple – a married couple! - didn't they? And with a smile – real, charming smile, "Sort of."
Which sounded too much as "yes" and "no" at the same time to her.
Dean hemmed at the wording of her reply but seemed to be satisfied enough with it.
Oh, this was going to be real fun!
Bela poured herself a cup of coffee when the coffee-machine beeped, announcing the end of the coffee-making process. Took a little sip and added some cream, thought for a moment and poured a splash into the saucer for her cat because he like it. Looked at Dean over the rim of the cup with a hint of amusement in her eyes. And arched her brows expressively when he put a plate on top of the counter and passed it down to her. Eggs and cheese toast. It looked… unburned and, well, edible. From outside.
"Thank you." She looked curiously at it, heard Dean smirk.
Yeah, okay, it was strange to think that someone actually cooked a breakfast for her without primary intention to poison her. And it was… nice. Unfamiliar, yes, like new territory, but still… nice. Even made her feel somewhat warm inside. It was… homey?
Theatre of the absurd - that was how she was seeing it all. Like all impossible things came together and happened at once! Had anyone told her 24 hours ago that she was going to have a breakfast with Dean Winchester after he spent a night in her guest bedroom she'd laugh them in the face, though she would appreciate the joke.
"Oh, by the way, do you know you have no beer in there?" Dean took his own plate and joined her at the counter, took a place across from her, like it was some kind of unspoken agreement between them that having a breakfast at the table in the dining area would be too… official, or something else stupid. He poked his fork into the fridge when Bela blinked at him with misunderstanding.
"I have wine," she shrugged. Each bottle of which is probably twice more expensive than your so precious car, together with contents of it's trunk, she wanted to add, but, seriously, what was the point in starting their usual banter if he didn't get it anyway? That was annoying, really, because all the fun from communication was Dean was in bantering. Or bickering. Or talking with guns drawn and fire flaring in the eyes.
Bela shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts. Whatever! Sam was gonna be back, with a charm, or a spell, or a bright idea. He'd make some passes with his hands, sprinkle Dean's head with a magic powder, read incantation in Latin and… Voila! Dean Winchester, in person! His irritating, arrogant and ill-manner self again.
Applause!
Oh, don't mention it!
Maybe she would even miss this new improved Dean, Bela thought. He at least didn't try to pretend that he was better than he actually was.
Oh, Lord! What were all these sentiments about?
She'd better be as far from both brothers when this happy moment of occurred. First, she had no wish to be involved, one way or another. And second… Oh, the first was enough!
Besides, it was her chance, the luck she couldn't even hope for, like one in a million opportunity. Now that one of the Winchesters was neutralized – she should pump out of Sam which ritual caused Dean's amnesia, by the way, and try something like that once he was too much trouble for her again, which was only a matter of time, Bela was pretty sure of it - and the second one was too busy saving the first, she could finally relax and make some money without expecting any minute that two annoying jerks would jump out of nowhere and spoil everything, the way they had already done, and not once, in the past.
Bela smiled softly to herself at the prospect, calculated quickly possible income in her head, and smiled wider.
She took a bite of what Dean offered her then. And had to admit that it was not simply edible. It was tasty. Not a five-stars restaurant cuisine of course, but up to that very moment Bela seriously believed that to cook in Dean-speak meant to grab a couple of greasy burgers and some fries in the nearest roadside fast-food café, the cheaper the better. Which wouldn't be surprising assuming the way of life of the Winchesters. One day here, another day there. Not an American dream by any rate but if they liked it – doing good things and saving people for free – Bela was the last person to try to persuade them to change it.
But this new discovery – Dean's culinary talents that probably were limited by eggs and toasts - made her feel somehow satisfied, for no reason at all. She didn't like to be wrong. Even less she liked to change her opinion about people once she had it formed. But in that very case it even felt pleasant. Which was stupid, of course, and caused most likely by lack of other things to think about.
"You're making good coffee," Dean commented while chewing this cheese toast of his.
"Everything I do – or make – is good." Never a modest girl, was she?
