"Dammit!" I yelped as I slammed down on the brakes, swerving to avoid rear-ending the Impala. Dean's tactic to cut me off, rather than call me almost resulting in a fender bender that I wasn't in the mood to hear about. Instead, the Comet, whose brakes hadn't been fixed in almost two years, ended up in a ditch, the back tired blown on a root I didn't have a chance to see. My chin hit the steering wheel, momentarily blinding me. Taking a deep breath, I yanked off my seat belt and slammed the door open, my heart pounding in my chest.
Sadie bounded out of the car, darting off into the distance. Too stunned to chase her, I leaned against the car, waiting for Dean to finally make his way through the roots and bushes to meet me. After a few minutes, he was at my side, apologizing for driving me off the road, explained that Sam wanted us to meet him at one of the diners a few miles from Bobby's. I grumbled and kicked the back tire, still shaken, too breathless to utter anything audible.
"You're riding with me then," he said with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing ever.
"And what about my car?" I grumbled.
"Bobby'll get it towed to his place," he said, again, as if it were obvious. I grumbled and walked to the trunk, popped the lock, and began shoving various guns, knives, bags of salt, you name it, into the two oversized duffel bags that I always kept in the truck 'just in case'.
"You know, we have a full arsenal in the Impala," Dean pointed out.
"I'm not going to let my stuff sit here, just waiting to be taken," I growled. I'd been raided twice before, and replacing some of the older, hand-altered guns and knives proved nearly impossible. Ever since, I refused to leave my car anywhere, with a fully packed trunk.
"At least let me carry them," he offered, flashing me one of those to die for smiles. With a sigh, I handed him the bags and called Sadie. To my surprise, the dog was no where to be found.
"Sadie!" I called, this time louder, my tone urgent. "C'mon Sades!"
"Where did she take off to?" Dean asked, looking around. The sun was beating down on us, but it didn't make much difference with the trees lining one side, the road on the other.
"I have no idea," I said worriedly. I locked the Comet, then started towards the trees. I listened carefully, holding my breath, waiting for the soft sounds of her footfalls or the light sounds of her pants. I heard neither. Instead, I heard the sounds of a bloodcurdling cry, one which only a great deal of pain could cause.
I felt Dean's hand lock on my shoulder, causing me to jump. Our eyes met for a single moment, enough time to know what the other was thinking. I took the lead, my steps careful, silent against the sounds of the woods. In one hand, I had a gun, one which was loaded with real bullets, in the other, I had a silver knife. No matter what we were against, we were prepared.
A second deafening cry echoed through the trees, this time, dropping off to a whimper, a whine of pain. My pace quickened, no longer concerned about trending silently. Dean was right behind me, his steps light, but audible. It took no more than five minutes to reach the spot where the cries were coming from. Laying in a mass of blood and fur, laid Sadie. Or rather, what was left of her. I tossed both the knife and gun to Dean, before collapsing to my knees, my hands searching for any ounce of life. My feeble attempts were wasted.
Sadie had been clawed, straight down her middle, her guts sprawled on the trees and grass around us. Her heart laid feet from her body. Her eyes, wide, but lifeless. I turned her over, and saw another set of claw marks, her skin and fur pealed from her body, blood still seeping into the ground where she laid.
I bit back the bitter scream that was growing in my chest, silent tears falling from my eyes. I hadn't noticed that Dean had left my side until he returned moments later, carrying a lock of what looked like animal fur. After closer examination, I knew, without a doubt, that it was mountain lion fur.
"Werecat," I said simply. There was no way a wild cat would attack a dog Sadie's size, and even if one had, she was strong enough to put up a good fight, one which we would have heard. No. Whatever had killed Sadie had done so quickly, without her ever standing a chance.
"Harley," Dean's voice broke through the silence. I looked up to see his green eyes locked on my face, a hand outstretched to help me up. I wiped my hands on the grass before taking his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. Under any other circumstances, such a gesture would have made me angry.
I walked ahead of him, in the direction of the parked Impala, suddenly overly aware that I was gasping for breath, sweat running down my forehead. I heard Dean approaching and held up my hand to stop him. I lowered it a second later, my hands falling to my knees as I doubled over, emptying my stomach contents all over the pavement. It took several attempts to finally settle both my heart and my stomach before I righted myself, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. I took one last shaking breath before turning to face Dean, who stood just a few feet away, his face masking all emotion. It seemed like that was how Dean coped these days – hiding all emotion.
