John Winchester parked his car in the drive through of his new house. It was a big Victorian thing, yellow and white. His former wife, Mary, would have loved it. His heart ached at the memory of her and he tried to push the thought out of his head.
He woke his eldest son, Dean, by opening the passenger door, and sticking his arms out to catch him before he hit the pavement. Dean sat up, looking groggy and rubbing his eyes. That boy could sleep. His younger son, Sam, was a lighter sleeper. He started to wake up the second his father pulled into the driveway. He kicked the back of his older brother's chair.
"Gross Dean you were drooling" he exclaimed. Dean scowled.
"Shut up Sammy" Dean replied, wiping some drool from his cheek.
"Don't. Call. Me. Sammy" Sam said through gritted teeth, giving Dean a venomous glare through the mirror and kicking the back his seat again. Dean just smirked in an extremely irritating way.
"Sam, you're going to get mud from your shoes on the interior" John warned his youngest son "And Dean, stop picking on your brother"
Dean stiffened, and nodded at a direct order from his father "Yes sir" he replied in a hard voice.
It wasn't long before the two of them were helping their father unload the few bags they had into the house. They kept all their furniture in warehouses when they were on the road, until John decided some case required more attention and they would just call the movers and have them ship all of it to a house that John always managed to find and buy spur of the moment.
The house was pretty big, but he had gotten it cheap. Probably because of the story that girl at the diner had told him. She was a looker. Dean probably would stare at her, mouth wide open. Just because John was still mourning for his late wife didn't mean he couldn't notice other girls.
Someone had nailed the doors that led to the cellar and the attic shut, John decided he would look into that as soon as he got the time. Right now he had more pressing matters to deal with. Like the fact that there was a demon in the city, a few miles away from the hick town they were staying in, that was possessing the criminals at the prison and making them escape. So far the demon had let out about 20 criminals. And not shoplifting teenagers but actual criminals, murderers. And it had to stop.
The three of them dragged themselves up to their rooms and immediately dozed off into sweet delicious sleep. They were exhausted and deserved a long night's rest.
Dean was the last to wake up, as usual. He woke to the sweet delicious smell of...pie! He immediately hopped out of his bed and glanced sideways to see that Sammy's bed was all made up and neat. The nerd. The little bastard would probably eat all the pie before Dean got there. He sprinted down the stairs at record speed and barreled into the kitchen.
The first thing that caught his attention was a big pie in the middle of the kitchen table. There were three pieces already cut out of it and he could see the delicious blueberry filling oozing out of it and onto the pan.
He wondered which fatass ate two pieces.
The smell wafted into his nostrils and he breathed it in. His stomach growled and he realized he hadn't eaten since last night. It smelled better than any pie he'd smelled before. And he'd smelled a lot of pies in his day. He had a feeling it would be the best pie he'd ever eaten and that feeling got stronger when he saw the way his father and his brother were stuffing it into their mouths.
Dean threw himself into the chair beside Sammy and plucked a fork off the table, not noticing the empty plate beside it. He dug the fork into the pie crust and put the forkful into his mouth.
The pie crust fell apart in his mouth and the blueberry melted onto his tongue. The flavor spread into every crevice of his mouth. It really was the best pie he had ever had.
He let out a little "Mmm" of approval and slid into the chair, his whole body relaxing,
"Glad you like it" said a voice from behind him. The voice was deep and husky, making it difficult for him to tell whether the speaker was male or female. He would bet female.
His whole body immediately tensed and he sat up quickly, his senses sharpening.
He heard a bark of laughter behind him. It was loud and gruff, not at all helping with his gender identification. The laugh gave him goose bumps and his stomach knotted. It was a weird feeling that he had never experienced before.
He wondered whether it was a sign of danger. His father always told him to trust his instincts although this wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. It was just…different.
A hand reached over his shoulder and plucked the fork out of his hand. The arm attached to it was slender, tanned and well toned. A woman's, unless it was a gay dude which would explain why it was completely hair free and so delicate.
The hand put another clean fork into its place and then disappeared behind him. The place she/he touched him was tingly and the knot in his stomach tightened. Dean put the fork down and savored the rest of the pie, ignoring the feeling. After all, if his father had let this person in so that meant it was safe.
A girl about his age plopped down into the chair in front of him. Fortunately he wasn't holding his fork because he was sure he would've dropped it.