Dean scoffed but she saw the smile that he was so keen on hiding. New territory for him, too, she realized. He was probably trying to guess what kind of behavior would be natural for him, as if it made sense to pretend that nothing happened. Maybe even tried to guess what she was expecting from him.
It felt sad. And it made Bela wish to growl in frustration. She wasn't going to be too much comfort for him, for God's sake! Well, couldn't imagine him crying on her shoulder and whining about injustices of life either. And, by the way, they were together here – he had no idea what she was expecting from him while she too had no idea what she was supposed to expect. What he was expecting from her. Not a hug or something like that, Bela hoped.
"Hello, buddy!" Dean greeted her cat when he jumped up onto the counter and took a position near the window from where he could observe both the street outside and the two of them. And then, "Hey, Bela, lemme ask you something?"
She paused for a moment with a fork half-way to her mouth, strained inside. This was kind of walking on this ice because, hell, of course he had millions of questions, how could he not?! Everyone in his place would. And damn Sam didn't even say what part of their colorful life she was allowed to reveal and not have her head on the stake after that for damaging the remains of Dean's state of mind. Not that she really cared, ever. Just didn't want to give the Winchesters one more reason to wish to kill her or something. Like they didn't have enough of them by now.
And, damn it, Sam shouldn't have mentioned such things as lost puppies to her!
"Sure," Bela shrugged with pretended indifference. Put the bite into her mouth and started chewing carefully.
"You've got lots of occult stuff in here," Dean threw a quick look over her shoulder and into the living room, and then narrowed his eyes at her. "Tell me you're not a witch."
Bela choked, dropped her fork and it clicked against the plate. And the next moment she was laughing, and laughing in earnest. The laughter. She covered her mouth with her hand as if it could help, and then buried her whole face into her palms, shoulders shaking slightly. God, this was the last thing she could ever expect him to ask. And it was so… so…
Her reaction to his words caused a smile on Dean's face too, which he tried to hide by concentrating on the contents of his plate.
And then, "What?" somewhat defensively. "It was hard not to notice, you see!"
"I'm sorry, Dean," Bela muttered, still giggling. And after another rush of laughter she finally managed to pull herself together. "A girl can have a hobby," was what she said, which was not a lie but not the whole truth either. Ideal answer.
"A hobby?" He smirked. "Geez!"
"Oh, please, don't make me go through this all over again!" As if they've really been through this before! Presumably they have. And she also made an attempt to playfully kick him into wherever she might reach from her stool. Missed, and sent him laughing too.
And, as stupid as it was, it felt great!
"So, you're saying… that all these things are really… real?" Dean went on when he regained his ability to speak again. But his voice full of skepticism nearly led to another round of uncontrolled laughter.
Bela bit her lip to suppress it.
"Do they look like playthings to you, Dean?"
"Well…" he drawled and paused. Obviously tried to choose the words that wouldn't make Bela start throwing sharp objects at him, especially now that she had a fork in her hand. "I mean, do they really work?"
"More or less," she shrugged.
"And you can cast spells?" Looked at her suspiciously as if trying to decide whether she was kidding or not. "Talk to dead people?"
"When dead people don't mind having a little chat, yes," Bela propped her chin up with her hand, fixed her gaze on his face.
"Awesome," he grinned. Couldn't help himself, Bela guessed. "That's just awesome!" Like the Dean. "But it leaves one more question. Isn't there… um, you know… enough people who're still breathing to talk to?" And peered back at her.
And it was a direct hit. Bela felt a tight knot forming in the pit of her stomach, cold and uncomfortable. You and your brother are two of a few, she thought bitterly. Sellers and buyers aside, he was so damn right – not so many people she could actually talk to. Like talk, not just exchange a couple of meaningless phrases. And, fine, she could admit it to herself – and forget about it the next moment because it was embarrassing for Bela Talbot to admit something like that – that the Winchesters were the only two she liked talking to, enjoyed even, if this word was applicable to the situations when their paths crossed. They were so sweet in their attempts to change what couldn't be changed and save the world that couldn't be saved that it couldn't slip past her. Though it wasn't mutual, and she knew it. And she knew that they knew it, too.