"C'mon," he said simply, opening the passenger door for me. I slid in without a word, and waited as he loaded the bags into the trunk. He had had enough sense to retrieve my personal bag and laptop from the back seat of the Comet before getting in the seat beside me, his hand shaking as he put the key in the ignition. That was something I'd never seen before. Nothing made Dean shake. Nothing scared him.
I leaned my head against the cold glass of the window while he pulled away from the side of the road. He turned the radio off, letting the purr of the motor fill the silence.
Halfway to the diner, I felt Dean's hand grip mine, his warm skin sending a chill down my spine.
"I'm sorry about your dog," he said, his tone sincere.
"Yeah," I muttered. I let my eyes press tight, fighting back the tears.
"Really," he said, glancing in my direction.
"I know," I sighed. I slipped my shoes off and pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around my ankles. "I just hate it. All of it," I added, looking up.
"What do you mean?" he asked. I turned so my back was against the door, my knees still tucked to my chest.
"The life, the business, everything," I admitted. "I'm tired. Tired of losing people. Tired of watching everything I love, everyone I love dying," I added. I felt him pull the car over and waited as he turned it off. When he did, he turned to face me, his green eyes glossed with tears. I'd never really seen Dean cry before, not in all the years I'd known him.
"I know what you mean," he said softly. His hand reached for mine, clasping them between his own. I looked into his green eyes, for the first time ever, really seeing the depth and emotion they held. It took me a moment to break my gaze, but when I did, I felt myself blushing.
"I just wish it wasn't like this. I wish we could just 'save people, hunt things', rather than lose the people we care about, you know?" I said with a sad sigh.
"I know," he said. He pulled me towards him, awkwardly hooking his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug. Which wasn't easy, considering the confined space.
"Ouch," I finally muttered, my knees digging painfully into the seat. He laughed and let me go, his hands still clasping mine.
"I'm glad I found you," he murmured.
That took me by surprise on so many levels. First of all, Dean was not the romantic type – never was. His father raised him to be a solider, and it was never in Dean's blood to be passionate. The luckiest a girl could get was a one night stand, maybe a phone call if he came to town again. Which never happened. Second, Dean wasn't the overly emotional type, at least, not in front of anyone other than Sam and maybe Cas. Dean was the fearless, emotionless killing machine that got the job done, and did it well. He didn't have time for sappy 'chick flick' moments as he put it.
But in that moment, I saw a completely different side of Dean. A side that scared me. A side that made my heart skip beats, my stomach fill with butterflies, my breath catch in my throat.
In that moment, I fell in love.
"Here," Dean said as he pulled the Impala into the space next to what I knew was on of Bobby's older cars. Once the car stopped, I turned and grabbed my sweatshirt from the backseat, before pushing the door open. Dean followed close behind as I walked into the diner, searching the sea of faces for Sam.
"Over there," Dean said, pointing towards the booth in the back. I had to stand on my tip toes to see through the crowd, seeing Sam's familiar, long hair before anything else. I pushed my way through the people, losing Dean between two heavy set men. It took me a moment to finally come out on the other side, Dean only a few steps behind.
"About time," Sam complained, turning his laptop towards me. "There's another murder, this time, in South Dakota," he explained.
"I assumed as much," I sighed. I slid into the empty booth across from him, letting my eyes read the article. "Not far from where we were," I told Dean, who turned the laptop so he could read the page.
"Where do you think it's heading next?" Sam asked. I reached for the map he had in front of him, and tried to put together the pieces. It didn't help that my mind was elsewhere, on more important issues.
"What are ya having?" the waitress asked as she made her way over to our table. Dean ordered the usual – a bacon cheese burger. Sam ordered a salad, and I simply asked for a water.
"Holler if you change your mind," she said with a smile as she made her way back to the front of the diner.
"Not eating?" Sam asked, eying me suspiciously.
"Not hungry," I said with a shrug. Dean nodded at that, probably sensing my dilemma.
"Sade's dead," he explained for Sam.
"How?" Sam's tone took that of genuine concern.