She had flaming red hair that glinted where the sun hit it. It was tied up in a loose ponytail that threatened to fall apart and there were already a couple of strands that had come loose and they framed her oval face. Her eyes were almond shaped and wide. They were a dazzling color that seemed to sparkle. Like she had two emerald stones set into her eye sockets, the prettiest emeralds in the world. They seemed to brighten when they saw him but that could have been a trick of the light.
Her eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes that gave the effect that she was wearing eyeliner. Her tanned skin had a healthy glow to it and he got the feeling that if he touched it, it would feel cool and smooth, like porcelain. And she looked delicate enough to be a porcelain doll. Although she gave the impression that she was not to be messed with.
Her nose was splashed with light freckles that stood out clearly against her tanned skin. Her cheek bones were high and there were freckles there too. Her cheeks were a dark, rosy color that contrasted with her skin. Her lips were plump and shaped perfectly shaped and made Dean what it would feel like to have them pressed against his own.
He tore his gaze away from her beautiful face to scan over the rest of his body, or what he could see of it anyway. She was dressed in a tank top, and he could see part of her bra. She had an impressive bust, not big enough that it needed its own zip code or anything but then again she was only sixteen, if his age assessment was correct.
Her bare arms were well toned, she didn't have bulging muscles or anything but she was pretty buff. He got the feeling she did a lot of physical activity. Probably something out in the sun–like swimming or volleyball–he guessed from her tan. His mouth twisted into a smirk.
"Did you make this?" his father asked. Dean glanced sideways at his father to see that his plate was now pie free and all that was left of it was crumbs. He stood up to put the plate away in the sink.
"No" she snorted "I can't cook" Too bad Dean thought. "It's Mrs. Mcdonalds from up the road. She sends me pie all the time. Her son has a farm and he sends her blueberries and she has nothing else to do with them." Once again, her voice gave him goose bumps. Nice goose bumps.
She turned to Dean and smiled. He was still watching his father rinse the plate so he didn't notice. She rolled her eyes and pushed her plate towards him.
"Like pie?" she asked him, arching one of her dark eyebrows. He smirked.
"That's not the only thing I like in this room" she rolled her eyes and Sam groaned from beside him. Dean stepped on his foot and Sam yelped in pain.
"I hope you're talking about the furniture Dean" His father said firmly, giving him a stern look.
"Do you want the pie or not?" she asked crossly, her face dripping with annoyance.
"Sure" Dean nodded.
She smiled, showing her perfect white teeth and her expression or annoyance disappeared. She got up and bent over to cut him a piece, giving him a clear view down her shirt.
Unfortunately, a sports bra covered anything he would be interested in seeing but the knot in his stomach tightened and the fantasies that one peek gave him probably gave him enough sins to cross out all of his good deeds for the next five years. She sat back down after she placed the piece onto his plate but he went on staring at her chest.
A slight frown appeared on her delicate face and she put her finger under his chin, tilting his head upwards. He raised his eyes to meet hers and his breath got caught in his throat. Her bright, emerald green eyes softened and smiled at him. His eyes widened slightly and his heart flew to his throat and pounded loudly in his ears. He was afraid she would hear.
They stared at each other for several seconds, but to Dean it felt like years. And he could go on staring, saying nothing, doing nothing, just looking into the emeralds that were in front of him, but all good things must come to an end. John coughed loudly, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen onto the room.
"Eyes up" she breathed out, tearing her gaze away from him and pulling her hand away quickly, she looked slightly embarrassed.
"Well, I should get going" she said, standing up. A smile returning to her face. Dean didn't want her to go he wanted her to stay with him, safe and sound.
"My dad and my brothers will be back soon and they'll be in a bad mood if they don't find any food"
"I thought you said you don't cook." Dean said as he picked up some crumbs from Sam's plate with his finger. The real reason was because he did want to make eye contact with her again because he was sure he's beg her to stay and then she'd think he was a psycho and never come back again, and he sure as hell wanted to see her again.
"We've got enough casseroles and meatloaves to last a year" she laughed lightly "All I have to do is pop them in the microwave" she grinned and Dean couldn't help but peek up at her between his eyelashes and crack a smile.
"Anyway just call if you need anything. I'm right across the street. Oh, and Dean?" how did she know his name? When she said it his heart did a little backflip behind his ribcage and the knot in his stomach that had been diminishing slowly appeared again.