Not that it bothered her, this lack of communication. Not really. Years and years of experience dulled the feeling of loneliness that she used to have from time to time of the past. She had her cat, she loved him, and he was the best company she could wish for. But there were moments sometimes – rare moments, precious moments - when Bela did feel easy with someone, like now, and she couldn't help but think against herself that an essential part of life was probably slipping past her. Even if loneliness meant freedom and independence in the first place. And there was nothing in the world that Bela valued more than freedom and independence, money aside.
But nothing changed about her face or her voice when she spoke again.
"Enough," Bela agreed easily. "But it is a lot less entertaining, don't you think?"
Dean chuckled, his lips twitched into a wry smile.
"Wanna try?" Bela asked suddenly.
He arched his brows expressively, then gave a long studying look to the talking board on the wall, considering something in his mind.
"No, thanks!" Said at last.
"What? Are you scared, Dean?" She snorted mockingly, obviously with a challenge.
"I don't wanna be one of those jerks who seriously believe in such kind of crap, sweetheart." And he flashed a broad smile at her. "No offence."
"None taken." Bela narrowed her eyes at him, inclined her head to her shoulder. "So, I'm a jerk?"
"No," lightly, on the last bite of his toast. "But you're weirdie."
"Yeah," she sent him the most charming smile she was capable of, batted eyelashes for better effect. "And that was exactly why you fell for me, Dean."
Rule #1: the whole world could go to hell or elsewhere, but the final word must always be hers, no matter what. Besides, subtle flirting with Dean was what she liked most about communicating with him. He never was comfortable with it. Not with her anyway. And that was why it was so much fun. It made her feel better.
Though it was a bad idea to get too deep into the role because she still had to get rid of Dean before noon. Chances were she'd have to take off to who knew where in the evening if her appointment finished the way she planned. Sam had no damn right to break into her life like that and make her be responsible for Dean, no matter how desperate he was! And where the hell was the home number of Bobby?
"It's creepy, you know," Dean said all of a sudden, and brushed his hand through his short hair, made them even more rumpled. "All I remember is this dusty warehouse or something like that, and this guy, Sam, staring me like a jerk, as if he was seeing a ghost," he smirked. Bela put her fork aside and met his gaze. A moment of closeness. She could feel his desperation. Not fully formed though, but it made her wish she could block it out anyway. Wished she… Seemingly, she wished for too much! "And then we were in the car, driving… here, I suppose. And Sam was asking how I was doing every half a minute, very annoying, I must say." He paused. "But before that… nothing. Like I was born at the age of… how old I am by the way?"
"Twenty eight," Bela answered automatically.
"At the age of twenty eight, right there, in that dump of a place," he finished and shrugged, confusion all over his face.
"Not an experience one would like to live through," she had to admit, and it sounded like a very lame consolation.
"My point exactly," Dean winced.
Yeah, she sucked at consolations. Unfamiliar territory. Hoped that maybe soft tone of her voice compensated it somehow.
"Don't worry, Dean," Bela reached her hand out, wanted to cover his – impulsive comfort gesture – but changed her mind half-way across the counter between them and grabbed a tissue from the holder instead, to justify the movement that he couldn't not to notice. "Sam is a… resourceful guy. He'll… he'll think something out, I'm sure."
"Think so?" He asked, a mixture of hope and suspicion in his voice.
She smiled at him encouragingly over the rim of her cup of coffee.
"Sure, he is smarty." And added in a rush of sudden confidence, but not without sarcasm nonetheless, "Wouldn't have started a law school, or something like that, if he wasn't."
She finished her coffee, reminded herself that it was none of her business, it was Sam's and Bobby's job to deal with Dean after all, not hers, and slid gracefully from the stool under Dean's look to put her dishes into the sink.
"That's… that's cool!" He breathed out in genuine admiration. Made Bela scoff to herself, her back to him anyway. "Law school…" he added somewhat dreamingly. "So freaking cool! And he is…?"
"No," she turned to him, leaned against the sink. "He quit." Paused. "But, honestly, Dean, you better ask him if you need the details." Because she knew them and wasn't keen on digging into them right now. That was weird, to tiptoe around everything demon-related.