"Werecat got 'er," I sighed. I nudged Dean, who stood up so I could get out of the booth. "I'll be right back," I said as an after thought.
It took me a few minutes to get through the crowd again. Only then did I realize that it was lunch hour, which explained why the normally quiet diner was buzzing. When I got outside, I walked over to the Impala and picked the lock – not that Dean wouldn't have given me the keys had I remembered to ask. I grabbed my purse from my bag and walked around to the back of the diner. I took out a pack of cigarettes and lit up.
I'd quit smoking almost four years ago, but with everything that had happened, I was back to my old habits. Drinking heavily until I passed out, smoking myself sick, avoiding sleep at all costs. It was the beginning of a downhill spiral that I couldn't see any way of stopping. I leaned against the wall, letting the nicotine take effect.
"You're too young to be smoking," a voice chimed, causing me to push away from the wall, turning to see who it belonged to. A man about 50 stood a few feet away, his hands fighting with a lighter. "Too pretty too," he added with a smile.
"I'm 22," I said truthfully. "Not that it's any of your business."
"No need to be snappy, lass," he chided. "What's got your panties in a tizzy?" he asked.
"Nothing," I lied. I took a long drag on the cigarette, silently wishing I had chosen a more private place to smoke and sulk.
"Now, come on child. You wouldn't be smoking if something wasn't bothering you, now would ya?" he asked. He took a step towards me, resulting in me taking a step back. My free hand inched towards my waistband, where my most prized silver switchblade was.
"Stay back," I growled, my tone nothing but vicious.
"Well now. You sure are a bitchy little thing," he laughed. He took another step towards me.
"I said, stay back!" I shouted. His hands came at my arm before I had a chance to unhook my blade. He slammed me against the wall, one hand holding mine behind my back, the other pressing down painfully on my throat.
"You listen real good, missy. I know who you are, and I ain't afraid to tow your ass into the slammer first chance I get," he growled. "You and your lot should move off, get 'way before I make you get gone," he added, pushing harder on my throat. I coughed and sputtered, trying to squirm out of his grip. That only caused him to get angrier, to put more pressure. Soon I was seeing spots, the last of the oxygen leaving my lungs.
"Get away from her!" a voice boomed. The man let me go, throwing me against the ground with enough force to do some real damage. I caught myself with my right hand before my head could hit the pavement. The man bolted, far faster than I would have expected for a man his age. I felt strong arms pull me forward.
"Harley?" the voice asked. It took me a few moments to realize it was Sam, his long hair framing his worried expression. "Har?"
"I'm good," I groaned. I couldn't tell what hurt worse, my wrist or my throat. After several shaky breaths, I held up my injured arm, trying to wiggle my fingers. "Shit," I gasped. Pain shot up my arm, knocking the breath straight out of me.
"Dean!" Sam shouted. I took a wild guess that Sam had told Dean to go after the man. Within a few seconds time, Dean was standing behind his brother, masking the same worried expression. "Pull the car around," Sam said urgently. He pulled me closer, so my head was resting against his broad chest. I let my eyes close, forcing myself to ignore the pain that shot through my arm with every beat of my heart. My chest hurt from the fight, my throat feeling as if it were closing.
"I'm going to pick you up now, okay?" Sam said in a gentle tone. I nodded against his chest, unable to make a sound. He lifted me up with little effort and laid me in the back seat of the Impala before getting in after me, leaning me up against his side.
"How bad is she?" Dean asked, turning to face us.
"She broke her wrist," Sam said, holding my right hand at an angle that made the pain subside, replacing it with a numb, dead feeling.
I gasped, trying to say something, but my throat refused to let enough air fill my lungs. I pressed my eyes shut, trying to swallow, to get just enough air so the dizziness would subside. That did no good though, only resulted in a coughing fit that left me even more breathless.
"Her throat," Dean said, pointing at me.
"Harley, can you breathe?" Sam asked, tilting my head so I was looking at him. I attempted to give him a look that would say, No you idiot. My throat is swelling, but instead, I only managed to shake my head once.
"Drive," Sam practically shouted. I felt the Impala pull away from the diner, the tires screaming in protest as Dean pressed down on the gas. The jolt was enough to send me reeling, and before long, I saw nothing but black. I couldn't even feel my own heartbeat.