"Yeah?" he managed. His voice sounded a little strange though. He looked up from his plate completely to be met with those shocking green eyes that he could get lost in within a couple of seconds. The emeralds smiled at him.
"I'm George" she said in that husky voice of hers that gave him nice goose bumps. Then she turned and disappeared down the hall.
Damn did that woman have a fine ass. And her legs were long and toned. He wanted to run his hands over her thighs, hold her fine ass in his hands and fuck the shit out of her. This was his fantasy, a fantasy he was determined to make reality.
"Who was that?" Dean demanded, his voice still sounding strange.
"Why do always stare at girls butts and boobs Dean?" Same asked, looking at him with wide curious eyes.
"Someday when you become a man you'll understand" Sam raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
"That was George Reynolds. She lives across the street and her dad owns the diner. She told me the story of this house. Says its haunted" John smirked, amused and Sam's eyes widened.
"We're living in a haunted house?" John nodded and Sam's eyes turned fearful.
"According to local legend we are. Dean, I want you to get close to her. I have a feeling she isn't telling us everything she knows. I've put you two in school and I made sure you're in all her classes" Dean nodded.
"Yes sir" He had no problem with that. No problem at all.
George Reynolds hurried down the hall. The house gave her the creeps and she had every reason to get out as quickly as she could. This had been her mother's murder scene after all. Even though the police called it an accident but she knew that it was murder, her mother lived around farms all her life. There was no way she could just fall out of a perfectly good tree while picking an apple. No way in hell.
She looked around her. It was an ordinary hallway, nothing strange about it. But she felt…wrong being here. She couldn't explain it but it felt unnatural. She knew the house like the back of her hand from the many times she had been dared to explore it as a young girl.
Something in the living room made her stop. It was a framed picture of a pretty woman holding a bundle of blankets in her arms. She has blonde hair and her features were pretty and well defined. Was this their mother? If so, what had happened to her?
She wanted to ask but it wasn't any of her business and it would be rude. There was another photograph of John and Dean and Sam. They were on a hunting trip of some kind. Dean looked about eight so that would make Sam four. Huge smiles were plastered on the faces as they looked into the camera lens. They looked happy.
She walked into the room and picked up the photograph. She inspected it closely and couldn't help but smile at the innocent faces grinning up at her.
There was another picture. A younger John, she guessed. He had his arm around a younger version of the woman in the photograph. She put the photo in her hand down and picked up the other one. She held it next to the photo of the woman and compared. Definitely the same woman.
"That was my wife" said a sad voice from behind her. George was startled so badly that she jumped and the photo clattered to the floor. She turned to find John Winchester standing there, head bent down, staring down at the photo sadly, his eyes full of pain.
She bent down to pick up the photo and put it back in its place. Then she straightened up and found him looking at her intently. It was rather frightening.
"What happened?" she asked sincerely. She didn't want to ask but the curiosity was killing her.
"She died in a fire, when Dean was four" She got the nagging feeling he wasn't telling her everything she pushed it away though. If he didn't want to tell her it was his decision. He had every right, besides, it was probably difficult to talk about.
"I'm sorry" she said softly, touching his arm lightly. Their eyes met and suddenly every fiber in her being was aching with his pain, with his loss. She could tell, just by looking at him, that he loved her very much. It must have been so difficult on him.
Poor Dean and Sam. Growing up without a mother must have been tough. At least she had a mother growing up. Up until last month that is. She wanted to throw her arms around him, comfort him, and cradle this huge burly stranger in her arms until every speck of pain was gone. She would even take it from him. She just couldn't stand to see someone suffering like this. The sadness she could feel beneath her fingertips was so powerful she didn't even think it was natural.
"I should be the one saying sorry" John said with a small attempted smile. He was trying to lighten the mood so she tried to. She smiled weakly.
"That's okay. I don't like pity anyway" he laughed, an empty meaningless laugh that was noise in her ears.
She noticed she was still touching his arm so she withdrew her hand quickly. He patted her on the shoulder. It was uncomfortable for her, it made her feel like she was five again. But she said nothing.
"George, why are the attic and cellar nailed shut?" Her face became solemn and she glanced up, then glanced down, then back at him.
"Two kids tried to spend the night here. They were dared to. They didn't return in the morning so they called the police and came in looking for them." Her voice was barely above a whisper now.