She changed her mind about the sink and put her plate and cup into the dishwasher.
Had it been any other situation Bela would surely never miss a chance to comment on bad karma, meaning Dean's Mom and his brother's girlfriend, or something as cruel as that, because cheap shots were what the two of them were very good at. Would also add a couple of words about Sam's reputation of psycho freak and finish with a sharp remark on vanity of their attempts to make the world better. How could they be so narrow-minded? It wasn't even funny!
But now…
Now they had to hurry up, lest she would be late for her appointment with a wealthy and promising client. A couple hundred grand was exactly the outcome of today's meeting she hoped for. And she got used to have her expectations justified.
And after that, she had a potential client for an ancient Indian death mask, presumably cursed and therefore powerful, that, rumors were, was kept in a private collection in North Carolina. And one more for the charm was already locked securely in the safe in her bedroom. He lived in California, so maybe she would have to fly there for a couple of days – and simply add travel expenses to the price of the charm. Business was business. Besides, she liked the idea of enjoying real sun, and maybe she could even have a walk to the beach, watch the ocean. Prove herself that money wasn't the only source of happiness in life. That was tempting! Made her even look forward to the trip.
See? No time for looking after lost and broken hunters! Her inner Florence Nightingale took an extended vacation. Went to Hawaii probably, because that was what Bela herself wanted to do. It was not bloody likely she'd meet any of the Winchesters there.
The phone call caught her in the middle of half-formed plans for the next week.
"Sorry, duty calls," she slid past Dean, grabbed her cell phone from the counter and put on her best smile before answering, as if the speaker on the other end could see her. Added some cheerfulness to the voice, too, so it would sound like – this call is the best thing that ever happened to me. "Morning, mister Tyler! Didn't expect you to call but it is nice to hear you!" She gave out a short laugh at his reply. "Of course!… At three in the afternoon?" Enough time to drop Dean off at Bobby's, come back, change and drive to meet her buyer. "Sure! That's perfect!… Thank you for your call, mister Tyler. I'll see you later."
She hung up, and her lips curved into a small smile in anticipation of receiving good money before evening. She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully, considering the details, and decided that she should put on that dark-blue skirt suit, it looked good with light-blue blouse and high heels. Professional and casual at the same time. She knew she was making very good impression dressed like this, all you can trust me no matter what, I am your best choice. If she did succeed – which she was pretty sure of – she'd reward herself with a glass of the best wine she had at dinner.
Bela looked at Dean out of the corner of her eye. He didn't seem to pay any serious attention to the phone call, and right at the moment he was entertaining her cat by scratching his head and throat. Both definitely enjoyed each other's company. Well, her cat surely did as he closed his eyes with pleasure and even started purring softly.
But suddenly he strained himself and his ears twitched at the sound that Bela didn't hear. Dean forgotten and abandoned cold-heartedly, he jumped off the counter and hurried into the foyer, tail up and metal plate on his collar clinking in time with his steps. Bela frowned and followed him. If it was her neighbor's dog at her door again…
Dean huffed with mock offence written all over his face at being so easily betrayed in favor of something shady, and grabbed a cookie from the bowl. "Mm, that's delicious," grunted around a mouthful of it. "Did you make those?" Asked her and helped himself to another one.
"Sure," Bela threw over the shoulder without thinking. And what was the difference if she'd actually bought that pack of chocolate-chip'n'toffee biscuits earlier that week in the supermarket two blocks down the street? She liked them, that was it! And it didn't look like Dean was going to find out somehow that the cookies were not home-made. Not that he was paying attention to such nuances anyway, she thought.
She checked on the control panel of her security system in the corridor and sighed with relief when found no sign of damage or evidence of breaking in.
It caught her off guard though, this seeming safety behind the locked up door, and that was why Bela didn't even get surprised at first when a shadow rushed past her and the next moment she was literary pinned to the wall of her corridor. An elbow at her throat and a gun at her chest, at the left side of it to be exact, right where her heart started thudding crazily as soon as she met the gaze of ice-cold blue eyes and heard a familiar, "Hello, Bela."
To be continued...