"They found one in the attic, and the other one in the cellar. All that was left of them was their brains and their hearts" Her tone was serious.
"What did they do with the remains?"
"That's the worst part. They had to clear the place before they could…clean it up. And when they went back, one of the brains was missing and one of the hearts was missing too. They cremated what they found but a lot of people say that their mother still has them in her room somewhere. No one really talks to her much cause all she does is burst into tears."
"When was this?" She wondered why he was asking so many questions. He was probably just curious…seeing as it was his house and all. They always were. But it still bothered her. He seemed genuinely interested and his tone was…serious like he's done this kind of thing before. Like he actually…believed all of this ghost stuff. She pushed these thoughts out of her head.
"Five years ago" John nodded. George noticed something in his eyes, something she didn't like. But she wasn't really one to judge people before she knew everything. And she was certain that she didn't know everything there was to know about the Winchesters. She was far from it.
"Thank you. For the pie too. Dean really likes it" she smiled.
"I could tell" Dean. Just the sound of his name made it hard for her to breathe. She was attractive, she knew that, and her brothers made sure they pointed it out to her regularly. A lot of guys hit on her and usually, she would just tell them to fuck off. This was the first time she actually ever wanted a guy to hit on her. She didn't even mind when he was staring down her shirt, she knew her bra covered everything up anyway, but she didn't want to come off as a slut. And was she sick or something? Why did her heart keep knotting and her heart keeping doing back flips? It was really starting to piss her off. She would check her temperature as soon as she got home.
And when he looked into her eyes, she felt like she would suffocate, but she didn't want to look away. She didn't think she was capable of doing so. She just wanted to stare into those beautiful hazel eyes of his and just stay that way. The weirdest thing was even though she wasn't breathing; hear heart was still pounding loudly in her ears. She was half afraid someone would hear her.
John smiled again "You know the way out right?" she nodded and he headed back to the kitchen.
"Time to clean the guns boys" she overhead him say. Dean and Sam both groaned and she smiled to herself.
She knew that cleaning guns was a long and tiresome process. Her father had taught her as soon as she was old enough to carry a stick. Her mother never approved of it. She didn't want her exposed to guns and violence at such a young age, but her father didn't care.
He let her watch R rated movies when she was only eight, he taught her how to play every sport known to mankind, he taught her how to throw a punch so she wouldn't end up hurting her fist. He took her hunting when her brothers didn't want to go, and he would yell at her brothers if they wouldn't let her join their game of football. He taught her everything she knew about cars, about guns, about sports. Basically, he taught her everything she knew about anything.
She hurried out the door, checking her watch and cursed herself when she saw that she only had half an hour left. She began sprinting. She stood on her front porch, fumbling with her keys. Before she stepped into her house, she crossed herself hurriedly with trembling hands.
That night, when Dean was undressing for bed, he looked out his window and saw that he had the best view he could wish for. He could see straight into George Reynolds' bedroom. George. What kind of name was that for a girl? Maybe it was short for Georgia or something.
It was empty when he first looked so he carried on with what he was doing, slightly disappointed, but when he looked up for the second time she was walking in through the door. She was holding a pile of books in her arms and she dumped them onto her bed.
Dean lowered himself onto his bed and watched as she closed her door. He grabbed a book off his nightstand that he was supposed to read and used his thumb to mark a page. Just in case anyone came in, or, more importantly, in case she noticed she was being watched.
She peeled her shirt off and for every piece of her flesh that was revealed Dean's heart thudded louder and louder, and beat faster and faster until he was sure he was having some sort of heart attack. She released her hair from the ponytail it was tied up in and it tumbled down to her shoulders in thick red waves.
She walked somewhere away from the window, disappearing from his line of vision. He cursed the architects for not making the windows wider, then he thanked them all over again when she appeared again, wearing plaid boxers that hugged her ass just the right way, making his heart stop for a second. He smirked, ignoring his heart.
She brushed aside all her hair to one shoulder and reached to her back and her hand hovered over her bra clasp and Dean found himself grinning widely. Suddenly she stiffened and her whole body became tense. Dean immediately sensed something was wrong and held up the book in front of his face, opened to a random page. He became curious of how fast his heart was beating, and how it had suddenly flown up to his throat, and how his stomach had suddenly knotted tightly. Was he sick or something?
He closed the book after a couple of minutes and, much to his disappointment, he found that she had closed the blinds. Dean sighed and put the book away.